Chapter XLI - Aftermath

This is a nice long chapter to make up for the length of time between this and the last post. Hope you enjoy!

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The sweet, golden trill of the Aerilyan horns rang across the field. Tancred threaded his way through the lines of the Aerilyans, the afternoon sun casting everything in bright light, and called for order. “The horn is blown! Let them flee, unmolested!”

His voice grew hoarse as he galloped on and the trumpet continued to sound. The panicked Elangsians fled, and the Aerilyans reluctantly slowed their attack. They were loathe to lay down their arms when victory was so obviously won. But because it was already won, more bloodshed was unnecessary.

“Tancred!”

Prince Garrick’s cry came from Tancred’s right and Tancred turned his head to see the prince’s mare fall in stride with Chale. Tancred pulled the reins back slightly and Chale slowed to a trot, blowing noisily from his run.

The prince’s dark eyes were alight with emotion and he said, “We won! By the Almighty, Tancred—we won.”

“By the Almighty indeed; without Him it would have been unattainable. As it is, the price of victory is almost too great to pay.” His last words were uttered so quietly they were almost impossible to hear. His throat tightened as he remembered Jaedon’s death. The battle was over, yes; but there was so much that remained to be resolved.

Abruptly, Tancred pulled Chale to a sudden halt and cocked his head, listening. The terrified cries of the Elangsians had slowly lessened and now began to fade completely. What changed?

Garrick also stopped. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Tancred replied as he scanned the lines of Elangsian army tents, half of them overturned and trampled. He frowned as he noticed that the Elangsians had mostly stopped their retreat. Why? What had caused them to stop?

A glimmer of white caught his gaze. Tancred narrowed his eyes against the light of the sun and made out two distinct forms riding through the Elangsian army toward him. One bore a tall, hastily fashioned banner of white cloth. The other wore a long, green kirtle that fluttered in the breeze as they rode closer.

“Ach, it’s the princess of the filthy enemy,” growled a soldier to Tancred’s right.

Instantly Tancred knew the man was right—it was Brastus’s daughter, Princess Brysa Alustate. He had not seen her for a couple months, but the black-haired beauty was difficult to forget. And riding beside her was.... Tancred’s lips thinned with faint, cynical amusement. I should have known it would be Zoe. He was not sure he really wanted to know how she had gotten all the way to the other side of the Elangsians’ camp and contacted the princess.

But, on that subject, he thought abruptly, why is the princess here? She ought to be back at Ruma.

“Did you know the princess was present in their camp?” he asked Prince Garrick.

The prince shook his head. “No.” Squinting back toward the riders, he observed, “She is here to negotiate for terms, though. She must know her father has fallen.”

By way of my sword, thought Tancred. He wondered if Garrick was aware of how Brastus had died.

Brysa and Zoe rode closer and Tancred thought of what an odd pair they made. Zoe was streaked with dirt, dried blood, and battle-grime. Her weapons were sheathed and her right hand firmly grasped the long wooden shaft that held up the white banner. In contrast, Brysa looked clean and fair to the eye, dressed in a gown that was simple but finely cut, revealing her shapely form. A circlet of gold sat on her brow. The quick gleam of the sun upon a golden hilt at her waist told Tancred that the princess was not as helpless as she appeared. She wore a weapon of some sort.

“She’s armed,” he warned Garrick, heeling his horse forward.

“But she rides under the banner of peace,” the prince pointed out. Garrick glanced to their left and added, “There’s my father with Kane.”

Tancred and Garrick fell in line with King Jaeger and General Kane a moment later. Zoe and Brysa rode directly toward them, the men parting for them to ride through. Various expressions—ranging from awe, to disgust, to hostility—were written across the faces of the soldiers. Tancred’s eyes roved them, watching for raised weapons. Though the white banner signified parlay, a fool might take it into his head to try to strike down the princess, or the king, or the prince.

