Siege: A Borrowed Magic Novella (8 page)

No, Maren thought. You can’t.

After another moment, Adare sighed and
stepped away from the window. “They’ll be at the castle within the
hour.”

Maren’s stomach knotted. “I’m not sure I can
do this.”

“Are you all right?” Adare’s brows wrinkled
in concern. “Does it hurt?”

Maren instinctively pulled the fabric of her
dress over her shoulder as far as possible. “No more than normal.
It isn’t that.”

“You’ll have to face him sometime.”

“I know, but it’s been three years.”

Adare’s smile was full of sympathy. “All the
more reason not to put it off any longer.” She paused. “I won’t
order you to come. I’d never order you to do anything. I’m asking.
I can’t stand up there in front of everyone with only the other
Ladies. I need you. As a friend.”

Maren kept her eyes lowered. “Daric will be
there.”

“But even he doesn’t understand. He’s been on
display his entire life. It comes natural.” She took a deep breath.
“It’s easier for him to hide his heartache. Besides, the people
love him.”

The people loved her even more. But Adare
would never believe it.

“I’ll come.”

A dimple appeared at the corner of Adare’s
mouth. “Good. I want to watch his reaction when he sees you.”

Maren managed a weak smile, afraid his
reaction wouldn’t be at all what the queen was expecting.

Maren fidgeted as she followed Daric and
Adare down the threadbare, red carpet of the Great Hall. The room
was already crowded with members of the nobility and a few
commoners who had managed to find a spot. They pushed up against
the walls, whispering, eyes flicking to the doors at the back of
the room, anxious for the first glimpse of their hero. The
excitement in the air was tangible – for everyone except her. She
was nervous and apprehensive, terrified of what the next few
minutes might bring. Even the familiar surroundings didn’t help.
They only reminded her how much had changed.

Everything about the castle had once been
beautiful – stained-glass windows that sparkled in the sunlight,
tapestries prized for their rich colors and intricate detail,
marble laced with slivers of silver. Now only a shadow of that
remained.

A siege took its toll.

And as Maren walked between the
once-glistening marble columns, as she felt the breeze from
glassless windows that brushed against her cheeks and temporarily
pushed away the smell of mildew, her heart ached for all that had
been lost. For all that had been destroyed.

And yet, there was hope. She saw smiles on
the faces around her. Laughter even broke through the terrified
silence that had suffocated the kingdom over the past two and a
half years. There were repairs to be done, buildings to rebuild,
but it
could
be done. Things could go back to the way they
were – her thoughts strayed to the man who waited behind the closed
doors – at least most things.

Daric led the small procession to the front
of the room, took Adare’s hand in his, and smiled at the waiting
crowd. At twenty-seven, he was relatively young for a king. He
wasn’t, however, inexperienced. He’d inherited the throne of
Tredare at sixteen, after Lord Kern had murdered his father.
Daric’s first task had been to capture Kern, seal him in a tomb,
and leave him to die – or whatever it was black mages did. It had
taken two long years, after which the entire kingdom breathed a
sigh of relief. Only Kern had escaped six years later, vowing
revenge on Daric and taking the city hostage. Through it all, Maren
had watched Daric struggle to hold the kingdom together.

She looked at him now, staring out over the
crowd. Over the past three days, the worry lines around his eyes
and across his forehead had softened. They’d never be completely
gone. Some heartaches, some losses, left a permanent mark. But at
least that pain faded. Before she knew it, he’d be teasing her
again. Just like he had for years.

A footman signaled it was time, and she knew
this was her last chance to escape. It would have been the easier
decision. But Adare was right. She’d have to face him sometime.

A second later the doors at the end of the
hall opened, and two men stepped forward, one slightly in front of
the other.

Maren’s breath caught as her eyes glued to
the man in front. Philip. He walked with his shoulders straight and
head held high. His eyes never wavered from his king, apparently
unaware of the murmurs from the crowd on either side.

