Minstrel's Serenade (22 page)

A dust cloud rose, obscuring the scene. Danika dismounted and climbed the steaming carcass of the wyvern separating her from the one Bron had just killed. The soles of her feet heated to near burning as she slid down the scales on the other side. The stink of sweltering seaweed filled the air. Danika coughed and covered her mouth. She’d never been fond of seared fish.

The dust cleared slowly to reveal the carnage. The peaceful cobblestone street was now a wasteland. Chunks of road lay between the stinking scaly bodies. Danika scrambled around the debris.

Soldiers called for their friends and leaned on each other, while healers raced around tending to wounds.

Danika had dealt with the tragedy of battle since her father began his campaign against the dead army of Sill. She’d witnessed soldiers carrying wounded men missing arms and legs and mourners crowding Ebonvale’s gates shrouded in black, throwing white flowers at the rider-less horses’ hooves.

But, she’d never experienced the rush of battle and the moment where a person’s fate changed in an instant all because of where he or she stood in the ranks. As much as she believed in destiny, the hand of the gods dealt random blows, and any one of those fallen soldiers could have stood in her place, or she in theirs.

“Princess, fair you well?” A medic rushed to inspect her.

She waved him off. “I’m unharmed, thank you. Tend to the others.”

Bron emerged from the dust like a hero rising from conquering the underworld. Soot covered his body, blackening his armor. But he stood in one piece with no visible wounds. Danika melted into a puddle of relief. She couldn’t run to him in front of the troops, so she stood as still as Helena’s statue and saluted his bravery with a raised hand to her forehead.

Everyone else on the battlefield, along with the carnage, the horror and the debris, vanished for a moment as Danika locked eyes with Bron.

He bowed to her. “Princess.”

Her soul yearned to touch him, to wipe the soot from his brow and bring her parched lips to his, proclaiming her feelings. But he would only push her away.

Bron knelt before her like a knight before his king. The formality of the gesture iced Danika’s heart.

“Well done, Bronford Thoridian. You are a true warrior with the heart of a lion and you are an asset to Ebonvale. You served your kingdom valiantly this day.”

Bron straightened. “My thanks to you, Princess. It was a wise choice to lead us into battle. We have learned much about our failings, tested our armor and discovered their weaknesses, coming out victorious.”

Danika stepped toward him and lowered her voice. “If five wyverns could do this much damage to our forces, imagine what a horde of them will do.”

Bron’s face soured and he looked away to the west, to the House of Song, where Valorian rallied his army. “Let’s hope the minstrels will remedy our shortcomings.”

The unspoken mention of Valorian built a wall between them.

Danika stepped away. “This will delay us for some time. We must hurry to bury our wounded and move on.”

Bron’s voice turned melancholy. “Aye.”

For a moment she thought he’d forsake all inhibitions and reach out to comfort her, even with just a brush of his fingertips on her cheek.

He blinked, and his stoic composure returned. “I must rally the army. Although this is a victory, we have lost many, and their comrades’ deaths will shake the morale of the men.”

Disappointment weighed on Danika as she assumed her professional demeanor. Bron was too noble for such a temptation. His sense of honor drew her to him even more. “Do what you must. I’ll aid with the fallen.”

He approached the jaw of the fallen wyvern, dug inside the steamy teeth and yanked out his sword. Using the horns to hoist himself, Bron climbed the wyvern’s head. Murmurs in the army lulled as Bron positioned himself between the wyvern’s dead eyes and raised his sword to the sky. “Our triumph is due to those who have fallen this day. May the temple priests note their bravery in Ebonvale’s historical archives.”

A smattering of shouts and applause rose from the dust cloud.

Bron brought his sword across his chest. “Helena and Horrid lived in a time such as this, a crossroads where man had to take a stand or forever go down as a blink in history to the evils imperiling this land. They gave their lives for our freedom, and we must offer ours for those of our children, nieces, nephews and cousins, and their children’s children. If we succeed this day, the people of our future will thrive and Ebonvale will live on.”

Bron extended his arm to the soldiers crowding around the wyvern’s head. “Follow me, and together we can bring hope back to a time of darkness. I swear, as Bronford Thoridian the First, I will bring you all to glory whether in this life, or the next.”