The Elangsian princess and Zoe stopped about ten paces in front of them. Tancred’s gaze ran over Brysa perfunctorily but zeroed in on Zoe. For a moment, their eyes locked; almost immediately, however, Zoe disengaged them and deliberately focused on the king, prince, and general.

Brysa dipped her head at them. “My lords of Aerilya,” she said in a strong but not abrasive voice, “I am Brysa Elain Alustate, Lady Maid of the Court, Servant of the Crown, and Princess of Elangsia. I bid you welcome.”

“Princess Alustate,” King Jaeger acknowledged her and then began his own formal address. “I am Trystallen Jaeger, Lord of the lands from Mairbrac to the Cirthian Mountains, King of Aerilya—and Servant of Deus. You have my most cordial welcome. You ride under the white flag, my lady. Do have authority to speak for your people?”

“My father has fallen and no general has come to fill the place of protector and leader. As princess of my people, I am here to advocate for their safety...” Brysa’s blue eyes shone as she paused and then finished, “even if it costs me my life.”

The king smiled. “I assure you, that is a cost I will not exact from you. Have you terms to propose?”

“I do, my lord.”

Tancred was impressed by the young woman’s poise in such a situation. Brysa’s gaze flicked from the king to him for a moment and she paused. He wondered if she recognized him. He had attended her engagement banquet, so his face might be familiar to her, though he rather doubted it. Still, the expression on her face caused him to speculate.

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His face. I have seen him before.

Brysa looked long on the face of the broad-shouldered Aerilyan man, but could not place him. As they had ridden down to meet the Aerilyan lords, Zoe had murmured the names and ranks of all the men. This man was Tancred; sometimes known as Cormac Alstair but usually as the Hunter of Mairbrac. He was the one whom Brysa’s father had longed to kill, and whom Brysa had tried to find when he was in Ruma. As far as Brysa knew, she had never met the Hunter. But he looked so familiar she could not help but wonder.

Shaking her head a little, her long hair tangling in the wind, Brysa looked back at the Aerilyan king. He asked for terms. Answer him before your distraction causes a problem.

“I seek to end the war between Aerilya and Elangsia,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm. “As of today, the battles and turmoil must cease. My people and I will search for ways to live peaceably with the Aerilyans. I ask that you and your men return to your lands, and that mine be allowed the same courtesy.”

“What of the Aerilyans who are held as slaves in your land, my lady?”

The questioned was uttered by the prince of Aerilya, Garrick Jaeger. Prince Garrick sat firmly on his white mare beside the Hunter, his bearing noble but not stiff. His brown gaze locked challengingly with her own, prompting a quick, firm reply from Brysa.

“A proclamation will be sent through Elangsia, freeing all slaves and giving them leave to return to their homes.”

Those brown eyes did not release her. “You will see this done?”

A little surprised by his tone, Brysa lifted her chin. “I will see it done,” she responded coolly. Turning her head regally back to the king, she added, “I understand you hold a certain number of Elangsian prisoners of war in your country. I ask that they be released. In exchange, I will free what prisoners we have.”

He nodded. “Aye, my lady. Now I must know: what of the Wild Men? Were they not to join your forces on the battlefield?”

“To be quite honest, I do not know where they are,” she said quietly. “They were supposed to arrive to aid my people at the conclusion of the battle.”

“Do you wish they had come?” the prince spoke again.

Brysa looked at him, her forehead furrowing slightly. What sort of a question is that at a peace treaty? she wondered. The time of wishes is past, if it ever was truly here. Negotiating our current situation is the purpose of this meeting.

Lifting her chin slightly, she inquired, “What is your interest in that, my lord?”

He cocked one dark brow at her. “If they had made it here, you likely would have won today,” he pointed out. “My question is simple: do you wish the Wild Men had come?”

Why did she feel as if this outspoken young prince was testing her? Brysa clenched her steed’s reins tightly. “If they had come, Elangsia may have won, you are correct. But that victory would have been hollow indeed for me, seeing as I was to be sent back to Rulaan as the wife and war prize of their Prince Jaquin—a fate I would not wish upon any woman.” Her eyes flashed at Prince Garrick and she finished coldly, “Now, is my willingness to negotiate terms of peace acceptable in your eyes, my lord prince, or am I still to be regarded with mistrust even when I ride beneath the white banner?”

