Queen of Jastain (19 page)

A sound of approaching horses filled the manor. Never, in the whole time Abby had been on the fief, had there been a visitor. They all rose and went to the window. Avant opened the door.

“Greetings, Lord of the fief. It is the humble winemaker and his wife.” A tall man stepped from his carriage.

“Hossa, my friend, come in from the cold.” Avant stepped outside to greet them. Annova stepped to the ground, and the winemaker escorted her to the door.

Avant took her hand and led her in the door, leaning to kiss her sweetly on the lips. “Annova, love, how are you?”

Abby wanted to yank the redheaded woman bald. Why does she get the soft smile and a kiss?

“Avant, we've missed you these months. You haven’t been to see us.” She stared at Abby. “I met you briefly at the Harvest Festival. I'm Annova.” A stunning woman with her cream-colored skin and auburn hair, she emanated a sacred air of grace that commanded reverence.

Abby couldn’t hold her intense gaze.

“Abigail is the newest member of our family,” Avant said as he wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder.

Abby smiled and reveled in his touch. Since that night in the cave, he'd gone out of his way to make certain they never touched. When she'd hugged him at Christmas, she might as well have been hugging a tree for as stiff as he was. She winced at the memory and pushed the thought from her mind.

Moved that he introduced her as family, she cocked her head at him then took Annova’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you again. I know how important you are to Avant.”

Annova looked meaningfully into her eyes and smiled. “Thank you, Abigail. You too are important to Avant.”

Heat rose from her chest to her forehead.

According to Petra, Hossa and Annova had worked for the former king in the palace. When the new king, Aesdil, was crowned, Annova had a prophetic vision that told her to find the rightful ruler of Jastain. She and Hossa fled southwest in the middle of the night. On the south side of the Forest of Caelum, they’d found Avant lying in a pool of his own blood, left for dead. Taking him with them, they’d crossed the River Sast and headed north to the Freelands.

“Hossa, Annova, how are you?” Petra rushed to greet them.

Avant led them to the cozy parlor and strode toward the kitchen. “I will let Helean know we'd like some wine and cheese.”

“Hossa, take a look at my chess set, and tell me of this season’s vintage.” Petra directed the hulking man to the little table.

Annova took Abby around the shoulders and led her to the sofa, speaking softly, “I've come to speak with you, my Lady. You've found your time in our land happy?” The mystical sparkle in her eyes told Abby she knew everything and then some.

“Yes.”

“Your time is almost ripe. Your destiny knocks at the door. Are you prepared to go?”

“Go where?” Abby wrinkled her forehead.

“Away. You cannot stay here, my dear. This is not your home.”

Abby’s heart sank. This felt like home. It felt more like home than anyplace she'd ever known. “I don’t think I have the strength to leave.”

Annova took her hand and gave it a motherly pat. “You will when the time comes. I've seen your heart, young one. Your sacrifice will not be in vain, but how it will turn, who can tell. You'll find a familiar voice and a way to the end.”

“What does that mean? It doesn’t make sense to me.” Why did these people always have to speak in effin’ hieroglyphs?

Annova laughed as though she'd heard Abby’s thought. She probably had. “It will. A word of advice—keep your heart guarded. In the end, you may be rewarded with its chief desire. You understand
that
, do you not?” She said with a knowing smile.

“I think so.” Abby’s heart leapt for joy.

“He loves you, my dear, but you must first know your own heart, and you'll be surprised when you find it. He still has to work out his own heart. There's a long journey ahead. Prepare yourself.”

Abby shivered with a chill and rubbed the crimson velvet on her arms. How could this woman know so much about her? Was it possible Avant could really love her? But what about…his wife?

Avant strode in with a tray of cheese, bread, and a bottle of wine. They ate and talked but Annova said no more to her.

Hossa played a game of chess with Avant and beat him soundly. Abby was impressed, and Avant spent the rest of the evening brooding. He didn't lose often enough to do it well.

