《The Masked Queen (updated version: Mark of the Mountain)》


 Opening Lines

    A kongdomr of warriors, though rusted their swords


    A kongdomr of voices, raised in hopeful song


    A kongdomr of drakuns, forsaken, forgotten


    A kongdomr of masks, neither young nor old


    A kongdomr of faces, expectantly raised


    To this new chance, a new Drottingr


    Ilvana of legend


    Rise, Warriors, Rise


    -written by Skald-dreg Azerian Nizanson


    beholden to Skald-middig Bjarke Duinenson


    * * * * * * * * * *


    THE MASKED QUEEN


    THE FIRST BOOK IN THE ALLEGORY OF AONTA SERIES


    I, Bjarke, Skald of Ilvana, son of Duinen, who was an honored Skald of this kongdomr before me, and Sineah, who sang not out of duty but out of love for Ilvana, make my intent known in this journal to preserve the events that have led to this current chapter in our history, that which I have titled the Second Age of the Drakun Kongren.


    The first step, as I saw fit, in undertaking this pinnacle task of my life of service, was to implore the catalyst of Ilvana¡¯s rebirth to aid in the creation of a new chronicle of history. I have collected the thoughts and actions and songs - both lay and lyrical - that led our fair Drottingr and her allies to usher in this second age of Aonta, and with their help, I shall turn what has been collected into a story that will echo through countless generations.


    Whoever has stumbled upon this collection of notes and verses - be you young Skald or Scholar - know that it was never meant to be the final product of our toil. I shall write with the speed of one who understands too well that his time is not immeasurable, but should I not be able to complete my work before I am called forth to sail to the golden halls of my ancestors, I leave you this charge.


    Be it on your head and heart to see that this history is proclaimed and sung in the steads of all future Ilvanian Kongren and Drottingren, and indeed, throughout every village in Ilvana, the six kongdomren, and those belonging to the kongdomren beyond the reach of Aonta.


    How to begin this story of loss and renewal, lies and forgiveness, trials and thanksgiving? I have thought long and hard, and it seems appropriate to start with a recitation of the Lay of a Kongr long gone and sent to sea that has provided strength and courage to many of our leaders, including the heroine of mine tale and her father, the proud Kongr Dizean. (Blessed be his memory.) A Lay written long ago but first recorded by Skald-middig Duinen.


    Yes, I shall start with the Lay of Rilken, The Last Drakun Kongr, and with a memory provided by one who knew the Heroine of Aonta before memories found her, the Lach Seaka, who shall no doubt be renowned for generations to come. (Blessed be her memory.) Here is where the tale of mine wise Drottingr began, with a mask of red and black¡­


    * * * * * * * * * *


    The Lay of Rilken, The Last Drakun Kongr


    (the short version)


    Originally written by an unnamed Skald


    Traditional call and response first recorded by Skald Duinen


    Short version recorded by Skald Bjarke


    I. Rilken the Mighty, Rilken the Bold


    First of his lineage, famed Drakun Kongr


    Rilken the Just, Rilken of Old


    Died in his manhood, but still young was he


    This is the story, the day that he fell


    Listen, my friends. Truth do I tell?


    Are you not Rilken''s kin?


    --Yes, we are Rilken''s kin.


    --As he lived, we shall live.


    --As he died, we shall die.


    --Our hearts and our hands do we pledge.


    II. Rilken the Brave, beloved Kongr of this land


    Fighter, Builder, Wielder of Morel


    Bound us together under his hand


    His life was for his people, whom he loved


    And the honest pursuit of truth


    Listen, my friends. Truth do I tell?


    Are we not Rilken''s kin?


    --Yes, we are Rilken''s kin.


    --As he lived, we shall live.


    --And his love, we do share.


    --Our hearts and our hands do we pledge.


    III. Rilken the Peaceful, cared not for war


    But sought to correct the balance


    For the Heartless Ones, blighted Dunival


    They feigned betrayal, the crooked betrayers


    And Rilken swore to uphold their cause


    But, oh, at what cost? Quick, speak truth.


    Are you not Rilken''s kin?


    --Yes, we are Rilken''s kin.


    --As he lived, we shall live.


    --And his cost, we shall pay.


    --Our hearts and our hands do we pledge.


    IV. Rilken the Truthful, heard not their lies


    But pledged his men to blighted Dunival''s aide


    When the truth was found, it could not be undone


    The Ageless forgive not a blow struck


    Rilken''s reward was Ilvana''s downfall


    Listen, my friends. And remember the truth.


    Are you not Rilken''s kin?


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    --Yes, we are Rilken''s kin.


    --As he lived, we shall live.


    --As he fought, we shall fight.


    --Our hearts and our hands do we pledge.