Something darted through his eyes—amusement? Respect? Both?—almost too quick for Brysa to identify it. “Nay, my lady,” he said softly. “I see that your motives are pure.”

Pleased at his admission but unwilling to show it, Brysa turned her face away from him again. “I will organize my camp, then, my lords, and request that you withdraw your own troops.” Weariness abruptly swept over her, but she finished strongly: “Further negotiations may be conducted upon your earliest convenience. I will remain here until everything is concluded to the satisfaction of all.”

“As you wish, princess,” assented King Jaeger. Without a further word he and the general dipped their heads at her, turned their steeds away, and rode off.

Brysa glanced over at Zoe and received a brilliant smile. “You did it,” Zoe murmured with fierce joy. “Everything is going to work out now.”

Now that the actual deed of meeting with the king was finished, Brysa felt weak in the knees at the thought of what she had just done. I conferred with the king of Aerilya. I ended the war.

“I ended the war,” she whispered her thoughts in a shaky voice.

“You did.” Zoe’s voice was warm and approving. “We must spread the word far and wide. Do you have emissaries that you can send throughout Elangsia?”

“Yes,” Brysa nodded, still in shock. “I will make sure that is done by this evening.”

Zoe nodded.

Brysa raised her head and caught the dark blue gaze of the Hunter. Curiosity grabbed hold of her. “Your Hunter is very young. Younger than I ever imagined him.”

“He is not ‘my’ Hunter.” Zoe cast a glance in the direction of Tancred and the Aerilyan prince. “And yes; he is young,” she added simply.

There was something about the undertones to Zoe’s voice that piqued Brysa’s interest. Tearing her gaze from Tancred, she studied Zoe’s face, which was a study of emotions that swirled together beneath a thin veneer of restraint. An old memory rose to the surface of Brysa’s mind, intriguing her anew. When Zoe had first been brought as a captive into the palace of Ruma, Brysa had inquired if she was the Hunter’s lover. Zoe had scoffed at the suggestion then, clearly considering the notion utter madness.

And yet....

Brysa’s shrewd eyes slid back to the Hunter. He was speaking to the prince in a quiet tone, but he seemed distracted. A moment later he turned his head away from Prince Garrick and met Zoe’s gaze head-on, seemingly oblivious to the armies and people around them.

He fancies her. Brysa knew little of love, at least not firsthand, but she had seen enough star-crossed lovers among Elangsia’s noblemen and women to recognize the look in Tancred Ralyn’s eyes. His affection was there, plain for anyone to see if they were willing to look for it. And judging by the way Zoe pointedly looked away from Tancred’s piercing blue gaze not half a moment later, Brysa guessed she was not yet willing to see it.

“I will be returning to my own camp this evening,” Zoe said, breaking into Brysa’s musings. “I’ll see you soon though. Finishing up negotiations will take a while. It could be a few days before we leave the plain here.”

The finality of it all hit Brysa with sudden clarity. Soon, she would return to Ruma, and of course Zoe would not go with her. Their reunion had been pleasant, but separation loomed once again.

It was as if Zoe read her thoughts. “You may not be traveling to Ruma alone,” she stated quietly.

Brysa swiftly looked up. “What do you mean?”

“I have certain...unresolved business in your city,” Zoe said vaguely, a cool light shining from her eyes.

“Unresolved business,” Brysa repeated questioningly, arching a brow.

“There is a man, a slaver I must find. He took something from me long ago that I swore I would regain.”

The soft thump of hooves sounded and Brysa noticed out of the corner of her eye that Prince Garrick Jaeger and Tancred Ralyn were riding closer. She did not turn toward them yet, however, wishing to get a straight answer out of Zoe. “What is his name? I shall see he is punished for whatever misdeeds he has done to you.”