* * * *

The lights came, one by one illuminating the room. A familiar voice spoke “Seek the Light in the house of your father’s father. Up in the High Places, you must seek the Way of the old prophet.”

She shot up in bed, the dream still fresh. The High Places? To seek some old guy, but who?
The house of her father’s father
didn’t make any sense.

Was Annova right? Was her life on the fief over? A sick feeling wrenched her gut and tears pooled in her eyes.

Avant’s words came flooding back to her, “
Abigail, you may dwell in my home and work on my fief, but when your destiny calls you must offer the sacrifice asked of you.”

In this place she'd known the happiest time of her life. She had found people who she loved and who loved her. She belonged with them. Now she had to leave? How was that fair? Not that she didn't want to help these people, she did. To leave them would break her heart.

But she’d sworn to Avant that she would go when the day came, not actually believing the day
would
come. Would she have to go by herself? Was she not meant to be loved or to ever belong anywhere? Some people were just meant to be alone.

She paced in the dark. No one knew about the dream. She could just not tell. Maybe it wasn't a message at all. Her heart betrayed her. She knew it was a message as sure as she'd known anything. As her Implanting increased, her ability to discern did too. It wasn't the wine or the visit with Annova. This was her wake up call. She needed to tell Avant.
Now
.

Abby lit a candle. She’d never been to Avant’s room, at least not when he was actually in there. Helping Helean do the laundry, she changed his bed linens all the time but never dared go when he was there.

Padding lightly down the chilly hallway, she scooted her bare feet and tried to keep to the narrow rugs. She took a deep breath and hesitated at his door. Her heart pounded in her chest. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. She stared at the door across the hall. Petra, at least, would comfort her. No. Petra couldn’t help her with this. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed Avant.

Knocking lightly, she tried to rouse him out of sleep. She opened the door and whispered, “Avant.”

He stirred as she made her way to him.

His hulking four-poster bed with thick midnight-blue draperies and linens dominated the room. A fireplace taller than her heated a comfortable sitting area with bookshelves. The glowing embers cast long shadows across the dark floor. In the corner near the eastern windows, he kept a writing desk and armchair where he corresponded and managed the paperwork of his holdings. Sometimes during days when she felt lost, she would secretly go and sit at the desk. Smelling the leather, ink, and paper reminded her of her dad.

 “Abigail, what’s wrong?” he asked in a hoarse whisper, his voice laced with concern.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just need to talk to you.”

He propped himself up with an elbow and slid over so she could sit on the side of the bed. “What is it?”

“I had the dream about the lights again.” Her voice broke. Shit. She was trying to hold it together.

He laid his hand over hers. Warmth and confidence radiated from it. She could do this. “And I know it’s time for me to leave.”

“Leave? To go where?” The words caught in his throat.

“To the High Places to find some old prophet who can tell me what to do. Do you know who that might be?” She teetered again on the verge of waterworks. A wave of emotion built inside her. Swallowing hard, she wrapped her arms around her chest to keep from shivering.

His eyes glistened in the candlelight. “There is a man, a prophet, who lives in the High Places. It does not surprise me he would be the first step on the journey.”

“Can you tell me how to get there?” She closed her eyes dreading to hear the direction of her exile, and a single tear slid down her cheek.

“I've been there before. We can go in a few days.”

We.
Relief at his words swept over her. The words rushed out. “Thank you, Avant…I didn’t know where or how…or anything and… I was so afraid I’d have to go alone.” Tears coursed down her cheeks, and she was unable to stop to flow.

He placed his hands around her waist and pulled her into bed next to him. He whispered against her ear, “Abigail, you're not alone as long as there's breath in my body.”

She melted back against him and closed her eyes. His arms wrapped tightly around her. The fear ebbed, and with her heart reassured, she slept.

Waking, she lay against Avant, the cedar scent of him filling her nose. His strong arms encircled her, and she felt safe. Too safe, too comfortable. And all too vulnerable. Fear struck her heart.

The candle had burned down, but the faint glow from the fireplace threw soft shadows around the room. She hadn’t meant to spend the night. Moving gently, she tried to slip from his arms without waking him, but he tightened his grip and pulled her closer.