    V. Rilken the Faithful, repented his mistake


    But it was too late. Oh, it was too late


    The Unwavering are as cold as fire frozen


    The Mountain''s decision cannot be swayed


    Ilvana and blighted Dunival, abandoned


    Sing a mourning song, friends. Truth do I tell?


    Are we not Rilken''s kin?


    --Yes, we are Rilken''s kin.


    --As he lived, we shall live.


    --And his song, we shall sing.


    --Our hearts and our hands do we pledge.


    VI. Rilken the Guileless, did mourn this loss


    And his heart was so greatly burdened


    He took leather and fitted it to his face


    Never again was his maskless face seen


    Penance extracted from one so innocent


    Sing a mourning song, friends. Truth do I tell?


    Are we not Rilken''s kin?


    --Yes, we are Rilken''s kin.


    --As he lived, we shall live.


    --And his song, we shall sing.


    --Our hearts and our hands do we pledge.


    VII. Rilken the Warrior, promised atonement


    He promised freedom from this shadow


    Rilken the Just, raised high Morel''s light


    He gathered his men of justice


    And together they banished the Heartless


    But, oh, at what cost? Quick, speak truth.


    Are you not Rilken''s kin?


    --Yes, we are Rilken''s kin.


    --As he lived, we shall live.


    --And his cost, we shall pay.


    --Our hearts and our hands do we pledge.


    VIII. Rilken the Morel, honored Kongr of Ilvana


    The day he rode out knew his fate


    He kissed his wife, fair Drottingr Diyana


    She mourned his departure with songs sweet


    A songbird''s sad song, but one of victory


    Sing a mourning song, friends. Truth do I tell?


    Are you not Rilken''s kin?


    --Yes, we are Rilken''s kin.


    --As he lived, we shall live.


    --As he fought, we shall fight.


    --Our hearts and our hands do we pledge.


    IX. Rilken the Honored, and his men of justice


    Men strong as stone, unyielding, mighty


    Drove out the Heartless from their hidden places


    Men weak as wind, dark as shadow


    The Nameless traitors unmasked, brought low


    Do you not know, friends? Quick, speak truth.


    Are you not Rilken''s kin?


    --Yes, we are Rilken''s kin.


    --As he lived, we shall live.


    --And his cost, we shall pay.


    --Our hearts and our hands do we pledge.


    X. Rilken the Mighty, not for love of blood


    Nor for pursuit of greed or revenge thoughtless


    But for love of his people and his land


    Chased the Unnamed ruler to the top of the world


    To the crags of Aturnel, there to mete out Ilvana''s justice


    Listen, my friends, and remember the truth.


    Are we not Rilken''s kin?


    --Yes, we are Rilken''s kin.


    --As he lived, we shall live.


    --And his love, we do share.


    --Our hearts and our hands do we pledge.


    XI. Rilken the Just, pursued the Unnamed traitor


    To the highest step, and raised Morel high


    He dealt the final blow, the Heartless'' misery


    But it was not without cost paid dearly


    For both did fall, from the highest to the lowest


    Sing us now together, friends, a song of costly victory.


    Are you not Rilken''s kin?


    --Yes, we are Rilken''s kin.


    --As he lived, we shall live.


    --As he died, we shall die.


    --Our hearts and our hands do we pledge.


    XII. The sunrise bled red, the sunset bled white


    The stars fell out of the sky


    On this, the day that Rilken died


    His reign was short, Fair Diyana did mourn


    Our hearts forever will enfold them


    Never shall we forget, never shall our mourning cease


    But this song we sing of costly victory


    For Rilken the Drakun Kongr, famed Kongr of Ilvana


    For we are Rilken''s kin.


    --Yes, we are Rilken''s kin.


    --As he lived, we shall live.


    --And his song, we shall sing.


    --Our hearts and our hands do we pledge.


    * * * * * * * * * *

 Prologue

    Seaka did not ignore Kongr Dizean¡¯s summons lightly.


    His messenger found her as she was making her way to the Kongr¡¯s stead from the house she inhabited at the edge of the village that stood half a mile to the north of the stone wall.


    The summons did not concern the Kongr himself but his daughter, the Drottine. That fact should have sent her running. The child was not even a year yet - eight full moons to the day - and she had been a sickly babe. But Seaka had received quite a few summons of late to hurry to the babe¡¯s beside. Once a day since she had left the stead to return to her own house a fortnight ago. It seems the Kongr would be happier if she would just consent to move back under his roof for good and take charge of the young Drottine, but it was not her place to be raising children.


    She was a Lach, a healer. And although she had enjoyed the patronage - and friendship - of the Kongr¡¯s recently deceased wife, her duty was not to his family alone. She had other patients to see to, and this was why she had left her meal to grow cold on her supper table.


