Chapter XXXIII - Turmoil

Thud, thud, thud!

Brysa started awake at the loud noise. For an instant, she was too disoriented to ascertain where it was coming from and she half-sat up in a daze.

Thud, thud, thud!

This time she realized someone was pounding on the door to her bower and she snapped awake. “A moment!” she cried, flinging back to the heavy coverlet and leaping down to the floor. She sucked in a breath at the icy coldness of the stones to her bare feet. The fire in the hearth was still flinging out enough light to illuminate her room, despite the fact it was dark outside, but it lacked the heat that she longed for. Grabbing a robe and throwing it over her nightdress, she hurried to the door and pulled the bar off. Opening the door open a little, she peered out. “What’s wanted?”

To her shock, the soldier shoved the door open without another word and barged into her quarters. Brysa’s mouth dropped open with outrage as he and five other men invaded her room. Gathering her robe tightly around her figure and drawing herself up, she opened her mouth to severely castigate the soldier and send him out—when she saw the identity of the others with him and all words died on her tongue.

Father?

It was indeed King Brastus Alustate. He was dressed not in his usual royal garments, however, but in full battle dress: heavy chain mail glittered and clinked beneath his polished leather-plate armor. Iron studs, overlaid with bright silver, jutted out from the leather. One of the soldiers trailing the king held Brastus’s jeweled, crimson plumed helmet; the plume matched the robe that flew like a blood-red waterfall down from Brastus’s shoulders to the tops of his leather boots. Brysa took in his attire in a second, then her eyes flew up to meet his cold blue gaze. Instantly the temperature in the room seemed to drop even farther and Brysa shivered involuntarily.

Behind Brastus stood two soldiers, and beside them were two men Brysa had never before seen. One quick glance at their long, thick beards and dark complexion told her exactly who they were and where they were from, however: Wild Men from Rulaan. But hadn’t they all left with King Naard and Prince Jaquin three weeks earlier? Confused, Brysa’s gaze flicked back and forth between the Wild Men and her father. What is going on?

“Good morning, Brysa,” her father said in a mock-courteous tone, bowing his dark head in her direction. He looked back up and scanned her. “Ah, but you disappoint me. You do not look prepared for travel.”

Bewilderment settled upon her shoulders like a thick, unpleasant cloak. “I do not understand,” she replied slowly, surprised and proud that her voice sounded extremely calm, especially considering the circumstances. She glanced out the window and added, “It is still very early morning. Why would I need to be prepared to go anywhere?”

Brastus smiled humorlessly. “The Elangsian army waits for no one. We’ll march early and arrive at our destination before anyone, especially the half-witted Aerilyans, could be prepared.”

“The army?” she repeated cautiously. She felt like she was missing something. Why was he here, telling her this? And why were the Wild Men present, too?

Brastus waved his hand at the two foreigners, as if he had read her thoughts. “Allow me to introduce Quindel and Rakan, Jaquin’s self-placed indemnity for our countries’ alliance.”

Quindel and Rakan both nodded at her. She surveyed their roughly-made armor and unkempt appearance with disgust before deliberately turning her head back to Brastus. “What kind of assurance did Jaquin need? Did he not trust we would keep our...bargain?” It was hard to force the word out. Thinking of herself as the integral part of a barter between nations instead of a human being with free will had not grown any easier over the last weeks.

“No, he did not,” Brastus gritted out, obviously annoyed at the thought. “When you foolishly refused to come down the last banquet the night before the Wild Men left for their homeland to gather troops, and then later rejected Jaquin’s entrance to your chambers later that evening, he grew wroth and stormed to my quarters in high offense.”

Little tendrils of satisfaction wended their way through her heart. She had angered Jaquin to the point where he went to Brastus? Good.

“He is most impatient to marry you and take you back to Rulaan as his wife,” Brastus continued. “In order to make sure you would not slip through his fingers by running away or some other such stupidity, he left Quindel and Rakan behind to watch you.”

The two silent foreigners inclined their heads toward her once again.

Brysa ignored them. “They’ve been stalking me?” she exclaimed, irritated by the thought.

“In the interest of keeping the alliance, yes,” Brastus nodded.

“And you allowed this?”

“Do not challenge my judgment!” thundered Brastus, his brow lowering ominously. “You were the one who displeased your husband-to-be and now both you and I are reaping the consequences. Jaquin told me in no uncertain terms that you must be brought to the field of battle and kept in a safe place so that after the Aerilyans have been massacred, he can marry you there and take you with him straight back to Rulaan. If these terms were no obeyed—if I left today without bringing you with me and the army—Jaquin swore he would turn his men on Elangsia instead of helping us against Aerilya. He would have sent his troops to attack defenseless Ruma.”