He’d chosen to wear black, the silver sword
hanging comfortably at his side the only exception. His dark hair
was shorter, his features older, more defined, but his eyes were as
brown as she remembered – like rich soil after the rain. Even his
walk was familiar, the firm, confident stride of a soldier. He was
the handsomest man she’d ever met. Three years had only emphasized
that. He was no longer an adolescent bordering on adulthood. He was
a man. Twenty-three years old and hero of a nation.

Her heart lodged somewhere in her throat and
she forced herself not to flee. Instead she took a step back and
lowered her head, hoping to go unnoticed as long as possible.

Philip reached the end of the carpet and
bowed low. Then he drew his sword, knelt, and presented it to
Daric. “I offer you my allegiance, My King.”

She closed her eyes as a wave of nostalgia
overcame her. His voice evoked too many memories, and even the good
ones brought pain. She mentally shook herself. Today wasn’t about
her. It was about a kingdom that had every reason to celebrate.

Daric took the sword from Philip’s
outstretched hand before presenting it back to him, hilt first. “I
accept your allegiance, Lord Philip, and offer you the gra—”

“How do we know we can trust him?!”

The crowd looked around in confusion,
searching for the person who dared interrupt the king.

He stood on the base of a pillar at the back
of the room. His hair was unruly and stuck out in all directions.
His face was as dirty as his clothing, and there was a slightly
unbalanced look in his eye.

“How do we know Kern is really dead?” The man
pointed an accusing finger at Philip. “That
he
, Kern’s own
son, really killed him? He doesn’t have magic. How could he do what
no one else could?”

She’d wondered the same thing over the past
few days, but Maren’s immediate reaction was to defend Philip –
even though the small amount of information that had trickled into
the city didn’t offer an explanation that made sense. They only
knew Philip had amassed an army that outnumbered Kern’s. But Kern
had more than just men surrounding the city. Still, Maren knew
Philip’s deep, personal hatred for Kern. He
must
have found
a way. Even though she’d spent every spare moment for the past two
and a half years searching for that way – and had failed.

She looked back at Daric. For a moment, he
only stared, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Then he
smiled.

“We can trust Lord Philip because he’s saved
this kingdom. And we know Kern is dead because the thousands of
soldiers who now protect this city are the same soldiers who saw
Kern die. Who helped Lord Philip defeat him.”

Daric nodded to his guard, who quickly but
kindly ushered the man out of the room.

Everyone relaxed, they smiled, their laughs
echoed off the marble walls. Daric was right. Philip was a hero.
Old fears needed to be forgotten.

So why couldn’t she forget?

“Now,” Daric addressed the crowd and Maren
forced her attention away from Philip, “should we start again?
Hopefully this time without the interruption.”

Daric once again offered Philip his sword. “I
accept your allegiance, and offer you the gratitude of a
nation.”

The crowd erupted in enthusiastic applause.
Daric motioned Philip to stand and then turned him to face the
room. Something Philip seemed uncomfortable with. His smile was
forced, and she could sense his eagerness for it to be over. It was
so unlike Philip, at least Philip from three years ago – popular,
charming, charismatic, winking at her from across the room.

“You don’t seem very excited, Maren,” someone
whispered beside her.

Lady Kira. Perhaps the last person she wanted
to deal with right now.

Maren forced herself to remain
expressionless. “I’m as excited as everyone else.”

Kira laughed. “You’re not a very good liar.
You always did wear your emotions on your sleeve. I’d be careful
this time, though. Things have changed. He probably won’t be the
same. You’re not the same.” She brushed a strand of honey-colored
hair back into place. “And I’m definitely not the same.”

Maren balled her hands into fists. Kira was
right. Maybe that’s what she was so afraid of.

Daric pulled Philip over to Adare. Maren
lowered her head further, allowing her hair to fall across her
face. Still, she couldn’t keep from staring. Now that she could see
Philip closely, the difference she’d sensed was more apparent. She
just couldn’t decide what it was.

“May I present my second in command?” Philip
motioned the man at his side forward. “A man without whom this
victory would never have happened. Lord Teige.”

Maren pulled her gaze from Philip and finally
glanced at the man who, until this point, she hadn’t paid attention
to. And then she couldn’t look away.

