Bridge of Souls (11 page)

And so Aremys Farrow of Grenadyn had been provided with an escort, a fine horse, and a message to deliver to Celimus, which he had duly done, emerging out of the Razors with his hands held high, insisting that Myrt and his other two companions do the same.

Aremys had deliberately asked Myrt to lead him as close to Felrawthy as they could get, having learned from Wyl that these Legionnaires were the least likely to shoot arrows first and ask questions later. They had entered Morgravia via a pass known as Haldor’s Tooth, which had led them into the duchy of Felrawthy, to a village mainly inhabited by soldiers about ten miles from Brynt proper. Captain Bukanan’s men were well drilled to take prisoners for interview. Aremys believed he could thank Jeryb Donal for this mercy.

He had nodded gently at Myrt to allow the Mountain Men’s hands to be bound. His too had been tied, and while the men of the Razors were led into a small dwelling, Aremys had been taken before Bukanan, who had listened to his story with an intense interest.

“A parley, you say?” the ruddy-faced Captain had repeated.

“Yes, sir. That’s the message I bring,” Aremys had confirmed.

“You understand how odd this is?”

“I do, sir. It’s why I was chosen to deliver the message. I am known to the King and he will trust me.”

Bukanan had studied him closely and finally replied: “You will remain in our care until we hear back from Pearlis.”

“I understand,” Aremys had said, smiling at the nicely couched words that really meant they were prisoners of Morgravia. “You must understand, however, that these men of the
mountains are not to be harmed in any way and are to be released the moment you receive word from King Celimus.”

“Who makes these conditions?” the captain had inquired politely, although Aremys had heard the edge in the tone.

“Cailech of the Mountain People. He insists his men are not to be compromised by King Celimus.”

“And he’s in a position to make such demands?” the Captain had asked, somewhat surprised at the audaciousness of the Mountain King.

“Captain Bukanan, I am merely the go-between for two powerful men. If my attempt to bring them together succeeds, you and I can continue our lives in peace. I think Morgravia wants peace, and what I want is to return to my life as a free man. Let us make this happen, you and I. If Cailech’s men are harmed or kept longer than he considers fair, he will call off the parley and you may well be fighting a war on two fronts—with the King of the Mountains and the Queen of Briavel—which would be a shame, don’t you agree?”

When it was put like that, Bukanan most certainly had agreed. His wife had just given birth to a son and the Captain had every intention of remaining alive to raise the child he loved with such ferocity. “We’ll accept these terms, Farrow. Although you will have little to bargain with once Cailech is on Morgravian soil—for you may be sure Celimus will not agree to go into the Razors.”

“Leave that to me,” Aremys had said cryptically.

The Captain had shrugged. “As you wish. We will dispatch our rider this instant. Make yourself comfortable among us. It will take a few days.”

L
IRYK HAD PERSONALLY ESCORTED THE WOMAN WHO CALLED HERSELF
Y
LENA
T
HIRSK TO A SMALL RECEPTION ROOM
. S
HE WAS DISHEVELED AND
spoke little, insisting that her business was with the Queen, who was expecting her. Liryk, despite the woman’s high rank, had her thoroughly searched for even the smallest of weapons. The woman gave no protest and, in fact, carried nothing with her except the riding clothes she stood in. She certainly did not resemble the famed Thirsks. Apart from the golden hair—an obvious difference—she was beautiful, not a quality the Thirsk men had been known for. Liryk noticed that she carried herself erect and proud—clearly of noble status—and her defiant gaze when he tried to question her at the guardhouse had told him she was not intimidated by him or his men. Finally he had agreed to send a runner to the Queen.

“It is up to her majesty whether she will see you,” he had cautioned.

“Rest assured, your queen will see me,” the woman had replied, and had followed the soldier in silence to the chamber. The commander recognized that this sudden visit was fraught with danger for the now precarious marriage plans. The nobles had called for Ylena Thirsk and it seemed Shar had answered Valentyna’s dearest prayers.

“Lady Ylena, my men tell me they found you in the woodland bordering the palace?”

“Yes, that is true,” Wyl replied. “I was lost, Commander Liryk, and grateful for their guidance. I have already explained that my horse fell lame in Beeching,” he lied, still a lit
tle shaky from his magical arrival into the Werryl woods. “I left it there,” he added, realizing too late that the Commander could easily check up on his story.

“And you walked from Beeching? Could you not buy another horse?”

“To tell the truth, sir, I did not have sufficient funds in my purse for that purchase. It wasn’t so far.”

“Most noblewomen would find five miles a difficult journey on foot.”

“You forget I am a Thirsk,” Wyl parried. “Even our women are tough,” he added, working hard to keep vexation from his tone.

Before Liryk could reply, the doors of the chamber burst open and Valentyna strode in, her complexion slightly flushed from her hurried passage through the palace. Wyl had been anticipating her arrival with a hammering heart, and he felt it lurch now at the sight of her. He hurriedly dropped a low bow, glad that he had the excuse of riding breeches to avoid the more feminine curtsy. “Your highness,” he murmured, his feminine voice catching in his throat. He could smell her soft scent of lavender. All he wanted to do was hold her, kiss her. He could do neither.