“You’re taking me to the battlefield?” She grasped frantically at details, trying to piece everything together as her thunderstruck mind began shutting down.

“Yes,” her father bit off the word. “It’s not what I want, either, but it must be done or the alliance is off.”

“Curse the alliance, curse the Wild Men!” Quindel and Rakan’s figures went noticeably stiffer at her words but Brysa did not care. “What am I to do in the middle of a battle?”

“Hold your tongue! We will keep you far away from the fighting and safe from harm. When the battle is finished, your betrothal will be sealed by marriage and you will go away with Jaquin to Rulaan.”

“I will not!” she replied angrily, pushed over the edge. This was insane!

“If you do not come willingly, you will be taken there in bonds,” warned her father, his eyes glittering dangerously.

“Father, listen to what you are saying!” she exclaimed, half-pleading and half-infuriated.

“Brastus! Brysa! What is going on?”

The new feminine voice sliced through the tension in the air and Brysa whirled to see her mother standing in the doorway. Her long black hair was disheveled from sleep and her robes were loosely belted around her figure. Her dark eyes darted back and forth between her husband, daughter, and the others.

Brastus’s frown deepened. “Why are you here, Maurelle?”

“I knew you were planning something, I just knew it,” the queen muttered, stepping into Brysa’s bower. “Where are you taking Brysa? Why are they here?” She waved her hands toward Quindel and Rakan with a look of mild repulsion.

“Jaquin demanded I bring Brysa with me to the battlefield. If not, he will send his men to raze Ruma to the ground.”

Maurelle noticeably paled as she took in this new information. “I told you not to enter into a bargain with them,” she finally hissed out, turning her brown gaze on her husband. “Now look at the problems we have incurred. You must take our daughter to witness a bloodbath? Think of her reputation, her good name!”

“As if I have one anymore, Mother,” Brysa bit out, interrupting. “Marrying me off like some worthless piece of furniture isn’t exactly treating me with regard.”

“The people need not know that,” Maurelle replied coolly. “All they ought to see is that you are a capable woman who knows her place. Your place of service is marrying Ja—”

“We’ve been over it a thousand times, Mother, I know what my ‘place’ is,” Brysa said with aversion.

“I tire of this,” Brastus growled. “Brysa, pack your things. You are coming with us.”

Brysa shook her head stubbornly. “I won’t.”

“I will not allow this, Brastus!” added Maurelle.

“You will both obey me!”

Brysa’s eyes darted to the doorway and she calculated her chances of slipped around the soldiers, her mother, Quindel, and Rakan, and making a bolt for the hallway. Almost immediately she dismissed the thought. There was no way she would be able to escape without somebody obstructing her. Still, she clung irrationally to the idea, looking for an opportunity.

Her parents continued thundered at each other, spewing out their anger and malice. Such was the true face of Elangsian royalty, thought Brysa, her lips pressed tightly together. “Stop it!” she shrieked once, interrupting their argument.

Maurelle glanced at her. “I tell you it would be the most foolish thing in the world to take her,” she told her husband. “What if she were killed?”

“Guards will surround her night and day.”

“Guards can be killed too! You are so wrapped up in your little schemes that you cannot see the big picture anymore,” Maurelle murmured in a shaking voice. “We can defeat Aerilya without the Wild Men. Break the alliance, put it off, do something!”

“It’s too late for that now,” Brastus growled.

Maurelle’s eyes narrowed. “Too late,” she repeated. “Yes, it is far too late...because of your folly!”

Crack! Brastus’s palm connected with Maurelle’s face and knocked the queen backwards.

Without hesitation Brysa darted for the door, all rational thought abruptly taking flight and leaving only a feral hunger for liberty in its place. She could do it; she could make it down the hall and out to freedom—

But the moment her foot touched the stone of the hall outside her door, a heavy blow struck her head and overpowering dizziness grabbed hold over her. Slowly, as if in a dream, she felt herself falling. The last things she remembered was her father’s angry orders to the soldiers to bind her and take her out, and her mother’s thin, desperate cry: “Remember your duty, Brysa! Remember to use what I gave you if the time comes....”

Then everything faded away to dark, all-encompassing blackness.

è è è è è è è è è

“Goodbye, Rebekka.”

Real sorrow tinged Zoe’s words as she drew the smaller Aerilyan woman into a warm embrace. It was the day after they had arrived at the war camp of the Hunter with Tancred. Now Tryna and Rebekka were leaving for more protected territory, back through Mairbrac Forest into deep Aerilyan country. Two soldiers had been entrusted with the task of escorting the two women safely back.

“I’ll miss you, Zoe,” Rebekka murmured tearfully, clinging to Zoe. “Thank you for everything you did for me.”