    Seaka talked the Kongr''s messenger into lending her his gelding and rode on ahead of him, straight through the wide gate made of stone that marked the edge of the Kongr¡¯s land and up to the door of a thatch-roofed two-story structure. The nearby courtyard appeared deserted, but when she slid down from the horse and landed with an "Oomph!" on her stiff legs, a young boy ran up and took the reins.


    ¡°Good lad,¡± Seaka said with a nod and turned to retrieve her bag before he led the horse away. She paused to check that the black mourning mask she had hastily slipped on before leaving her house was still in place. When she stepped forward to swing open the door, she found her way blocked by a tall figure lit from behind by the lamp that stood near the back staircase.


    ¡°Eindre? You did not have to wait for me downstairs. You should be with your wife.¡±


    ¡°Good evening, Mistress Lach.¡±


    Seaka¡¯s mouth clamped shut, and she ground her teeth in frustration. The man backed up and allowed her to enter, but she stepped forward reluctantly.


    ¡°Jarl...Halvor,¡± she guessed, naming one of the more outspoken members of the Kongr¡¯s council of Jarls. He wore a plain mask, as did the two other men who stood behind him, making it impossible to identify him by his features. He nodded, confirming her guess. She said nothing more, waiting for him to speak and reveal his reason for ambushing her.


    ¡°We heard that the Kongr had sent for you...again.¡±


    ¡°From whom?¡±


    Halvor shifted uncomfortably. ¡°From the messenger.¡±


    ¡°You waylaid the Kongr¡¯s messenger?¡± Seaka asked, gasping in false shock.


    ¡°Momentarily. We wanted to make sure that our services were not needed.¡±


    ¡°I will tell Kongr Dizean of your worries. I am sure that he will be touched by your concern.¡± She dismissed them with a sharp nod of her head and began to cross the room toward the stairs.


    One of the other masked men stepped forward and grabbed Halvor¡¯s arm, pulling him back to whisper in his ear. Halvor waved him off and moved to block Seaka¡¯s path. ¡°You are here to see the Kongr¡¯s daughter. Is that true?¡±


    ¡°I am here to attend to the Drottine. Yes. I must insist that you not delay me any longer.¡±


    ¡°What is wrong with her? Is she dying? Why is she being kept from us?¡±


    Seaka dropped her bag unceremoniously on Halvor¡¯s boot. She felt a grim satisfaction when he cried out and hopped back on one foot.


    ¡°Do not raise your voice to me, young Jarl. You would do well to show me some respect. I am not some young nursemaid to be tossed about by your whims. I am weary, my bag is heavy, and I have a job to do.¡±


    ¡°We demand answers!¡± Halvor exclaimed.


    ¡°Why ask me? Seems to me you should be talking to the Kongr himself. Or does he not have the time to listen to your magpieing either?¡±


    Seaka watched Halvor¡¯s eyes grow darker and his hands clamp into tight fists, and she realized her mistake. Her last comment had struck some unseen nerve. Always reckless with my words, she scolded herself. For all the white I have earned in my hair, I am always reckless with my words.


    Halvor took a deep breath, preparing to unleash the anger that darkened his eyes.


    ¡°Halvor!¡±


    Seaka and Halvor both jumped at the shout, but Seaka¡¯s surprise quickly turned to relief as she caught sight of the Kongr¡¯s brother standing at the top of the stairs. Eindre leveled a glare at the Jarls surrounding Seaka through the wide eye slits of his dark mask. It was hard for her to make out his expression from her position, but she knew it must be so, because they immediately drew back. Their heads lowered and their shoulders swayed beneath Eindre¡¯s scrutiny.


    Eindre pointed to Halvor and indicated Seaka¡¯s bag. Halvor jumped forward, grasped the bag''s handle, and bounded up the stairs to deposit it at Eindre¡¯s feet. He retreated to the first floor at a slower pace, his brooding eyes cast downward. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he offered his hand to Seaka and helped her up onto the wooden steps.


    Not wishing to cause further offense in the presence of the Kongr¡¯s brother, Seaka allowed the Jarl to keep hold of her hand until she was too high for him to assist her. There was an awkward pause as she disentangled her hand from his, and then she continued by herself, skirt in one hand and hand held out to the wall for balance.


    Eindre waited patiently for her to join him. Then taking her bag up onto one arm, he turned his back on the Jarls and offered her the other. Seaka leaned heavily on his arm while he led her down the hall in the direction of the room he shared with his wife and young son.


