Bridge of Souls (46 page)

“I think I knew it then. Your sister showed too many masculine traits—habits I recognized as belonging to Romen. But I just couldn’t make myself believe something so incredible. And so,” she continued for him, “Ylena lost her fight again and became King Cailech; is that right, Wyl?”

To hear her speak his true name was more than he had ever dreamed. He kissed her, stroking her hair. “That’s right,” he said. “I’m Wyl. I’m so sorry for lying to you, but I was just trying to protect you.”

“From myself,” she said harshly, “because I wouldn’t accept
the existence of magic.” She thought of all the occasions Fynch had tried so hard to convince her.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Wyl urged. “I would not have believed it either had it not happened to me.”

“But you see, Wyl, others believed you—I presume Aremys knows?” He nodded. “You see. You have people who trust you. I hate that I did not.”

“You didn’t know!” he said, desperate not to upset her any further.

“I saw the clues. It was all there for me. Knave did everything but speak to me,” she cried. “But…if you were Romen, does that mean that Romen wasn’t real?”

“Oh no, Valentynta, no! Don’t cry. Romen was real, as real as I am here. I was Romen; he was me. It’s me, Wyl, who loves you, who said all of those things to you as Romen.”

“You,” the Queen said, dazed. “Wyl Thirsk. Poor redheaded Wyl.”

“That’s right,” he whispered, sad to feel her draw away from him. “It’s always been me. I stopped you giving yourself to Romen that night; I planned the feast celebrations; I gave you the dove mask and told you I loved you. I wore the black mask and fought Celimus. I would have killed him too, if not for you. It broke my heart to see my betrayal reflected in your eyes.”

She stared back at him, wanting to believe but struggling to absorb such shattering news. He understood.

“Know this, Valentyna. Whatever happens now, I have loved you with all my heart. I love you now and I will love you forever, whoever I am. There is nothing you could ever do to make me feel another way, and I shall never give my heart to another. It is yours.”

Valentyna sighed. She was too overwhelmed. She had no more words.

He rescued her. “May I tell you my plan?”

She hesitated, then seemed to relax. “I don’t really know how to reply to your sweet words. I…I loved Romen, and I cannot give you—whoever you are—up.”

Wyl nodded, afraid, yet daring to hope she might be able to love him back.

“Wyl,” she began again, but was interrupted by a frantic knocking. Her soft expression turned to one of terror. “Quick, we must dress!”

Wyl was into his few garments in moments, and was impressed at how quickly and deftly the Queen slipped into her gown despite the intimidating banging on the door. “Stall for time,” he hissed, helping her button the back.

Valentyna was about to call some excuse for the delay when the door burst open and Aremys rushed into the room. He took in the scene in a second and a look of deep apology swept across his face, but the palpable sense of fear that entered the room with him caused all three to forget their embarrassment.

Valentyna was at his side rapidly, praying to Shar that none of her men would notice her dishevelment or guess that her gown was still undone at the back. “We’ll be fine, thank you,” she said, closing the door on the anxious guards.

“What is it?” Wyl asked, stepping to Valentyna’s side and finishing off the buttons on her dress.

“Celimus,” Aremys answered. He could not hide the distress in his voice.

“What? Here?” Valentyna rushed to the windows.

“I’m afraid so. Come on, Wyl, we leave now!”

“You called him Wyl,” Valentyna said, turning from the window and the riders flying Legion colors below. It was true, then. Out of Wyl’s affectionate embrace, the intimate moment lost, the reality felt harsh and suddenly ridiculous.

Aremys shrugged, sheepish. “Well, your highness, I assume he has told you the truth. Is that right, Wyl?”

Wyl nodded, glancing toward the Queen with a heavy heart. It was over so soon…before he had even had a chance to put his plan into action.

“Wyl!” Aremys repeated. “We must go, now! My apologies, your highness.”

Wyl did not move.

“Go!” Valentyna urged, catching Farrow’s infectious anxiety. “Please. The Legion is entering the palace.”

“Is Celimus here?”

“I don’t know. I can’t—”

Aremys interrupted, angry now. “He’s here in person, Wyl. I beg you, let’s go.”

King Cailech took some time to right his clothes, then a calm smile broke across the rugged face that truly reflected the mountain region that had raised him. “This is meant to be, Aremys,” he said, voice soft and sad. “This is it, the culmination of Myrren’s Gift.”

“No!” the Grenadyne yelled, striding toward his friend. “We can escape. If you won’t think about yourself, think about Valentyna and how your presence here will reflect on her.”