“Thank you,” Zoe replied with a slight smile, pulling back and looking down at Rebekka. “If you had not had the courage to meet Tancred in the marketplace back in Ruma, we’d likely still be stuck in the Elangsian palace.”

Rebekka managed a little smile back. She turned away and Zoe walked over to Tryna. The older woman hugged Zoe close. When they drew apart, Tryna’s rough palm touched Zoe’s cheek for a moment. “Hold on to hope,” she whispered firmly. “Stay strong. You will be in my prayers.”

“And you in mine,” nodded Zoe, a catch in her throat. “I hope we will not forever be separated. If all goes well, I will seek you both out.”

“As will we,” they replied. Rebekka smiled through her tears and Tryna tugged her cloak around her shoulders as she joined Rebekka beside their escorts. They all stood right at the outskirts of Mairbrac, and crisp leaves crunched beneath Zoe’s boots as she shifted her weight and brushed a long strand of hair out of her eyes. It was early in the morning and she had yet to tie her hair back or twine it into a braid.

She met the eyes of the two soldiers and said firmly, “Take good care of them, men.”

They nodded at her respectfully. She knew they had seen her with Tancred the day before and naturally assumed that anyone with the Hunter had to be esteemed and obeyed. Zoe for one certainly did not mind their deference. “Farewell,” she called softly as the foursome turned away.

“Farewell, Zoe!” Tryna and Rebekka’s final calls floated back after they plunged into Mairbrac Forest. Zoe watched them weave through the trees for a minute, then as they began fading into the muted grays and browns of the tree trunks, she turned with a sigh and walked back toward Hunter’s camp. Protect them, Deus, she prayed, casting a glance to the leaden skies. Keep them safe, and if it is Your will, let us meet again.

She passed the first row of tents and wended her way toward the clearing at the center of the camp. The encampment looked to be slowly stirring to life. A few men groggily called their greetings to her and each other as they stumbled from their tents and stretched mightily. Zoe felt more like part of their company now that she was once more garbed in old, familiar clothes. Shyla had brought her a pair of trousers, an undershirt, and thigh-length tunic the night before. “They are Kristalyn’s,” she had explained. “You are a little taller and larger than she, but these should fit you well.”

The trousers were more fitted than Zoe typically preferred, but they were comfortably worn in and lengthy enough for her long legs. The tunic was warm and flowed with her movements, something Zoe was grateful for. She could not see herself fighting in a skirt when the Elangsians arrived. When she rose from her bedroll that morning, she had thrown her cloak on over the new clothes, and on the whole she was quite warm and content despite the chill in the late autumn air. She exhaled, her breath forming white vapor in front of her face.

She walked straight over to the largest fire where the portly figure of a man was stirring steaming porridge over a large fire. She broke into a jog as she recognized the man. “Ulrich!”

Ulrich looked up and a smile spread across his face. “Lady Zoe!” He stopped his stirring and quickly embraced her. “When did you come back? I must have missed your arrival.”

“Just yesterday,” she said, drawing back and grinning back at him. “I’ve missed your porridge. I must say that even after three months of doing it myself, it just doesn’t come out as smooth and creamy as yours.”

Ulrich laughed, his belly shaking. “I have secret ingredients,” he told her wisely.

“I’d pay a lot of gold to learn your secret,” she said ruefully. “Or for you to tell Tancred. I’ll warn you now: don’t let him make breakfast for the men. Ever.”

“I believe that was somewhat of an insult. Surely you would not be ungrateful toward me.”

Zoe spun around and smirked up at Tancred, who was standing but five paces behind her. “Just ungrateful for your porridge,” she told him. “It’s awful.”

“Hmm.” He arched a brow at her. “And you make better, do you?”

“I certainly could do better than you.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Speaking of insults, that sounded like one to me too,” she told him, her hands flying up to her hips.

“Did it?” he asked with calculated innocence.

She opened her mouth to reply when Ulrich tactfully interrupted. “If you’re each hungry, breakfast is ready.” He scooped up one of the bowls he carved in his downtime and ladling warm porridge into it before beaming a toothy, expectant smile at Zoe and Tancred.

Zoe grinned back. “Ulrich the Peacemaker we should call you,” she commented as she took the bowl and spoon from him.

“If you say so, my lady,” he said amiably, quickly serving some for Tancred as well. “My lord Hunter,” he offered.

“Thank you, Ulrich,” he replied with a nod. Tancred and Zoe both turned away and left the warm ring around the fire, walking across the camp toward the edge of the nucleus of the place. Picking a spot carpeted with dry leaves, Zoe sat down cross-legged and blew on her steaming breakfast before taking a bite.

Tancred followed her example and for the next minutes they sat in silence, eating and watching as the camp stirred to life.

