Song of the Fairy Queen (45 page)

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Authors: Valerie Douglas

BOOK: Song of the Fairy Queen
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And if he didn’t strain himself to see her as well, as Corvin thought, as Oryan tried not to think? To find time to be with her, taking his ease and solace from her, as she did from him?

Her heart wrenched.

True, the Kingdom would lose her people as Healers, but with so few they were stretched thin themselves and so they taught some folks herbal medicines, ways to bind and stitch wounds to hold them until a Healer could reach them. It was better than nothing.

Above and beyond all else though, she was Kyriay, Queen of the Fairy and her people were hard-pressed themselves. The risk became greater with each day that Haerold would find one of the larger glens. It would be a massacre or a pitched battle Morgan and Oryan couldn’t afford to fight and couldn’t afford not to fight. It would be better, much better, for the Fairy to pull back into the deep forests, to withdraw from the world of men to where they would be safer.

She’d only stayed so long for Morgan.

If she didn’t take her people away and Morgan…if he was captured or…if he died…

Chaos would reign.

She might not be able to get her people out in time and the sudden withdrawal would only add to Oryan’s burden. Not to mention that for many it would signal a lack of faith to have his strongest ally desert him.

Every route led her in the same direction.

She was Kyriay. Queen of the Fairy.

There was love and she loved Morgan with all her heart and soul, but there was also duty and responsibility.

Lives depended on her, on them. There was no one else to take this up. Not for him or her.

And in the end there was Morgan…always Morgan.

Who she loved more than life itself.

Whatever the price, she couldn’t bear to lose him, to not have him part of the world. Each day he stretched himself thinner that risk grew greater.

Nor could she bear to hurt him. She loved him too much for that.

Her head bowed.

No matter how she looked at it, she could see no other way.

Chapter Thirty Four

Everyone in the tent was bent over the map table discussing the disposition of Haerold’s troops and their own when Morgan entered. He’d arrived during the night, looking weary and tired. At best he’d barely had time to bathe and grab a few hours of sleep. Oryan looked up as Morgan came to join them, gestured him over by Kyri and John. Philip and Jordan stood opposite as Geoffrey carried drinks around.

If nothing else, Morgan looked slightly more rested, if still worn, than he had when he’d ridden in the night before.

Kyri had come in only moments before, alone, uncharacteristically quiet, her expression more solemn than usual.

She looked tired, as if she hadn’t slept well either, which was unusual. Fairy didn’t usually show such things.

Morgan said, “Oryan, I’ve had word we’ll need to warn Mormont that Haerold intends to order him to appear before him in Remagne or send his soldiers after him.”

One of Oryan’s smaller vassals, Mormont had a small domain far to the south and the west, to the north of one of the Great Forests. It was wine country, pretty land.

Shaking his head, Oryan said, “We knew Patraic wasn’t going to be able to put Haerold off forever.”

Summoning a messenger, Oryan gave him the message and sent him off.

Nerves had Kyri’s blood humming, the twisting pain in her heart swelled. Her breath came short. However much she’d tried to prepare herself to say it, the words still came hard.

“I need to make an announcement,” Kyri said, suddenly, quietly, as Morgan took his place at the table next to her.

She glanced quickly at him.

The look in his clear blue eyes as they met hers told her everything.

It pierced her painfully and deeply.

Puzzled, Oryan said, “What is it, Kyri?”

Swallowing was suddenly hard but she forced herself to go on and keep going on. She was breathless. This would hurt Oryan, too. A breath, another breath.

“As you know, Haerold’s attacks on my people have increased,” she said.

Only the fact that they were so scattered and distant and the aid of Morgan’s Marshals and some of the rebels, had prevented Haerold from making an all-out assault on the Fair. So far. It was only another reason why Morgan was stretched so thin, as she and her people had been forced deeper and deeper into the forests.

There were nods all around.

“I’ve decided to pull my people back into the deep forests, back into the high mountains,” she said, finally and decisively, “where even Haerold would be hard put to reach us.”

The breath sighed out of her. She’d said it. It was done.

Oryan was stunned.

For a moment, he could only stare at her. He kept waiting for something, for someone to say something. But no one did. Which was equally surprising.

To Oryan’s astonishment, even Morgan said nothing.

“Kyri?” Oryan said, taken aback. “This is sudden.”

His shock at Morgan’s lack of reaction was shared, it seemed, by Philip, Jordan and John, who all looked stunned, as all of them looked to Morgan.

Kyri shook her head slightly, her hand held up at her side out of Morgan’s sight in a request for silence.

“It’s best,” she continued briskly, her eyes on Oryan’s face, “for everyone. The Kingdom, although you’ll lose our trade. But you’ll be able to use those forces elsewhere, Oryan. It’s best for my folk, too. If this continues, we may not be able to survive much longer as a people.”

