Fantasyland 04 Broken Dove (12 page)

She sucked in a deep breath even as Derrik pulled in a shallow one at her words.

“But I know we’re getting closer to Lunwyn,” she continued. “So I wanted to make sure I said thank you, to you and all the guys for turning a bad situation into a good one.” She smiled a smile that wasn’t her normal smile. It was smaller, slightly forlorn, but still warm. “No, a
great
one. And I’m starting with you.”

His heart didn’t thump harder at that.

It warmed.

“You’re more than welcome, Maddie,” Derrik replied quietly.

Her smile got bigger and she whispered, “You’re the bomb.”

He’d heard that before, repeatedly. So he knew it was good.

“And you are very sweet,” he returned.

“I am,” she agreed cheekily and finished, “When I’m not beating your ass in tuble, that is.”

At that, he tilted his head back and laughed and when he again looked at her, he saw she was doing it with him.

She sobered again and said softly, “Thank you, Derrik.”

His heart warmed further and he lifted his chin.

She gave him another smile and a wink before she turned to her door.

He turned to the passageway but something she said registered, therefore he stopped and turned back.

“Maddie, just to say,” he called and she stuck her head out the door. “Apollo left before you to get his children to safety. You should not take that as him not wanting you here.”

The forlorn went back into her face as she shook her head and returned, “Oh, he doesn’t want me.”

Derrik turned fully to her and started, “That isn’t—”

But she interrupted him.

“It is, Derrik. He said it to my face. ‘Be careful what you wish for, you might get it. And not want it.’ That’s what he said. Word for word. I think that says pretty clear he doesn’t want me, don’t you?”

Derrik didn’t answer. This was because he was concentrating on the blood roaring in his ears.

“Anyway, I’ve sorted it all out,” she carried on. “I’ve been thinking on it and I have a plan. I’ll have a word with him when we get there and it’ll all be good.”

He still said nothing.

“’Night,” she called.

“Goodnight, Maddie,” he forced out.

She gave him a small wave and shut her cabin door.

Derrik stared at it for long moments; his hands fisted, her words ringing in his head.

Then he moved in order to a get to a place where there was ale.

And whiskey.

* * * * *

Ilsa

It was freaking
cold
in Lunwyn.

Freezing.

So I was glad when we made the inn, or more aptly,
inside
the inn, where a fire was roaring and Derrik got me a room, ordering, “Get the fire going in her chamber immediately,” and the innkeeper’s son scurried off.

This was, of course, as the innkeeper stared at me in shock.

Clearly, he knew or had seen Ilsa.

I smiled at him and dipped my eyes.

“She’ll need wine, some cheese, bread, fruit, a hot bath and a ladies maid,” Derrik kept going.

The innkeeper snapped his fingers and his wife (who was also staring at me), started then she took off too.

“I’ll escort her to her room. There will be a guard in the hall and outside the inn. Seven men. After I take her to her room, I ride to Karsvall,” Derrik went on.

The innkeeper nodded.

“Her key?” Derrik prompted.

The innkeeper jumped, turned and grabbed a skeleton key with a massive heart at its top. He turned back to Derrik and handed him the key.

“Best in the house, top floor, end of the hall to the right,” the innkeeper told Derrik.

Derrik nodded, put his hand to my elbow and moved me to the stairs.

I moved with him, trying not to cry.

It was over.

My time with the guys was over.

No more ricken. No more tuble.

No more games that were like jousts but they didn’t have lances and charge each other. They had blunt swords and beat each other off their horses. At first, I thought this was a little brutal. But then I noticed Laures was really good at it and everyone around me in the arena (with actual bleachers and enormous colorful pendants flying from posts all around) was really into it. So I got into it too. In a big way.

Also no more delicious, herbed, roasted meat on a stick bought from venders at fayres.

And no more watching girls dancing with streaming ribbons and fluffy skirts at festivals.

Further, no more telling Alek made-up pirate stories while we lay on our backs on the deck of the ship, rough wool blankets under us, another one pulled up to our chins, as we stared up at the stars.

We were in Lunwyn, met by someone the men didn’t introduce me to who gave us a trunk with more stuff for me. This included boots, heavier clothing and capes, hats and gloves—the last three all made of fur or lined hides.

And off the horse I was, put in a sleigh (a sleigh! And a cool one!) with my trunk at the back and we’d ridden for three days across the icy landscape.

I had to admit, it was just as beautiful as the graceful exquisiteness of Fleuridia and the sumptuous splendor of Hawkvale.

It was just covered in snow and ice.

And freezing cold.

Now it was done and I’d had four months to come up with my plan, which I’d done.

It scared me but it also excited me.

A new beginning.

A new life.

A new me.

All of it mine. All of it made by my hand, my decisions, my work.

Or it would be.

I was terrified.

And I couldn’t wait.

But after we climbed the stairs, Derrik opened the door and handed me the key, I knew I’d miss the guys.

Badly.

I pulled in a very deep breath and got control as I let it go.

Then I looked up at him.

“Thank you again for everything, honey,” I whispered.

“Maddie, I’ll see you again in a few hours,” he replied, not whispering.

He wouldn’t.

I was going to take a bath, eat, drink wine, speak with Apollo (who Derrik was off to announce our arrival to and bring back to the inn for our chat).