Tancred spoke at last. “Tryna and Rebekka are gone?”

“I just saw them off a little while ago,” Zoe assented. A pang of sorrow shot through her. She would miss both of them. Aimlessly she stirred her porridge around and added quietly, “It’s for the best.”

“Yes, they will be safer away from here.”

Silence followed again, building awkwardness between them. Zoe vaguely wondered how she could handle the arguments, the strained feelings, and the tension that had been between her and Tancred since day one, yet was so uncomfortable when they sat quietly together. Two nights before, at the campfire in the woods, had been torture. She closed her eyes briefly, thinking back to that night. He could see through her defenses too easily.

Again, she considered the dagger Tancred had handed her, the assassin’s weapon. Right on cue, as it had for the last couple days, uneasiness stirred to life in the pit of her stomach. There was something about that dagger that did not sit right with her. She had told part of the truth to Tancred that night: the assassin’s weapon was like the daggers she had grown up practicing with back in Braedoch. If she let her mind take her back, she could smell the forest scents and hear the thwack of her sharp knife sinking into the tree trunk…

“More to the left next time, Zoe.”

Nine-year-old Zoe frowned petulantly. “I’ve been trying all morning, Aiden! I cannot throw it right.”

“Yes, you can. Giving up so easily isn’t like you, Little Firebrand.” Aiden’s voice was firm but not impatient. “Try again...”

She extricated herself from the memory, but the ache remained like a thorn buried in her side: if she held still, the pain might dull, but the moment she moved around, it was back, sharp and intense.

What she had not admitted two night ago to Tancred in actual words but she was sure he had noticed anyway, was that the dagger from the assassin had startled her with its familiarity. It was too much like.... She paused, deeply disturbed. Too much like Aiden’s, she silently finished.

She did not know what it meant. It couldn’t be her brother’s weapon—there was no way!—but it still thrust the wedge of sorrow a little deeper into her already tattered heart. It seemed whenever she was finally beginning to repair the damage and get on with life, something would come up to tear apart all her carefully laid work. Why, Deus? What is it that keeps me so stuck in the past? I must move on, as painful as it is. I must.

“So,” Tancred began quietly.

Suddenly apprehensive that he would hit her with an unavoidably inquiry that would stab past her inner barricade, Zoe steeled herself for trouble. Clearing her throat she replied in a cool tone, “Yes?”

“I see you lost your dress.”

Relief swept through her, accompanied by a spurt of humor. “For which I am forever grateful,” she replied, forcing a bit of lightness into her tone. She could see his smile slightly out of the corner of her eye but did not turn her head. “Your mother told me these clothes are Kristalyn’s.”

“Yes. I recognize her tunic.”

“What is your sister like?” murmured Zoe, curious.

“Beautiful; strong; calm; smart. I helped train her with weapons, taught her how to track, and read the stars, showed her all my spying techniques...everything. We used to go on missions together for my father.”

Zoe’s heart snagged in mid-beat, giving an odd palpitation as she listened to him describe his younger sister. Again she could feel pain rising within her and with it, vulnerability and dreaded transparency. Tancred’s gaze was leveled on her face and she knew he was probably reading and sifting through her thoughts all too easily. Every day it seemed he moved one step closer to the truth about her. If she were not more careful he would soon have all the pieces and the puzzle would come together. And then, her privacy and painstakingly constructed defenses would crumble like dust, something she desperately wished to avoid.

At least, she thought she wished to avoid it.

Why not trust him?

Startled at the question that streaked through her, she blinked. What? Trust him with her past? She’d already been through all this already. It was her pain, her trouble, her life. Not his. She had no obligation to share it with him.

No obligation, but it would make it a lot easier on both of them if everything was laid out in the open.

Alarmed by her thoughts, she cleared her throat and nervously pushed her hair over her shoulder. I have to change the subject.

“Ahh...so, what must be done before the Elangsians arrive?” she asked in a quiet, slightly uneven voice. Bravely she met Tancred’s eyes, silently telling him: I’m not afraid of your scrutiny. You cannot see all my secrets.

His eyes darkened to cobalt and she could pick out a mixture of calculating assessment and amusement shining from their depths. Deliberately he replied, “I’m leaving to talk with King Jaeger in the main war camp this morning to see what he has in mind so that we can plan things out together. He will need some of my intelligence about the Elangsian army as well.”

“Are you taking Jaedon with you?”

“And my mother.”

“I’ll come too,” she said readily. “That is, if the king will not mind.”

Tancred chuckled and stood to his feet. “If you come with me, King Jaeger will welcome you with open arms. Any friend of mine is a friend to the king of Aerilya.”

Zoe jumped up and brushed off her clothes. “Good. When do we leave?”