The soldiers cheered, some of them chanting Bron’s name. Danika walked away, consumed with her thoughts. She’d almost lost Bron, and the thought of him being gone tore her apart. Could she stomach yet another battle where her lifelong friend, ally, bodyguard and possible lover could disappear in an instant, leaving her life so empty she didn’t want to carry on?

If the wyvern corpse hadn’t blocked her way, Danika would have charged headlong into danger, putting the kingdom at risk in a time of flux. Would her people truly follow Muriel upon her death?

Danika feared losing Bron, but more than that, she feared what she’d risk to intervene on his behalf.

Rogue

A haze of mist covered Brimmore as Ebonvale’s army marched through streets winding down an incline to the bay. Three-story houses and brightly painted storefronts cluttered the thoroughfare of the continent’s busiest port city. Usually, the congestion of carriages, horses, street performers and peddlers clogged the main artery so thickly it took half the day to carve a path to sea level. Today, the cobblestones lay silent, the windows boarded, and the inhabitants, if they were still there, were huddled inside.

To Bron, Brimmore seemed like a different city altogether than the one he’d visited six fortnights ago to encourage able-bodied men to compete for Ebonvale’s ranks. Some of the men he’d recruited returned with him now, only to come back to a ghost town. Bron hoped this would give them more reason to fight.

Danika reined her horse beside him. She’d kept her distance since the battle, and he wondered if he’d done something wrong by performing his duty to the kingdom. She
must
know his true feelings, even if he couldn’t show them.

She clicked her visor back, and he caught a glimpse of honey blond hair framing eyes more cold and emerald today than the warm, meadow-green irises that had peeled his layers away to reveal his heart at her father’s grave. “This does not bode well for our escorts.”

She talked of Valorian, of course. He was a constant thorn in Bron’s heart.

“They made it.” Bron nodded to her and steered his own charger away. He refused to believe Valorian and his men dead. If that were true, they’d be next to follow. “Wait and see.”

They turned a corner and the azure waters of the bay sparkled between the tall buildings on either side of the street. Two carracks bobbed at anchor, each with three masts and a high rounded stern made from giant blackwoods. White sails draped over the rigging, fluttering in the ocean breeze.

Bron pointed and turned to his men. “Harbingers of our triumph.” Valorian had made good on his word.

The army cheered behind him. He turned to Danika, expecting the good news to bring a smile to her lips.

Danika nodded grimly and spurred her horse forward. “Let’s be done with this once and for all.”

Bron couldn’t fathom what she referred to: the voyage, the battle or meeting Valorian again. He rode in step behind her. How would he feel to see the man who had saved his life again?

The pier rose up in a giant slab of blackwood, punctuated at even intervals by moorings made of wood posts decorated in seashells and draped in old lobster nets. The ships stood as tall as Ebonvale’s ramparts, dwarfing the men and women in the signature velvet robes of the minstrels who scurried in preparation. Some of them halted mid-step, watching the army with gazes filled with awe and relief as they drew near.

“Attention. Halt!” Bron shouted, and the army stilled in the next step, falling into rest position.

The onlookers parted and Valorian came forward. His eyes rested on Danika alone, and his lips stretched into a smile as if she were the only ray of sunshine in a dark, dire time. He wore a reddish leather tunic and a black satin cape trimmed in a matching rose.

Bron sighed, not impressed. Only minstrels dressed in finery for occasions such as these.

Valorian stepped from the pier and walked straight to Danika’s horse, his long brown hair and cape fluttering in the breeze off the sea. Bron swallowed hard as the minstrel offered his hand. Danika accepted his gesture graciously. She dismounted and Bron, ever the bodyguard, followed suit. He stood behind her with enough room to protect her should wyverns spring from the sky, but with enough space to allow her to speak with Valorian.

“I am most relieved to have you and your army with us, Princess.” Valorian kissed the back of her hand. “Although, I am surprised you decided to come.”

“I appointed a regent queen to the throne.” Danika sounded defensive. “I intend to see this through.”

