Chapter XXVI - Hope

A bird twittered gaily on a bush with flame-colored blossoms the size of Zoe’s palm and broad leaves that were beginning to curl and fade on their edges. Ignoring the cheerful chirping, Zoe paused, waiting as several of Princess Brysa’s maidservants passed her. Brysa was taking her daily walk in the garden—an afternoon pastime she had recently begun—and each day Zoe was expected to accompany the princess and her contingent, which included Rebekka, Gwenneth, and about four other girls whose names Zoe had not taken the time to get to know. They were constantly giggling at her and her awkward ways, anyway, so she felt little desire to become acquainted with them. Even now she sent a disdainful glace toward one who was laughing with her friend as they whispered behind their hands. In all probability they were talking about her, again.

She waited until the women ahead of her had turned a corner, then ducked behind the flowering bush and plunged into some of the thickest foliage. To her frustration, her skirt caught on bushes and twigs repeatedly; nevertheless she ripped it free with her left hand and soon reached the place she was seeking. In the center of the garden, there was a small grassy area that was completely hidden from any prying eyes by the tall shrubbery that stood as leafy sentinels around her. It was secluded and hidden, which was exactly what she wanted.

Kneeling, Zoe began untying the cloth sling from around her neck. Her arm had been in the sling for two weeks now. For the last three days, she had been going off alone to exercise it. She had to be alone to exercise it. It would be too humiliating to expose her weakness to the other maids or Brysa herself.

Hopefully it will soon be strong once again, thought Zoe. She hated not being able to use her right side.

Grimacing, she freed her arm from the sling and lowered it gently from its half-bent position. Then, her lips tight as she concentrated, she contracted her arm’s muscles and tried to lift her arm straight up.

Slowly it rose. It jerked and wavered, for her tendons had wasted away for lack of use and become small and pathetic. Each day she nursed an illogical hope she would miraculously recover from the injury; each day she was disappointed.

Her arm gave a particularly impressive spasm and pain ripped through her shoulder as she dropped her hand. She bit her tongue hard and stifled a cry. The wound from Montel’s knife was healing nicely, but still caused her pain. It was forming into a straight, even scar on her shoulder, compliments of Rebekka’s swift treatment of the wound. She’d sewn it up as soon as Zoe came into the castle and Zoe was certain that was what had kept it from either becoming infected or healing in an ugly, jagged way.

Staring down at her arm, which still shaking though it sat limply across her lap, tears of frustration suddenly came to her eyes. I am weak, she thought bitterly. Worthless. I cannot help my friends if I am unable to lift a sword or draw a bowstring. Why cannot my muscles knit together swifter?

Furious at the thought of her own incapability, she decided to try again. Closing her eyes, she lifted her arm. She raised it up to shoulder level and held it, trembling violently, in place. Sweat rolled down her brow, and she clenched her teeth so hard she feared they would crack from the pressure. Perhaps a minute passed; her face turned crimson red, then gray as she refused to back down. Finally, with a gasp, she allowed her arm to drop. Her head spun with dizziness, and bright pinpricks of light invaded the darkness that swooped over her. Holding very still, Zoe tightened her abdominal muscles and waited for the lightheadedness to pass.

Despair invaded her, taking advantage of her physical and mental weakness. Her head drooped and her long braid slowly fell over her shoulder. Fool. You foolish, stupid girl. The inner voice murmured to her. You cannot help anyone. You are weak...weak....

“No!” she cried hopelessly. “I am not weak!”

Her voice sounded thin and whiny in her ears. An angry tear overflowed and ran down her cheek; she roughly wiped it away with her good arm. Bitterness and rage suddenly erupted from somewhere deep inside her and she did not bother to restrain it. She was alone, and she did not care anymore.

“Deus, I hate You,” she whispered, her words slow and infused with venom. “I hate You. You have ruined me and my family. You allowed our separation; You allowed my capture; You allowed everything to happen and now look at me.”

She glared up at the sky, which was filled with soft pearly clouds and the cool sunshine of early autumn. Seeing the beauty did nothing but add to Zoe’s resentment. “I used to see the sky when I was in Braedoch,” she continued, feeling like a lunatic as she babbled, but far past caring anymore. “And I loved You for Your creation. Now I hate it. I hate that everything in creation is beautiful. Look at the birds!” Two flew past her, chirping and chattering together. “Even they have another bird for companionship and love. What do I have? Nothing! You robbed me of my brothers...and my sisters....” Zoe’s voice quavered.