She’d already put it off for far longer than she should’ve, for a myriad of reasons, all of which were now gone.

Now for the final test.

The pain in her heart was enormous, as if a knife pierced it, greater even than the arrow that had struck her it seemed. It burned like acid in her chest.

“Don’t you agree, Morgan?” she asked, her voice even.

Her breath came short and she forced back tears.

Morgan nodded slowly as he studied the map, uncertain why he felt a small, inexplicable pang of loss but readily seeing the advantage.

“We could reallocate those people here and here, Oryan, then we wouldn’t be stretched so thin.”

Kyri sucked in sharp breath but it was no more than she’d expected.

Her ethereal aquamarine eyes turned to Oryan, they were too bright...

Looking into them, Oryan could only remember one time when he’d seen such pain in someone’s eyes. His own, in the mirror in the days after Caernarvon’s fall, as he’d mourned Gwen.

What was going on here?

“Are you sure about this, Kyri?” he asked, his words covering several questions.

She looked at him steadily. “It’s in everyone’s best interests, Oryan.”

The glimmer of understanding turned to sure knowledge. Oryan stood, torn, knowing in that moment the struggle she’d faced. One similar to the one he’d faced that night in Caernarvon.

A breath escaped him. The ache in his heart increased.

She’d found a way for all of them after all. Had he the right to gainsay her?

Gainsay her, no, but he could make it as painless as he might.

“All right. Morgan, would you take care of that?”

Morgan nodded, gave a glance and a nod to everyone at the table and left.

For a moment Oryan was still.

Thunderstruck, Philip, Jordan and John stared after the departed Morgan, before turning back to the other two at the table.

“What the hell did I just see?” John demanded, bewildered.

“Kyri,” Oryan said softly. “What did you do?”

It hurt more than Kyri could possibly have imagined, watching Morgan leave so carelessly, without a touch, a caress, a kiss. She fought it back.

She was Kyriay, Queen of the Fairy. She had to remember that.

She lifted her chin a little, took a breath. “I made him forget.”

Faces reflected a little puzzlement or stunned shock. They were confused, but they didn’t know.

Oryan knew, he remembered – Gawain, his son, and the woman who cared for him.

A simple magic, Kyri had said.

Forgetting…

Closing his eyes, Oryan said, “Forget what?”

Although he knew.

“Me,” she said softly.

In that instant the others realized what it was she’d done. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t thought the same themselves upon a time – that was clear by their expressions – but they’d said nothing. How could they, knowing how much Morgan loved her…and she loved him?

How much can you love someone, that you can let them go?

Kyri said it anyway.

“He was killing himself, trying to be everywhere. I am Kyriay, Queen of the Fairy and enough of a tactician to know you and he are overstretched, Oryan, but he wouldn’t abandon me…us… the Fair.” She couldn’t be less than honest. “He wouldn’t abandon me. He wouldn’t leave us undefended. It’s not in him to do it. So, he kept trying and would keep trying, wearing himself out. He loves me… ”

Her breath caught.

“Loved me…but to see me, he had to stretch himself even further.”

Queen of the Fairy. There were her people. The folk of the Kingdom, as well. What was she against them all? Against Morgan…

“Then there are my people. The Fair. I am what I am. Kyriay.”

“But, this way? Would they ask you to make this sacrifice, Kyri?” Oryan asked.

Spinning to face him, her eyes steady, she said, “No, they wouldn’t ask. They would trust me to do what I must for them to keep them safe. I am Kyriay, it’s for me to decide and it’s what I was born to do.”

“This way?”

She looked at him. “What would you have me do, Oryan? Lie to him? Tell him I don’t love him when he knows I do? How could I hurt him that way?”

Tears shimmered in her brilliant eyes.

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t, I couldn’t. Should I tell him I don’t want to see him, even though he knows I do? I can’t. I’m Fairy, I can’t lie. Tell him to stop coming, stop trying? I’ve tried.”

Her proud head bowed.

“Even if he would accept the sense of it, it would hurt, but he wouldn’t. You know Morgan. He would keep trying to find a way to make it work. And I would want him to. And if he let me go, willingly? For his honor, his duty? What would that do to him? He would only throw himself into the fight even more fiercely, with the same result. You know that, you said so yourself. He is what he is, you said, as I am what I am. Tell me I’m wrong, Oryan. Tell me you’ve had more success in making him see sense…”

Oryan couldn’t and they both knew it.

They knew Morgan. He was stubborn, determined. He would never accept that he couldn’t have both, somehow. He wasn’t that kind of man.

“Tell me then how to watch him kill himself,” Kyri said softly.

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