“His livelihood shall be destroyed once you abolish the slave trade,” Zoe said with a slight smile. “That will be punishment enough, I think. No, my quarrel with him involves a personal matter.”

Brysa’s brow puckered. “But who is he?”

“His name is Terrance Grant,” Tancred answered before Zoe could reply. “He owns a residence in Ruma.”

Forced to acknowledge their presence now that they had entered the conversation, Brysa inclined her head toward the two men. “Terrance Grant? How do you know the name of the slaver, my lord?”

“I bought Zoe from him a year ago,” Tancred said quietly. “I remembered his name and dwelling place for my own purposes.”

A flicker of surprise ran over Zoe’s face, almost too quick for Brysa to catch it, but obviously the foreign girl was taken aback by Tancred’s statement. Curious about the story she felt lurked just beneath the surface of the conversation but intelligent enough to know that now was not the time or place to hear a tale even if they were willing to tell it, Brysa looked down. Vaguely she was aware that Zoe and Tancred nudged their horses a few steps away and starting a conversation in low tones, but she could not discern what they were saying.

When she glanced up again, she was met with Prince Garrick’s unswerving gaze. “Well met, Princess Alustate,” Garrick greeted her in a low tone. “Your countrymen fought well on the field of battle these last days.”

“As did yours,” she said a trifle reluctantly. “That is evidenced by the reality of which side ultimately won the conflict.”

“But I gather you realize that this is not about who won or lost anymore; it’s about ending a conflict that has spanned a generation.”

“Yes,” she assented quickly. She had a lot to learn about what to say during a conference between a former enemy and herself. With each of her words, she had the ability to graciously extend forgiveness and tenuous trust toward her new allies, or drive the years-old wedge of strife even deeper between them. “I trust our interactions with Aerilya will be strictly peaceful from now on. I will see to it that all Elangsia upholds our end of the bargain.”

“I’m sure you will, my lady.” The prince smiled at her, an easy expression that softened his features. “I must tell you, I was impressed by your cool judgment and quick wit while negotiating with my father.”

“Thank you,” she replied, keeping her tone appropriately cool though she felt pleased by his praise. “Your questions posed to me were very...direct.”

Garrick’s eyes flickered. “I wished to see if you were to be trusted.”

“And are you quite satisfied with what you found?” she asked, feeling unexpectedly tense as she waited for his reply.

“Quite,” he nodded. Another smile flitted across his face, larger than the first one, and Brysa was astonished by how striking he looked with the golden sun highlighting his dark curls and lending an extra twinkle to his deep brown eyes. His teeth were white and straight, contrasting with the tanned hue of his skin. He was a warrior-prince; yet even after the battle he seemed clean-cut and...appealing.

His grin deepened and she realized he was reading her like an open book. Furious with herself—and her treacherous thoughts—she pulled back on her horse’s reins abruptly, backing the mare up a few steps.

“Stay, lady,” he said swiftly, riding forward to make up for the distance she had put between them. His countenance was serious again. “I have one question more for you. This prince you are pledged to, the prince of the Wild Men: does he yet live?”

She scanned Garrick with her features schooled to reveal nothing of the revulsion and fear she felt each time she thought of Prince Jaquin. “I do not know,” she finally answered. “As you know, he and his people were supposed to arrive here to assist us in the battle. That is why I am here; my father promised me as Jaquin’s reward once the battle was finished.” She reached up to brush a long black strand of hair out of her eyes and shrugged. “They never came.”

“And you are glad,” he finished.

She just looked at him, one brow raised. I’m not about to confirm to him that he can not only see right through my face and words, but he accurately sees what is beneath them.

“I would be glad if I stood in your stead,” he said quietly. “You are too fair a treasure to be the prize of a man who would not truly value you, Lady Brysa.”

Shocked by his words, Brysa just stared at him. By heaven, this man was direct with his words! Unsure of how to respond, she merely looked away and felt a slow, hot flush begin to work its way up her face.