Then I was going to leave.

I didn’t say that. Maybe because of that time my father said it to me with such finality when I announced I was going to marry Pol. He was telling me I couldn’t because Pol was a criminal. I was telling him I was twenty-three and I could do what I wanted. Then I’d never seen Dad again, except for when I was forced to go back and he’d shut the door in my face (twice), but I didn’t figure those counted.

Yeah, maybe this was why I hated good-byes.

So I didn’t intend to say them.

I was just going to go.

I’d write them letters later (maybe).

“I’ll see you his evening,” Derrik murmured and moved to leave.

But I called his name and he turned back.

“Thank you,” I repeated.

“Maddie—”

I shook my head, lifted my hand and felt so much emotion I couldn’t speak in a normal voice. Therefore, what I had to say came out trembling and low.

But I forced it to come out.

“You know about him,” I stated and Derrik’s jaw went hard.

Over the months, the dinners, the long rides, the sitting in pubs or on the grass or out under the stars and talking, I’d told him. At first a little. Then a lot. He and Achilles, both of them, I’d told all about Pol.

He knew.

“I haven’t felt free in eleven years,” I whispered.

A muscle jumped in his cheek and his eyes bored into mine.

“Thank you for making me feel free,” I finished.

Then I swept into the room, closed the door and told myself one day I’d forget the love and tenderness that suffused Derrik’s face at my words.

But I was lying.

Chapter Six

Not Your Biggest Fan

Apollo drummed his fingers on the top of his desk, scowling at the papers there as his secretary droned on.

But he wasn’t listening to a word the man said.

He was staring at the stack of missives that reported the frequent delays—and the reasons behind them—of Derrik’s party arriving in Lunwyn.

From the last letter, he estimated they were to arrive any day.

And he had a damned war to plan. For the gods’ sakes, he had no time to sit around waiting for a troop of guards watching over a single woman to frolic through three countries, taking double the time it should to make the journey simply because a female from another world wanted to watch Laures win a challenge.

“My lord, did you hear me?” Jeremiah, his secretary, called.

Apollo lifted his head and transferred his scowl to the man.

Jeremiah caught it and nervously lifted a finger to push his half-spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

“As I said, decline all invitations and my calendar is to be kept clear for the foreseeable future,” Apollo stated.

Jeremiah, nor anyone but rulers, a few select generals and trusted soldiers, knew that any day, at any time, darkness could descend, sweeping across the land, black magic and dragons at war, lives at stake, men taking up arms, no one safe.

This being the whole bloody reason he had no time to sit in his study waiting for some woman from another world to enjoy the new one she found herself in.

Jeremiah’s eyes got wide. “But, there are hunts and gales you attend every year.”

“I won’t be attending them this year,” Apollo returned.

“But—”

“Send my apologies,” Apollo ordered. “And Achilles will be arriving imminently. He’ll look after my affairs while I’m away. As soon as the party I’m awaiting arrives, I’ll be leaving for Bellebryn.”

“But—”

Apollo interrupted him by raising his hand as he heard running feet outside the door.

He trained his eyes to the door seconds before it was thrown open.

His young servant Nathaniel ran in and came to a swaying halt, snowflakes in his sandy-blond hair, his boy’s short cloak still on.

“You said to say the minute I saw riders and I saw a rider, sir. It’s Derrik returned,” he announced.

Bloody hell.

Finally.

“Go to Torment, saddle him and bring him to the front. Then get warm,” Apollo commanded and looked at Jeremiah. “Leave me.”

Jeremiah’s eyes got wide. “But sir, we have hours of—”

Apollo stood, leaned into both his fists in his desk and rumbled, “
Leave me.
”

Jeremiah nodded, quickly gathered the large stacks of papers he had in his lap, and the ones on the edge of Apollo’s desk, and also the ones in the chair he’d pulled close. He shoved them in the gaping, battered case, grabbed it and hurried out.

Nathaniel was already gone.

Jeremiah closed the door behind him.

Apollo moved to the window that had a view to the front of the house and looked out, seeing Derrik on his horse galloping into view up the pine lined lane as he did so.

He took a breath in through his nose. This did not calm his temper so he took in another one. This, too, failed, so he stopped trying.

When Derrik halted at the steps in front of the house, Apollo turned away from the window and moved to his desk. He stopped beside it and leaned his thigh against its edge. He then crossed his arms on his chest and his boots at the ankle.

He stared at the door and as he did so, he didn’t bother himself with taking deep breaths to remain calm.

Moments later, it opened without a knock and Derrik came through, his cloak and hair dusted with snow, the former swirling around him.

He was taking off his gloves but doing this with his eyes to Apollo.

“Close the door,” Apollo ordered.

Derrik kicked it closed with a boot, took two strides into the room and stopped, gaze still locked with Apollo’s.

“You’re late,” Apollo uttered a vast understatement.

Derrik said nothing.

“By two bloody months,” Apollo went on.

Derrik still said nothing.

“War is pending,” Apollo reminded him.

Derrik remained silent.

Apollo held on to the frayed threads of his control and invited, “Would you like to explain why you’re late?”

Derrik finally spoke. “I believe that was explained in our missives.”

“Indeed,” Apollo bit out.