“Of course you do. Ever the brave-hearted woman, willing to sacrifice heart and soul for her kingdom. I admire your adherence to duty beyond measure.” Valorian’s gaze traveled from her engraved helmet to her curved breastplate and then her armored legs. “I see you have made your armor.”

“Yes.” Danika gestured for a soldier to bring her a carriage from the back of the army. “And, like we discussed, I brought a shipment of only the finest armor for you and your men.”

“How very generous.” He leaned forward and Bron had to strain to hear his words. “But no kiss?”

Bron tightened his grip on his hilt. The princess was not his. Would repeating the thought make it stick? She was not his. Duty bound her to Valorian just as deeply as it bound him to Ebonvale.

Danika paused. Bron wished he could read the expression on her face.

“Of course, my mind drifts to battle too soon.” She rose on her tiptoes and placed a light kiss on his cheek, over one of his healing scars.

One of the scars he earned by saving Bron’s life.

Valorian’s gaze strayed to Bron as if sensing an increase of heat radiating from his armor. “Bronford, my friend. I am pleased to see you again.”

“May the wind bring us swiftly to victory. My greetings, Valorian.” Bron bowed. His neck itched under Valorian’s silvery gaze. Could the minstrel see what had happened between him and Danika? What a rogue he’d been to have allowed Danika’s advances and have reacted in the passionate way he had. They could have brought down both kingdoms with their indiscretions. Yet, he did not regret it.

Valorian smiled easily, as if whatever had happened in the last month didn’t matter--which it probably did not. Danika would marry Valorian, and Bron would save his memory of one kiss as a secret sustenance for his beleaguered heart. Could he live with that? He’d have to try.

The minstrel took her arm. “Come. Let us make preparations together.”

Danika finally turned back to Bron. Her eyes were cold, hard emeralds with no passion. “Bron, find a place to rest the army.”

Bron bowed as his father had trained him to do in front of royalty, no matter how close they’d been in the past. “As you wish, Princess.”

Valorian escorted her down the pier, and in an instant, she was gone.

Collecting himself, he turned to his men. They needed him, and he wasn’t about to let his heart sickness weaken this campaign. “Attention!”

They stomped into place and shouted in unison. “Yes, sir.”

“Follow me to the boardwalk. Let’s find an inn that isn’t boarded up to rest our feet.”

Leading the troops away from the pier, Bron took comfort in one thought.

She hadn’t kissed Valorian with a fraction of the passion she’d kissed him with.

* * * *

Danika allowed Valorian to lead her to the two majestic blackwood carracks bobbing with the tide. He looked dashing in his finery, with his thigh-high riding boots and long hair loose in the wind. He was beautiful in every aspect that Bron was plain. Yet, she couldn’t get over that stolen kiss by her father’s grave. The memory of Bron’s lips on hers still burned fiery madness in her heart.

Kissing Valorian in front of Bron had made her stomach squirm like a thousand wyverns in the sky. However, after the battle at the bridge, she needed the minstrels more than ever if Ebonvale’s army were to succeed. A simple kiss was the only way to keep Bron and her army alive.

“Behold, the
Destiny
and the
Fortune
. Made by Brimmore’s finest artisans and craftsmen with the strongest lumber from the Blackwood forest.” Valorian beamed with pride. The glossy wood shone ebony in the sunlight. Each plank had a slightly varying hue, some as black as night, and others a deep purple, reminding Danika of overripe plums. A wooden carving of a minstrel strumming a handheld harp stood with his back to the bow of the
Destiny
, while a warrior with his blade outstretched to the ocean decorated the bow of the
Fortune
. Ebonvale’s flag, along with the crest of the House of Song whipped from the masts in the ocean breeze.

“They must have been costly, indeed.” Danika laid her hand on the railing, the wood under her fingertips smooth.

“We spared no expense.” Valorian placed his hand over hers, interlacing their fingers. “You and your army deserve only the best.”

“My thanks to you and those who worked hard to build these wonderful, seagoing vessels.” Danika made certain to group Valorian with the others. She danced a fine line between leading him on and remaining cordial enough for him to ride with them to a likely doom. Would he do it for love? Probably, but would he do it for someone with whom he had no future? She had no idea.

She was as vile as a black widow or, worse yet, a tavern wench.