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Not long after, Zoe, Tancred, and Prince Garrick parted ways with Brysa and turned back to the Aerilyan camp. Zoe and Tancred spent the remainder of the day there, staying close to the king and prince as messengers and scouts were sent throughout Aerilya. As the sun began to slip behind the edge of the world, Zoe glimpsed riders issuing out from the Elangsian camp in a similar manner. They would tell Elangsia of the battle’s outcome, along with the edict from Brysa that would free all the Aerilyan slaves. King Jaeger had also decided, after sending a couple messages back and forth to Brysa, that he and a contingent of Aerilyans would accompany the remainder of the Elangsian army to Ruma for a few days to finish solemnizing the peace treaty.

“I will come too,” Tancred stated after hearing the plan.

King Jaeger looked up at Tancred and raised his eyebrows. “You’ve earned your rest, Ralyn,” he said. “The war is over. Go home.” He did not say the words unkindly but gently, as if he were grateful that he could at last release the Hunter from his duties.

Tancred refused. “I’ll stay with you until this is finished. The trip to Ruma and back will take but two weeks. I can wait that much longer before leaving your side.”

Zoe noted that though Tancred’s attitude was respectful, his jaw was set with determination. Nothing the king says will sway him, she thought with the faintest touch of amusement.

Apparently Trystellan Jaeger realized that as well; he did not argue further, and the matter was settled.

Dusk fell over the land; slowly stars began to peep forth, shedding their light across the land below. The bodies of Aerilyan and Elangsian soldiers burned, smoke and flames wafting up toward the darkened sky from the countless pyres lit across the plain. The smell permeated everything, lacing the air with a tangible reminder of the death that surrounded those who remained.

Yet despite the sorrowful atmosphere that wrapped around them, commemorating those who had passed on, Zoe and Tancred had bid farewell to the king and Garrick and ridden almost all the way back to the Hunter’s camp before realization hit Zoe.

Pulling back on her horse’s reins, she sucked in a deep, painful breath. “Jaedon!” she breathed.

Tancred stopped Chale and looked back at her. The moonlight was strong and growing stronger, allowing her to see the hurt that flashed through his eyes. Horror washed over her, incapacitating her. Not Jaedon, please not Jaedon... Her body trembled as insight continued rolling over her like gigantic waves, the ebb and flow of emotion growing stronger with each surge. Shaking, she slid off her horse and laid her hands on its neck, her wide eyes seeking Tancred’s. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have missed the presence of the kindly older warrior for so long?

“Where’s Jaedon?” she asked in a croaking whisper. She knew the answer as well as Tancred’ but refused to believe it until he told her the truth plainly.

Tancred dismounted Chale and looped the stallion’s reins over his arm. He walked toward her, but Zoe backed away, clutching her own horse’s reins. “No,” she murmured. “No.”

He stopped. “Zoe.” He spoke her name in a tender voice that merely served to further confuse her already riotous emotions, uttering both syllables of Zoe with care, as if her name was a precious word to him.

“He’s not dead,” she whispered, on the verge of tears. “He’s too strong, too brave. He was a protector, a warrior, a fighter. He’s not dead.”

“Jaedon died fighting for his country,” Tancred said in the same quiet, calm voice.

How could he be so composed when his best friend had died that day? Abba, why? Why did you take him? Zoe wanted to scream the words aloud but desperately struggled for self-control. Tancred’s calm. You can do this too, Zoe. Be strong. Block it out. Block it out—

This time her inner monologue did not work. Tears sprang into her eyes without warning and began streaming down her cheeks. But no, she could not break down here, not with Tancred watching her. Zoe abruptly turned away. Silently she stood there, scalding tears blazing a path down her cheeks, fighting to keep her agony from his knowledge and scrutiny.

A strong hand touched her shoulder.

For a moment she fought Tancred’s touch, trying to wrench her shoulder free, but his firm yet simultaneously gentle grip did not release her. Inexorably he turned her back around, so that she was facing him. Stubbornly she glared at the ground, unwilling to lift her face to his. He’ll see the tears; my weakness. I will not let him...