Stay for a little bit longer.
His unspoken words in her mind seeped into her and she couldn't move.

He held her with a strength that promised protection from any danger and comfort through any sorrow. The last thing she wanted to do was leave. Her heart drummed blissfully, but her head warned of the trauma to follow such careless act. She should go. Now. He reached up and stroked her hair. Trails of desire followed the path of his fingers.

Since the incident in the cave, he'd been closed and formal. Even at Christmas, he barely touched her when she hugged him, making it easier for her to keep a distance, but now all those emotions flooded back. Like a night of too much drinking, it felt so good, but she would pay the price in the morning.

“I need to go,” she whispered.

He held on and dropped his face into her hair, breathing in deeply. Sensing his struggle, she lay perfectly still, afraid to stay but despising to go. And the silence pressed in.

Finally relenting, he released her.

Quickly sliding out, she hurried from his bed. She lay in her dark, cold room, imagining the warmth of his arms securely around her.

She tried not to love him, tried to deny her heart, but she always ended back at the same place.

Why had she gone there? Couldn’t it have waited until morning? It seemed like such an obvious mistake now, but she'd been so scared. She buried her head into her pillow preparing for the onslaught of pain, which obligingly came.

The next morning Abby lay awake when Helean came bustling in. After dressing quickly, she padded downstairs.

He waited at the kitchen table for her. Her heart caught in her throat. He didn’t normally eat breakfast with her. Looking up, he smiled casually as if nothing had happened.
Damn him! How does he do that?
She had to work on just keeping herself upright. He gave her his typical look of sympathy, and she nearly slapped it off his face. Shooting him a glare, she sat and started eating.

“We need to decide when to leave. It will be a hard journey, but spring is coming early, and I sense the weather will be in our favor.”

“How long will we be gone?” she asked, not meeting his gaze.

“I expect it will take at least ten days. We can be ready in two days' time. I plan on taking the bridge in the north valley to a trail through the lower range of the Labyrinthum Hills and then up to the Massilia Pass.” He drummed his long fingers on the table and looked around in contemplation. “You'll need warmer clothes, and we will need traveling packs with provisions. We can take the horses as far as the mountain trail and leave them in the valley hills to graze while we travel the mountains on foot. I've journeyed there and know of several shelters along the way.”

Avant had apparently not slept either but had spent the remainder of the night mapping out the trip. With that thought, he captured her gaze. Her heart leapt. For a brief moment his eyes were unguarded and filled with…. He quickly looked away.

The next two days were spent in a flurry of preparations. Petra wouldn’t speak to or even look at her, and Helean took every opportunity to tell her every horror story of the mountain trails.
I am so looking forward to this trip.

Avant went to the village for traveling clothes and bulky fur coats. He purchased her boys clothing, because he said it didn’t make sense for her to wear a skirt.
Sure. Now I get to wear pants
. Helean packed dried fruits and meat, crackers and some cheeses. Avant put in some spiced wine and their favorite
panas
from the bakery.

Packing the leather travel bag, Abby included a change of clothes, extra stockings, her first aid kit, and a warm blanket.

She tried to talk with Petra, but he was too hurt to have a conversation. Not angry out of jealousy, he was worried for them. He’d lost so much in his life, and she and Avant were all the family he had. She understood. They were the only family she had, too.

On the eve before they left, Petra sat next to her in the parlor. He took her hand in his. “I wish I could go with you. My heart feels like it's ripping from me. I know Avant will keep you safe but….”

She wrapped her arms around him. “I know. I wish I didn't have to go.” A heavy sigh blew from her lips.

Somehow she knew if she didn’t go, her destiny would find her anyway. She preferred to meet it on her own terms rather than be hunted down and dragged away. It wasn’t just Avant that she loved. She loved it all: the manor, Petra, Helean, the village, even the disgusting chickens. She loved her life. But more than that, Abby loved who she was…who she'd become…and the thought of giving it up was like losing her world all over again.