“Please, Ylena,” Valentyna said, equally nervous but for different reasons, “be at ease.”

Wyl looked at Valentyna’s extended hand. He could not help himself; he took the Queen’s hand in his own elegant fingers and kissed it—an unusual action for another woman. He saw her frown slightly as he looked up. Was it from consternation or had she recognized something in his eyes? He knew he was clutching at straws with such a notion. Surely all she saw before her was a ragged noblewoman.

“Thank you, your majesty, for permitting me an audience,” he offered. It was all he could trust himself to say, and he was relieved to be rescued by the arrival of a servant with a tray of refreshments.

“Truly the pleasure is mine, Ylena,” the Queen said, bafflement still evident in her expression. “Let us move to the bal
cony, shall we? It’s a lovely morning.” Valentyna led the way outside. “Liryk, you’re most welcome to stay,” she added, which of course was his cue to depart.

“I shall take my leave, your highness,” he said, and saw the Queen’s face relax at his decision. “I will leave a man outside the door should you need me again,” he added, glancing toward Ylena Thirsk. His couched message was unmistakable. The Queen nodded at him, smiled her thanks at the servant, and offered to pour her guest a glass of sweet wine; Liryk was already forgotten. The Commander departed unhappily, his mood evident in his sour expression.

If Wyl’s own sense of awkwardness was anything to judge by, Valentyna was equally unsure where to begin. He decided to take the lead.

“You have been expecting me, haven’t you, your highness?” he asked, taking the cup of wine.

“Well, yes,” Valentyna began, then shook her head slightly. “It’s an odd thing, Ylena—may I call you that?”

I’d prefer you to call me Wyl,
he thought. “Of course, your majesty. Please go on.”

“Your letter said to wait for you and to trust you would come. My nobles insisted that without you they could not believe any of the recent claims against the Morgravian King, so I prayed for your arrival. And, curiously—please don’t think me silly—”

“I would never do that,” Wyl confessed, leaning forward and taking her hand. It felt so natural to do this and yet, he realized, it would strike the Queen as odd for her guest to be so instantly familiar.

Valentyna did not appear to be discomfited by his forwardness. “Even disheveled, you’re really so beautiful—not at all like Wyl!” she exclaimed, and then burst into embarrassed laughter, covering her mouth. “My apologies, Ylena. I’m so surprised to see you my manners seem to have fled with my wits.”

Wyl laughed. How could this woman say words that would normally offend and yet coming from her they seemed like
playful affection? “Wyl was not handsome, your highness…and he knew it,” he admitted.

“Ah,” the Queen interrupted, “but Wyl, even though I knew him so briefly, was probably one of the most beautiful people on the inside that I will ever have the good fortune to meet.”

Wyl felt himself glowing at the words. “I think if my brother could eavesdrop on this conversation, your highness, he would be more thrilled than you could ever know.”

“He was so generous to my father and me,” the Queen said somberly. “I can’t quite shake the guilt of his death, knowing that he could have saved himself.”

“It’s probably not right of me to speak so openly, your highness, but Wyl was in love with you.”

Valentyna felt a hot blush stealing up her throat. “How can you know this?”

“Romen told me,” Wyl answered, and watched the Queen blink at the mention of her lover’s name. It was wrong of him to do this, but he felt a little out of control in her presence. It was dangerous, though, feeling that anything was possible. He reined in his spiraling emotions.

“How well did you know Romen?” the Queen asked tentatively.

“We were together for several days, traveling to Rittylworth and its monastery. I got to know him well during that time, as people do when they eat together, ride together, and share thoughts that two strangers might not otherwise.”

“Romen spent time here too. Did you know that he made a promise to your brother?”

“To protect us both. Yes, he told me.”

“I—I would be honest with you,” Valentyna struggled to say. “I was in love with Romen—I am still.”

Ylena would have no way of knowing this and so Wyl framed a expression of gentle surprise on her face. He nodded, wanting to make it as easy as possible for Valentyna. “I can understand that, your highness. Romen was very tender toward me and I know he was a good man despite his occupation. I can see what a fine match the two of you would make.”

Valentyna’s eyes shone at the compliment. “Truly?”

Wyl nodded, hating himself and yet loving that he could lift her spirits so.

“No one else would agree with you, Ylena,” the Queen admitted drily. “Romen might have been noble, but my realm has its collective heart set on a union between two royal households. But forgive me bleating on like this. I’m aware of your shocking losses, Ylena, and am ill at heart for you.”

Wyl lowered his head but Valentyna reached over and clasped Ylena’s hand. Her touch sent a tremor of joy through him.

“I have also heard about your courageous trip from Rittylworth to Felrawthy and know your brother would be so proud of you.”

“How have you heard this, your highness?”

“Through Crys Donal.”

Wyl moved free of her touch, surprised at such news. “Crys is here?”

The Queen nodded. “I’m sorry; perhaps I should have mentioned it earlier. There’s so much to tell.”

Wyl sat back, his pulse racing not with love now but with fear. What had occurred? “Please, tell me,” he said.