His finger lifted her unwilling chin. Her eyes clenched shut, closing him out.

“Look at me, Zoe.”

She refused, trying to jerk her chin free from his grip. Again he was not dissuaded but continued to hold her in place in the same calm, almost gentle way.

“Open your eyes.”

Finally she obeyed. Her gaze was instantly captured by his. The moonlight glowed on his features: highlighting his cheekbones, the shadow of a beard dusting his firm jaw, and his piercing deep-set eyes.

“When will you see?” he asked her, his voice husky as he looked down at her with an unfathomable expression on his face.

She swallowed past the huge, painful lump in her throat. “See what?” she asked thinly.

“That you don’t have to do this alone.”

“I don’t think—” she began to protest in a ragged voice, but when he dropped his hand from her chin and shook his head at her, she cut herself off.

“Don’t try to hide your feelings,” he commanded softly. “Besides, your tears and pain are nothing to conceal. It’s good for you to mourn. Jaedon’s death is...” his voice caught for the barest moment, then regained its even tone, “it is a grievous blow to us all. For once, Zoe, don’t do this on your own.”

She just stared at him, her cheeks shimmering and throat painfully constricted.

Emotion flashed across his face, swift but intense. “You chose to trust me just a few days earlier. You told me about your family and your past. Blocking me out now is just going to throw up the wall that took years to tear down.”

I don’t want to block you out! she yearned to scream at him. But I don’t want to let you in, either. There’s too much uncertainty, too much I don’t understand. Who are you, Tancred Ralyn? What do you want of me? I feel like you’re asking me for something, but what is it?

Suddenly Lance’s words from the battlefield earlier that day flashed back to Zoe and she involuntarily quivered. “Ask him! Ask Tancred himself. He will tell you he cares for you.”

Stark terror fell over her like a thick, wet blanket. I cannot ask him that! He would laugh me to scorn.

Tancred saw her shudder and his hands came to rest on each of her armored shoulders. “What is it?”

“I...cannot tell you,” she whispered at last.

“Cannot, or will not?”

Closing her eyes, she deliberately stepped back. His hands fell away from her. “Cannot.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Zoe’s eyes snapped open. Tancred’s voice, still even, was nevertheless underscored with what sounded like cold, unyielding...fury. She drew herself up, her fingers tightening around her horse’s reins.

“I don’t lie, Tancred.”

“You’re lying right now,” he countered.

She looked away, calculating if she could duck around him and make a getaway without having to finish this conversation.

“Don’t even think about it. You wouldn’t make it ten steps.”

Angry, her gaze flew back to him. “I made it to the other side of the battlefield when I tried to get to Aiden yesterday, and you couldn’t stop me!”

“I didn’t stop you.”

“What’s the difference?” she snorted.

“You implied I was incapable of stopping you. I’m clarifying that I could have, but chose not to.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“Because I had a small hope that perhaps that man really was your brother and you could reunite with him.”

“Oh, you were looking about for my happiness, even in the middle of a battle?” She tossed the barb scornfully, feeling irrational anger taking over.

“Yes,” he growled, stepping closer without warning. He released Chale’s reins, and the stallion dropped his head and cropped at the grass, apparently unconcerned about the swelling argument. Before Zoe could back up to compensate for the space Tancred was invading, his arms shot out and grabbed her shoulders again.

Giving her a faint shake, he demanded, “I am a patient man, Zoe, but this borders on lunacy. How much more do you require? What do you want proven? Every time we grow closer and you start to trust me, you always try to run away. That’s what is so ironic to me. You run away from nothing and no one—no one!—except for me. Why?” His eyes blazed in the moonlight like iridescent sapphires. “Why is that?

In the face of his unexpected anger, Zoe rallied herself for a fight. Instead of feeling the heat of renewed anger rush through her, however, her emotions began to ebb away and fade, leaving cool remorse and quiet surprise in its place. She had never seen such a display from Tancred before.