“Where is Aiden, my ever strong leader and friend? What of Taerith or Daelia? Have you killed their hope? Is Arnan destined to drown in bitterness, like me? And Ilara! She, so strong and beautiful, how I envied her as a child.” Zoe shook her head, her braid slapping against the side of her neck. “Now I would give anything to see her once more, with all her wild grace and enviable skill. Wren, the sister who taught me all I know of tracking and hunting—and now I am locked in a castle where none of that can help me anymore. Aquila, whose gentleness could also be her bane...what have you done to her, Deus? What? And what...” her voice broke again, but she recovered quickly, her green eyes narrowed as she continued her whispered tirade toward the sky. “And what of Sam? My twin, my beloved brother who always tempered my anger and impetuosity? Do you wish You had left us together now, Deus? Perhaps now he would restrain me from challenging You like this. Perhaps he would have saved me from myself.”

She stared upward with flashing, defiant eyes. “Now what? Shall you strike me down for my insolence? I hardly think I am worthy to live anymore. You have killed my hope. Is that what you wanted? Is it?” Her words dripped with fury and her chest heaved as she stopped speaking. Her breath was gone and her spirit drained. She did not care anymore. I wish I were dead, she thought dully. If this is to be my life...I don’t want it anymore. Deus—You hear me? I don’t want it!

Her strength failed completely and she slowly collapsed, falling limply unto her left side. The grass was soft beneath her cheek and smelled fresh and wholesome. The sun was warm on her body; the wind gently played with loose strands of hair that had fallen from the sorry-looking braid she had been able to do one handed. She’d refused Rebekka’s help.

Just kill me, she thought hopelessly. Life means nothing to me now.

Silence fell. The birds had stopped chirping. Zoe vaguely wondered if Brysa had noticed her absence yet. It did not matter anymore. Nothing mattered.

Zoe.

Her name was whispered through her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it. She felt as if someone were reaching down and caressing her face. No...no. Deus would not respond with gentleness; He could not. He must strike her for her insolence. She had said the most revolting things to Him, things He could not ignore, nor let go unpunished.

Zoe. Have you so completely forgotten my peace?

She snorted faintly. Peace?

You are broken in spirit and weak in body. Your strength is almost gone.

She knew all that already. Was He just going to state the obvious?

That is what I want.

Her eyes jerked open. “Want?” she muttered through clenched teeth. “You are a cruel lord and master, then, if you want me to be weak.”

I use those who are feeble and unable to help themselves. You are strong; prideful; and rely too much on yourself, Zoe. I have waited patiently as you failed again, and again, and again...until you were broken down to where I could mold you into what I want.

Warmth, not from the sunlight, blanketed her. Zoe tried to resist, but found it growing more difficult. A gentle but insistent pull had grabbed hold of her.

I hold you in the palm of my hand. Your siblings are likewise in my mind and heart. You are all my children.

“Why did you separate us, then? Where are they? Are they well?” Anxiously, Zoe listened for a reply.

Their stories are their own. You must concern yourself only with your own tale.

Stymied and a little disappointed, she paused. “Why am I here, a slave once more?” She blinked, feeling troubled. “Will I ever be free?”

A distinct impression of faint laughter swept over her, and she wondered. It almost felt as if Deus was...amused.

Your idea of freedom may be different tomorrow than it is today.

Unsure of what that meant but knowing she likely would find out if she gave into Him, Zoe rolled to her back. She must decide: could she back down from her pride and allow Deus to mold her? The thought of losing control caused her fists to clench. Her pride, her strength, her honor: they were all she had. She could not give them up as well, could she?

But then, very abruptly, she realized how stupid that was. For all her so-called “control,” she was a slave in the Elangsian capital. She had an injured arm, and Grace still wasn’t free. While she was in charge, she had done nothing but put herself into ruinous situations. The truth was stark...and she knew deep within her heart what she must do.

Releasing a long sigh, she released her barriers and allowed Deus’s presence to sweep through her without fighting it.

Peace, comfort, joy, and strength infused her. Within a mere second, every fiber of her being seemed to tingle with fresh life and vigor. It was so sweet and comforting, Zoe felt like jumping up and dancing. A most odd reaction, she thought in the back of her mind, and yet...perhaps not so odd. The ultimate Presence of the universe was there with her, filling her with new hope. It was an occasion for rejoicing.

A dam broke within her and she murmured, “Deus, take me. I...” she swallowed and began again, speaking in a voice that was measured and firm. “I give myself to You. I long for the freedom You promise. Show me what I must do.”

You will serve me in whatever ways I ask of you?

She hesitated, and her eyelids drifted shut again. Her voice echoed with certainty as she replied, “Yes.”

Warm approval washed over her, lifting the corners of her mouth in a tiny smile. He was pleased with her. Suddenly she realized how absurd her anger toward Him had been. He was so grand, she could not have made a dent in His majesty, no matter how long or hard she fought.

Do not doubt me, Zoe. Now, enter into the joy of the life I give you.

A wind, warm and scented like crushed pine needles, blew around her as she sat up in the kneeling position once more. The powerful breeze unfastened her braid completely and the long, unbound strands tumbled around her shoulders and face, dancing in the wind. She lifted her face and opened her eyes, her jade-green eyes shining with new intensity.