“The Donal family was murdered.”

Wyl stood abruptly, staggering slightly and gripping the balcony rail. He forced himself to breathe deeply. “You have proof?” His voice came out as a groan.

Valentyna’s reply was soft. “Yes. Their deaths were confirmed by a witness.” She paused to allow him to collect himself before she continued. “Crys was escorting Elspyth to the Briavellian border, which is how he escaped being killed too.” Valentyna’s voice was trembling. “It was Pil—the novice…You know of whom I speak?”

Wyl nodded without turning to look at her. He could not bring himself to explain that Ylena and Pil had traveled together.

“It was Pil who found Elspyth and Crys and alerted them to the tragedy, and Elspyth insisted the new Duke of Felrawthy accompany her to Werryl.”

Wyl could not make his throat respond. It felt closed and as dry as tinderbush.

“My apologies, Ylena, I should have started from the beginning,” Valentyna said. “It has been a shock for us all.”

“Was it Celimus?” Wyl croaked.

“Apparently so. The men wore his colors, according to Pil and Lady Donal.”

He swung around. “Lady Donal lives?”

Valentyna shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, no. She died of her wounds, but the brave woman got herself as far as Brackstead, bringing the—” She stopped abruptly, realizing that what she had been about to say would only upset Ylena more.

“Bringing what?” Wyl insisted.

Valentyna stood, offered her hand, and ended up gently embracing her guest. She spoke softly. “Ylena…let me start again and tell you everything I know.”

Wyl nodded glumly.

“Let’s walk. I’ll find it easier to revisit this painful story if I’m moving.” She found a thin smile, but it was not returned by her guest. “Come, let us stroll in the gardens…if you’re not too tired?”

“I’m not,” Wyl said, numb from the shocking news but still glad for any time he could share with Valentyna. “Where is Crys now?”

“I’ll send for him so you two can meet after our walk.”

“And Elspyth—she’s here too, I presume?”

At this the Queen paused and searched for the right words. She found nothing of comfort. Instead she spoke to Ylena in a straightforward fashion. “She disappeared during the night. You missed her by hours.”

Wyl could no longer be shocked. He raised weary eyes to meet the searching blue gaze of the tall woman before him. “She’s gone after Lothryn, then,” he said, resigned.

“You know of him?”

He nodded. “What a mess,” he murmured. “What a shocking mess my life is.”

Valentyna did not understand the depth of his comment, but
she nodded gently and took her guest’s thin arm. “Come, the gardens will revive you even though what I have to tell you might not.”

T
he two women, strikingly different in appearance, strolled quietly through the peaceful herb gardens. The dark of Valentyna’s hair contrasted with the gold of Ylena’s. Both were in riding clothes and Valentyna was quietly delighted that the noblewoman walking alongside her had not so much as blinked at her appearance. It struck her as odd, because most women she met were surprised that she preferred this masculine garb, and Ylena seemed the kind of fragile beauty who would be horrified to appear in anything but a perfectly tailored outfit. Yet here she was, entirely unself-conscious in dusty trews, her hair tied back, her face smudged and fingernails hastily but not successfully cleaned. It did not match up with the woman she had imagined. Fynch had given her such a detailed description of Wyl’s beautiful sister, how elegant and sophisticated she was, that it hardly seemed this could be the same person walking beside her. Of course, Valentyna reminded herself, Ylena had been through considerable trauma in recent weeks, and she was of Thirsk stock. The bloodline had to prevail, she reasoned. And it was true that Ylena reminded her more and more of the Wyl she had known so briefly.

She spared the young woman none of the details, telling her everything she knew of what had happened in Morgravia.

“Where is Alyd’s head now?” Ylena asked. Valentyna was surprised by both the forthrightness of the question and the young woman’s control. She had expected an outburst of grief, but Ylena had shed not a single tear.

“Ylena, I know this is very difficult for you,” the Queen began, trying to step gently around the tender subject of Alyd Donal’s remains. “I will do whatever you wish.”

“Bury him here,” Wyl said without hesitation. “Tenterdyn is
soiled with enough blood of its own. Let him lie alongside his mother.”

Valentyna nodded. “That’s how Crys felt about Aleda. He wanted her to belong here for the time being.” They had made several revolutions of the herb garden now. “Are you tired?”

“I must be but I couldn’t sleep anyway,” Wyl replied, shaking his head. “All of this news is shattering, but there are plans to make. Tell me about Celimus, your highness.”

Bemused by her enthusiasm to share her anxieties with this woman, who could do little to help her, Valentyna told Ylena everything she knew.

“I can’t believe Krell would do such a thing,” Wyl said, alarmed at how rapidly the situation in Briavel had deteriorated.

“If you had known him, you would understand how very accurate your comment is,” Valentyna agreed. “It was foolish beyond belief and so out of character for him to do something so rash. Celimus now knows everything.”

“Not everything, my queen,” Wyl cautioned, and Valentyna could hardly believe the thrill the fighting words sent through her. “He has no idea where I am. We must keep it that way.”

“But it will soon get out. If I have spies in Morgravia, Briavel is surely riddled with his watchers.”