“Because...” she began in a wavering voice and then stopped. Why did she run away from Tancred? He was right, she never backed down from anything if she could help it, but with him she had made a habit of taking the nearest escape route whenever he was close to her or her emotions. The one notable exception had been several nights ago when she told him about the banishment.

“Because why?” he said after an elongated pause. His strong fingers dug into her upper arms, despite the protection of her leather guards. “Finish your answer.”

“Fine,” she said, giving in. “It’s because you challenge me.”

He laughed harshly, still scrutinizing her ruthlessly. “So? You don’t let that stop you with anything else.”

“It’s true, anyway.” She drilled him with her green gaze and took a deep breath. “You’re strong and smart. Despite my training and expertise, I have to fight within an inch of my life to stay afloat. And usually despite my efforts, I lose control anyway.”

“Why must you control everything?”

“I don’t try to control everything!”

“No? Why then did you despise me when we first met?”

She hesitated and her coming words wedged in her throat. She had despised him because he bought her. While his action saved her from a different, worse fate, she nevertheless begrudged him because he had done something she could not be in charge of.

“You still carry vestiges of resentment towards me, don’t you?” he stated in a low tone. “That’s why you’re unwilling to trust me, to relinquish control.”

She wanted to refute him, but found she could not speak.

“It has to be that.” Tancred’s voice seemed dead, completely emotionless. “There is no other explanation. You say you run from me because I am strong and smart—yet Jaedon was strong and smart and you were completely comfortable with him.”

The thought of Jaedon, dead, swept over Zoe again. “Jaedon was different” was all she managed to breathe out. Again her throat tightened like a noose and she swallowed painfully.

“Why was he different?”

He was like the father I never had. You, on the other hand, are hardly a father figure to me. The answer was on the tip of her tongue but she held back, for she could almost hear the question Tancred would pose after she said it—“If I’m not a father figure, than what am I?”—and she did not want to have to deal with that. Not now. Maybe never.

“Zoe?”

Lance’s words floated back again, resonating mockingly in her head. “...ask Tancred yourself...he will tell you he cares for you.”

Extreme weariness and sorrow buffeted Zoe, and suddenly she could not take it any more. “I don’t know,” she moaned in reply. “I just don’t know anymore.”

Her hands came up and covered her face. She would have cried had she not already exhausted her supply of tears. Dry, empty pain pulsed through her with each beat of her heart. How could she feel so badly when the war was over and peace was coming? But peace without Jaedon? Peace when there’s this barrier between Tancred and me that I cannot understand and therefore cannot fix? when I’m hopelessly confused by myself? What peace is that?

His iron-like grip on her shoulders loosened and then dropped away. Almost immediately she sensed him stepping a little closer, and then his arms encircled her. For a long moment she resisted, standing stiffly in the haven of his embrace. Finally, however, she relented. Her hands slipped away from her face and around his back. Her cheek pressed against the embroidered fabric of his tabard; beneath the cloth she could feel the hard, linked chains of his mail shirt. How can I resist him so staunchly one moment, then accept his embrace the next? How can he be angry and frustrated with me, then brim with compassion? It made no sense, but his silent comfort felt so good to her bruised emotions that she could not move away.

As she stood there, images of Jaedon began flashing through her mind and again she began to tremble. Powerful, dry sobs shook her like a doll, weakening her to the point of despair. “I am going to miss him...so bad,” she managed to gasp out in the midst of her sorrow, clenching her eyes shut and balling her hands into fists where they laid against Tancred’s back.

She felt his cheek resting on the top of her head. “Zoe,” he sighed, his voice deep and reassuring. “It’s okay. We’re all mourning him. We all have to. It’s okay.”

He did not say anything more but simply stood there like a rock and sheltered her as she shuddered out her pain and sorrow. At any other time she would have drawn away soon after and returned to the camp. But now, with death and pain so near, she took what comfort was offered her. Though she could not pretend to understand everything about this man who held her—the Hunter of Mairbrac who relentlessly challenged yet calmed her—right now she knew that he was there to help her.

And it felt good to accept it.