Wyl had not considered how Celimus might react to finding him here. Aremys was right: He had to leave, if just to protect Valentyna from any suggestion that she was consorting with the enemy behind the Morgravian King’s back.

“What are you talking about?” Valentyna said. “Why is this meant to be?”

Aremys caught the stern glance from Wyl and knew this was one secret he had not shared. The mercenary shrugged; he knew when to keep his own counsel.

Liryk saved them further argument by barging in, all protocol disregarded. He was startled to see Aremys. “Who let you in, Farrow?”

“I let myself in, Commander. I lied to your guards; they let me through.”

“This is preposterous, your majesty,” Liryk blustered. “I am supposed to be taking care of your security and it seems anyone can come and go as they please.”

Valentyna took charge, concerned now that Celimus might catch her in Cailech’s company. “Liryk? What did you come here to tell me?” Her tone brooked no further delay.

The Commander adopted a formal tone old Chancellor
Krell would have be proud of. “My queen, I am here to tell you that King Celimus has just arrived in the bailey.”

Valentyna took a steadying breath. “Thank you. King Cailech cannot be seen here and I need to…tidy up.”

Liryk frowned, still flustered at finding Farrow in the room with them.
If only he knew what had happened,
Wyl thought. It would have been safer for Valentyna had Farrow been there all along.

“King Cailech,” Liryk said, “I will organize an escape route and divert the Morgravian party, but you must leave now. You have made your peace with Celimus—now let us make ours!” The vehemence in his voice surprised them all. “Your majesty, please go ahead to your chambers. I will let your husband-to-be know that you are not far away.” He emphasized the word “husband,” taking in her disheveled clothes and the heightened color in her cheeks. Looking around the room, he saw that the rug was crumpled and the lavender stalks strewn on the floor were crushed in one spot. Their fragrance overlay another one he knew well from places like the Forbidden Fruit…no, he certainly did not want to take his thoughts down that path. One more day and Valentyna would be on her way to Pearlis, where she would marry King Celimus and finally unite the two realms. Liryk would permit nothing to get in the way of that vision.

Valentyna felt cornered. She nodded at Liryk. “Thank you, Commander.” Then: “King Cailech, it has been enlightening,” she said, extending a hand. The Mountain King kissed it too long and too tenderly for Liryk’s liking.

“Come, gentlemen,” the commander urged. “Your highness, I will wait for you in the main salon.”

“Use the secret door,” she said, and he nodded.

Liryk did not miss the long, meaningful glance exchanged between his queen and the Mountain King, but pretended to ignore it, feeling more relieved with every step he and the two visitors took closer to the door and the passageway that would lead them out of the palace.

Cailech turned just before ducking to enter the secret stair
well. “Valentyna, remember all that I’ve said. It’s the truth.” And then he was gone.

Valentyna stared as the door closed behind him, leaving her alone. Leaving her to face Celimus and a desperately unwanted marriage while her heart’s light burned fiercely for Wyl Thirsk.

A
REMYS HAD PERSUADED
W
YL AS FAR AS THE GATES
,
HURRYING
C
AILECH
’
S BULKY FORM DOWN INTO THE BOWELS OF THE PALACE
. T
HE GUARD
accompanying them directed them to a little-used gate, which brought them out into a courtyard near the chapel.

When Aremys cursed their lack of weapons, Wyl remembered that Koreldy’s blue sword was stored in a secret spot in the chapel. Against the guard’s wishes they hurried in, startling Father Paryn.

A familiar voice greeted them. “Aremys!” Turning, they saw young Pil, who had escaped with Ylena from the massacre at Rittylworth.

“You know these men, child?” Father Paryn asked the novice.

“I know Farrow—we met at Felrawthy, Father. But I don’t know his friend.”

“Pil,” Aremys said, his voice spilling its relief. “This is—”

Wyl would not permit it. “I am King Cailech of the Razors,” he said, bowing.

Father Paryn’s face drained of color. To his credit, young Pil recovered quickly and bowed. “Why are you here, your highness?” the novice asked.

“We’re running from King Celimus,” Aremys growled, hurling an angry glance Wyl’s way.

“King Celimus is here?” Father Paryn asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Wyl said calmly. “We must not be found or it will look bad for the Queen, you understand?” Clearly neither of them did, judging from their confused expression. Wyl pushed on; confusion could be helpful now. “Anyway, we need Romen’s sword.”