The man was…beautiful. There really wasn’t a
better word for it. Where Philip was dark, Teige was light, with
blue eyes and hair the color of caramel. He appeared a few years
older than Philip and was half a head shorter. Not that it
mattered. He exuded a confidence that filled the space around
him.

He bowed to Daric before taking Adare’s
outstretched hand.

“We owe you our lives,” Adare said. “And our
gratitude.”

“You owe me nothing. It was an honor to serve
Tredare.” Teige smiled and Maren felt the collective sigh from
every woman in the crowd.

That magnetism only intensified as she
witnessed his conversation with their majesties and the Council.
Instead of Philip’s quiet dignity, Teige was friendly and
charismatic, asking polite questions, complimenting each person
individually. Even Lord Berk, the head of the Council and a man
known for his reserve, clapped Teige on the shoulder as they shared
a joke.

A minute later, Adare laced her arm through
Philip’s and led him and Teige over, and Maren realized they’d
reached the moment she’d been dreading.

“Lord Philip, Lord Teige, I’d like to present
Lady Maren, my First Lady.”

Philip stiffened and hesitated for the
tiniest of seconds before facing her.

She sank into a graceful curtsey. “My Lord.”
His hand trembled as he took hers. Or maybe it was her own.

For a moment he just stared, and her heart
leapt at the tenderness – and relief – in his gaze, but then his
mouth hardened into an angry line. He released her hand and took a
barely discernable step back. “Lady Maren. It’s a pleasure.” The
words were distant and cold, thrown at her with such force she
flinched.

He turned to Teige. “Lady Maren and I grew up
together and were always in some kind of trouble.” His smile was
purely on the surface. “I remember one time in particular. Her
father caught us climbing onto the castle roof. I was probably
eleven; she was eight. We knew if we didn’t come up with a good
excuse, we wouldn’t be allowed outside for a month. We both sat
there shaking, not knowing what to say, when Lady Maren blurted out
a story about trying to save a nest of birds from a hawk. She even
managed a few tears for effect. Luckily for us, there actually was
a hawk flying overhead. Not only did her father believe us, we
didn’t even get punished.” He paused and looked at her with
something approaching hatred. “I never would have believed she
could lie so well.”

For a second the words hung in the air
between them, and Maren blinked back tears, refusing to let him see
how much he’d hurt her. A moment later, Adare, her polite smile
frozen in place, took advantage of the silence to present him to
Kira. He didn’t look back.

She was left facing Lord Teige, who stared
after his friend with knitted brows before offering his hand. “I’m
always pleased to make the acquaintance of a beautiful woman, Lady
Maren.”

She forced a smile and placed her hand in
his.

Intense pressure pierced through her left
shoulder, and she unconsciously gripped Teige’s hand tighter.

“Lady Maren, are you all right?”

“Yes,” she managed, her voice weaker than she
would have liked. “I’m fine. A sudden headache.”

“You don’t look well,” he said, guiding her
to a chair. “Let me get someone to help.”

“That’s not necessary, but thank you.” She
tried not to look as panicked as she felt. “I haven’t been sleeping
well. Probably the stress of the past week.”

He held her gaze with his own, concern and
curiosity clearly warring with good manners. Then he bowed once
more before greeting Kira.

The next half hour was a blur. Not because of
the pain, which had evaporated shortly after it came, but because
her shoulder hadn’t hurt like that since before the siege. She
shouldn’t be feeling it now. She’d been healed – as much as she
could be. Maybe the stress of the past week truly was catching up
with her.

She retreated to the edge of the crowd,
passing Philip with a beaming Lady Kira on his arm. He ignored her.
Kira shot her a look of pure triumph. As if it was some sort of
contest. Some things never changed.

She sank onto a nearby chair. Now her head
truly did hurt. Philip hated her. Time hadn’t fixed anything. And
still, she couldn’t keep from following him with her eyes, seeing
him praised by others, watching as he readjusted to the life that
had been his. Even now, Kira hung on one arm, Teige stood to his
right. And a large crowd had gathered around them. Laughter and
smiles flowed freely – until someone dared ask the question
everyone wanted the answer to.