She did not know how long she sat there, but eventually the wind subsided and she was aware of her surroundings once more. Zoe remained still, lowering her chin a little and staring with unfocused eyes at the greenery in front of her.

“Zoe?” Rebekka’s call echoed faintly from the left. “Zoe, where are you?”

Zoe rose quickly to her feet. “I am coming, Rebekka,” she replied in a voice that was much calmer than she expected it to be. “Wait there!”

She reached down with her left arm to pick up her sling and fasten it back on...then froze. Staring at her right arm, she raised it slowly and experimentally. Opening and closing her fist, she watched with wonder as the muscles worked beneath her skin. She lifted the arm up and down effortlessly, without pain. With a rapid, feverish move, she pulled the sleeve of the dress down, baring her shoulder. The smooth scar glimmered pale in the sunlight, appearing small and innocent before her.

A grin spread slowly over her lips and she pulled the edge of the neckline back into place. Her arm was completely restored to its original strength, yet Deus had left the scar as a reminder to her: “Do not doubt me,” He told her.

“Never again,” she murmured as she plunged through the bracken in the direction Rebekka’s voice had come from. “Never again.”

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“No.” Jaedon’s response was flat and rang with finality. “Absolutely not.”

“I knew you’d say that,” Tancred replied quietly. “But it is what we shall do.”

“I think not, Tancred.” Jaedon’s eyes snapped with rare anger and he gave off a wild hand motion as he took a step toward the younger man. “You are coming with us. That was the original plan, and that is what we will do!”

“Zoe being captured by Montel and taken to the castle was not part of our original plan,” Tancred pointed out calmly.

“Is she not always insisting she can take care of herself? Let her, then—”

“Jaedon, you are not yourself. You would not say that if you were thinking clearly.”

With a quick move, Jaedon grabbed Tancred’s shoulders in a vise-like grip. Giving him a faint shake, Jaedon whispered intensely, “You don’t understand, do you. Your father was murdered here, likely because I wasn’t here helping and protecting him. I am not going to bear ill tidings of another death to your mother. She has already lost one man she loves in this city...don’t force her to lose another.”

The thought of his mother tore Tancred’s heart, for he knew she had suffered silently throughout the years following Liam’s execution; but he was firm. Gently removing Jaedon’s hands, he said, “My mother is a lady of noble birth. She knows the meaning of sacrifice. Father made it very clear what our family would be forced to go through as soon as he became the Hunter. Every day since then we have made appropriate sacrifices and decisions; this is one of those sacrifices we are called to make.”

“There is an assassin in this city who knows who you are and who is trying to kill you!”

“And have I not been utterly carefully in everything I do? I am not inviting discovery and that you well know.”

“But if he does find you—”

“My future is known to Deus and Deus alone. I cannot pretend to know where He will take me or what I might suffer.” Tancred’s face was unreadable, but he felt quiet certainty running through his veins. He knew he was making the right choice. “But I chose to trust Him long ago and to run away while leaving one of my companions stranded in unfriendly lands would be a poor use of my abilities.”

Jaedon’s face twisted and he turned away. The two of them stood in the kitchen of Tancred’s home. It was early morning; Grace had not yet risen. Tancred planned on waking her within the next few minutes, giving her some breakfast, and then sending her with Jaedon back to Aerilya. Jaedon’s gelding, Cyclone, and the pack horse that they had purchased very cheaply from the tanner were already fed, saddled, and ready to depart.

“Instead of worrying Lady Shyla with tidings of the danger I am in,” Tancred continued in an undertone, “warn her of the imminent battle. The Wild Men will take perhaps another two weeks in their country and then they will be back, battle-ready and full of blood-lust. Aerilya must be ready by then. If I have not returned at that time, you must all be stanch and fight in my place.

“Ricald will probably be falling back from his position near Mairbrac when the battle draws nigh; keep a close eye on him and you will probably have a good idea of when Elangsia stands ready to attack. I would warn you myself, but I cannot promise I will have a way to communicate with you. Egan is with Kris, and even if I could talk to her through the pseudo-dragon, she is not in Mairbrac right now so she wouldn’t be able to tell you anything.”

Tancred frowned slightly. Actually, he didn’t know where Kris was at all, and it had been bothering him for some time now. They had not been in contact for far too long. Protect my sister, Christus.

“That is the first time I have heard you speak Ricald’s name without the poison of hatred dripping also from your tongue.” Jaedon turned his head so Tancred could see his profile. “Why?”

For a long moment, Tancred did not speak. When he did, his voice was slightly unsteady. “Deus spoke to me. I will not...be avenging my father by killing Ricald and Brastus. That must be left to Deus only.”