“No fighting in the house of Shar, King or not,” the priest cautioned.

“There won’t be, Father. We just want to take the sword and leave. I promise no blood will be spilled.”

It was too late. There were shouts outside and the guard accompanying them shrugged. “I’m sorry, sire,” he said, “I shall have to turn you in. I’ve been briefed by Commander Liryk not to risk the Queen’s reputation.”

Wyl nodded. “I understand.”

“What?” Aremys roared. “Wait!”

“Be quiet, Aremys,” Wyl commanded. He turned quickly to Father Paryn and Pil. “Hide him,” he said, indicating the Grenadyne, “and help him escape the palace compound. I ask no more than that you give him Koreldy’s weapons. Queen Valentyna will thank you for it,” he added, then lied: “She has sanctioned it.”

Both holy men nodded dumbly, watching as King Cailech of the Razors strode out to meet the Legionnaires and the Briavellian Guard.

“Quick!” Pil said, and with no choice left to him, Aremys Farrow hung his head and followed the novice.

A few minutes later he heard the soldiers enter and receive a predictable roasting from Father Paryn for bearing arms in
the chapel. They tried to explain but achieved nothing but the threat of damnation in Shar’s eternal fire if they did not leave at once. “Curse you all for disturbing a man at prayer,” the priest called after them.

Pil left Aremys in a small room behind the main chapel while he went for news from Father Paryn. “Where did they take the King?” Aremys asked when Pil returned, wondering how he might free Wyl from a company of Legionnaires and the Briavellian Guard.

“I gather he’s in the guardhouse. There are soldiers everywhere. Is he really the King of the Razors?”

Aremys looked sorrowfully at Pil and nodded before adding, “He was also Ylena Thirsk, Faryl of Coombe, and Romen Koreldy.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Wyl Thirsk!” he exclaimed in a hushed tone of wonder.

“That’s right. And now the King finally has him in his clutches.”

“What are we going to do?” Pil asked, terrified.

Aremys knew that trying to rescue Wyl right away was pointless. He needed time to think it through, and Celimus would not do anything too risky on Briavellian soil just before his wedding. No, he would save Cailech for some sort of spectacle after the marriage ceremony, no doubt.

“You’re going to stay here and keep our secret,” he told the novice. “And I’m going to take Koreldy’s sword and make my way to Pearlis.”

“That’s where he’ll be taken, I gather. To Stoneheart.”

“Good work, Pil,” Aremys said, knowing the praise would help the frightened young monk.

“Is there anything else I can do?”

“Lead me out safely and then let the Queen know that I’ve escaped.”

“Do you need a horse?”

Aremys shook his head. “Too risky and Celimus is too smart. No, I’ll go on foot and hitch a ride somehow.”

“There are plenty of nobles and merchants headed for
Pearlis, Master Farrow,” Pil said excitedly. “I’m sure you can get a lift with one of them.”

The Grenadyne tried to smile but failed. “That’s what I’ll do, then.”

M
ost of the nobles making the journey to Pearlis for the royal wedding had their own men for protection, but Aremys was counting on the strata of society below the nobles not having reliable security. A number of middle-class families had decided the opportunity to witness the marriage ceremony combined with the sight of the great city of Pearlis was irresistible, and were also preparing for the trip.

After lying low in the northern part of Werryl for a couple of hours and carefully watching the procession of travelers, Aremys offered his services to three couples who were obviously traveling together. Aremys knew he possessed one of those inherently honest faces, which in this instance won favor with the ladies—along with his suggestion that although Briavel was relatively safe, Morgravia was riddled with bandits who preyed on wealthy merchants.

And so Aremys found himself sitting alongside Mat, a purveyor of fine foods to the nobility, who was driving the carriage that carried the rest of the party, while another man, Bren, brought up the rear, riding one of the two fresh horses they had brought along.

“I’ve never seen a sword tinged with blue like that,” Mat commented.

“Aye,” Aremys answered, more sadly than he meant to. “It belonged to a friend who gave it to me as a gift.”

Mat whistled. “Some gift. Must have set him back a penny or two. My brother’s a craftsman in weapons, but I’ve never seen him work on anything like that.”

“I believe it was made by Master Craftsman Wevyr.”

“At Orkyld,” the man said in awe.

Aremys nodded. “He was a good friend.”

“I guess so,” Mat agreed, some irony in the grin he cast the Grenadyne’s way. The two men settled into a comfortable silence as the carriage cleared the city and headed onto the main road that led to Morgravia.