“I see.” Jaedon turned and looked full at Tancred. The older man’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. “You have truly grown into a man your father would be proud of. I am honored to call you my friend, Tancred Ralyn.”

Unable to say anything, Tancred reached forward and grasped Jaedon’s forearms in a warrior’s embrace. They stood still, gazes locked, each full of the knowledge that their separation was coming swiftly.

Losing Jaedon’s companionship and assistance would be a grievous blow. But Grace must be returned to Aerilya—not only did she need to be with her family, she also could not be discovered in Tancred’s care since he had illegally helped free her—and Zoe must be freed. One person had to take Grace back; one person had to remain for Zoe. It was crystal clear, logical, and unavoidable. And Tancred refused to allow the person who stayed in Ruma to be anyone but himself. It was his task; his mission to come to the aid of the fiery young woman who was a slave in the castle.

“Go wake Grace,” said Jaedon gruffly. “I will have a slice of bread ready for her.”

Tancred had put Grace in Zoe’s room the night before, after she had fallen asleep on his lap by the hearth. She was still slumbering on the cot in the exact position he had left her in: on her side, hands beneath her cheek, curls tumbling over her shoulders. The door creaked faintly as he entered, and her eyes blinked open, their soft brown depths revealed as she looked up at him.

“It was real,” she murmured.

He smiled gently and crouched by the cot near her head. “What was?”

“You rescuing me. I thought for one moment it was just a dream.”

His smile broadened a little. “Today,” he told her in a whisper, “you get to go home.”

She sat up, eyes wide. “Home? To Aerilya?”

“Shh. Yes. Jaedon, the man I told you about last night, will be taking you back to Mairbrac Forest. After that, we will find a way to get you to Bristol, where your sister lives.”

“Riana,” Grace murmured, her face shining. “I cannot wait to see her.”

“Hurry and come to the kitchen with me. Jaedon has some bread for you to eat before you depart.”

She jumped off the cot and slipped her hand trustingly into his. The jolt of protectiveness flew through him again. It never ceased to amaze him that a little child would rely on him so implicitly. It was what he wanted, what he desired...but he was, after all, a man of war and bloodshed. He was not used to receiving such affection and trust without reservation.

They entered the kitchen. “Grace, this is Jaedon of Mairbrac. Jaedon, this is Grace.”

“Actually, my full name is Grace Moira Eledin of Aerilya,” Grace said formally, pulling her hand from Tancred’s and taking a step toward Jaedon. She eyed the tall warrior with innocent curiosity. “You are going to take me home, Master Jaedon?”

From the look on Jaedon’s face, she had won him over completely. “I am,” he replied, nodding as he handed her a piece of bread with butter.

She sat down at the table and took a big bite. “I’ll eat quickly, then,” she promised, talking around her mouthful.

Both men smiled and joined her a moment later with breakfast of their own. When they were finished, the three of them exited the house into the backyard. There was less chance of being seen behind the house rather than in front.

Tancred helped Grace unto Cyclone's back. “Do not be afraid to depend on Jaedon,” he instructed her gravely, holding her fragile hand within his large one. “He is your protector and guide.”

She blinked rapidly and whispered, “I will. Thank you, Hunter.”

“Thank not me, but the Unseen One,” he reminded her gently, breaking away.

He turned. Jaedon stood there, his cloak billowing in the breeze of the early morning; the last weak rays of the moon shone down, lighting the weathered contours of the older man's face. The two of them stood frozen in place for a long moment. Tancred’s thoughts took a disturbing twist as he wondered: Shall I ever see him again on this earth?

“Give my love to Lady Shyla,” Tancred said, his voice sounding foreign and far off.

“I shall.”

“And tell the men I will return as soon as is feasible. Until then, you, my mother, and Warrick will be in charge.”

“We will lead them as best we can,” said Jaedon gruffly.

“I know.” The breeze ruffled Tancred’s hair and he said, “May Deus bless you and keep you...”

“...may his face shine upon you and give you peace,” they both finished together.

Clapping Tancred once on the shoulder, Jaedon turned away and took the reins of Cyclone and the pack horse. He led the gelding around the side of the house and down the street. The gelding’s hooves made little noise on the cobblestones for they were muffled by strips of cloth that Tancred had wrapped around them early that morning.

Tancred stopped at the front corner of the house and wordlessly watched them go. Before long Jaedon, Grace, and the broad-backed horses had disappeared around a bend, making their way toward the eastern gate.

Silence hovered, and the quiet of the approaching day wrapped around Tancred. He stood still, like a boulder in the middle of a field. A mourning dove cooed, and he listened carefully. It was the first bird he could recall hearing for a long time. The sound caused him to feel both joyful and sad, an odd mixture, he mused.

Protect them, Deus, he prayed, looking to the sky. Into Your care I entrust them. Please keep them safe.

He turned and walked back into the house.