    He slowed down as they drew level with the door, but he did not stop. ¡°Dizean has summoned you?¡±


    Seaka patted his arm. ¡°Yes, but---¡±


    ¡°You must attend him first. I will---¡±


    ¡°You will do nothing.¡± Seaka pulled him back to stand before his door. He was a large man, but he did not fight her. "Your wife needs my help more.¡±


    ¡°But the Kongr...¡±


    ¡°I shall deal with your brother. He can wait. Your wife may not be able to.¡±


    Fear clouded Eindre¡¯s eyes, an emotion stronger than the duty that had ruled his mind a moment ago. He did not hesitate now as he opened the door and ushered Seaka into the stuffy bed chamber.


    ¡°Open the window. Let the night air in.¡±


    Eindre looked like he wanted to complain, but he did not. While he went over to the window, Seaka took stock of the situation on the bed. Nimeah, Eindre¡¯s wife, was sitting up with her head leaning against the wall. A pillow had been crammed between her back and the wall, and a heavy blanket was wrapped around her upper body.


    Her legs were bare save for a thin blood-soaked sheet. Her two-year-old son was sitting beside her, his hand squeezing hers atop the blanket. Or she was squeezing his hand. Either way, their joined fingers were pale and strained.


    Seaka tried to keep herself from glaring down at the two-year-old. She found herself at a loss for words, unsure as she always was around children younger than seven, the age when she deemed they were capable of following more than the simplest of commands. But the child had to be moved. Why was he even here? She shot a look at Eindre, who was watching her silently from the other side of the room.


    ¡°Um...I need...could you...¡± She looked back down at the two-year-old and attempted to soften her voice. ¡°Little one, I am going to need you to move...Now...Please.¡±


    The child looked up at her with round eyes full of the same fear that she saw in Eindre¡¯s eyes. He dropped his mother¡¯s hand and scooted to the other side of the bed, but he did not stand.


    ¡°Roakev! Get down!¡± Eindre barked.


    Roakev jumped off the bed and rushed over to the door, cowering beneath the knob.


    ¡°Eindre, do not be cross with him,¡± Nimeah entreated her husband in a hoarse whisper.


    ¡°You might as well go with him,¡± Seaka said. She had already put the boy from her mind and was beginning to lay out the supplies that she had brought.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Eindre asked, but then without waiting for an answer, he took Roakev by the arm and opened the door. ¡°I shall inform the Kongr of your whereabouts. Then I will return.¡±


    ¡°I wish you wouldn¡¯t,¡± Seaka muttered, and then said louder, ¡°If you want to be helpful, send someone with water.¡±


    ¡°No! No, I don¡¯t want¡­¡± Nimeah lifted herself slowly up until she was sitting straight and reached for Seaka¡¯s hand. ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone else...Just you, Seaka. Just you.¡±


    ¡°Shhh now,¡± Seaka soothed her, taking Nimeah''s hand and guiding her back into a reclining position. ¡°I will take care of you, but you need water. Clean water.¡± She eyed Eindre, making sure that he understood. ¡°Your husband will guard the door. No one else will see you.¡±


    Seaka drew back, and Nimeah nodded. ¡°Besides,¡± she said, turning to look at her husband. ¡°He will not see you if he is with his daughter. He lets no one in to see her.¡±


    Seaka¡¯s hands stalled in their preparations as she glanced between Nimeah and Eindre. ¡°He will not let anyone see her? Not even you?¡±


    ¡°I thought you knew,¡± Eindre said, his tone of indifference a little too forced. Roakev strained toward his mother again and whimpered when Eindre tightened his hold on the boy¡¯s arm.


    Seaka''s lips puckered, but all she said was, "No, I thought...When was the last time you saw her?"


    ¡°Not since Erina---Ahhh!¡± Nimeah¡¯s mouth twisted into a pinched line in her effort to cut short her cry of pain.


    Roakev strained harder against his father¡¯s hold. ¡°Mommy!¡±


    Seaka sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on Nimeah¡¯s stomach. It had only just begun to harden and show signs of growth. Seaka pushed on her stomach through the sheet, working her fingers around the edges of the slight bulge. Nimeah tensed and then relaxed as Seaka slid the blanket up and massaged her skin lightly with her palm.


    ¡°I have to take a look now. You should take your son out. And bring me that water.¡±


    Eindre pushed Roakev out into the hall and hurriedly closed the door.


    Seaka lost herself in the trance of her work then. She helped Nimeah slide down into a more comfortable position and removed the bloody sheets from the bed so she could examine her properly. She pressed on Nimeah¡¯s stomach some more and asked her a few basic questions, but there was no doubt in Seaka¡¯s mind as to her diagnosis.


    Nimeah knew it as well. There were no panicked questions, no rush to disprove what her eyes could clearly see, no pleas for Seaka to save what had already been lost, as there had been when Seaka had been called to her bedside last year. Nimeah asked for no words of consolation, but Seaka spoke them anyway in a detached voice. It was not that the Lach did not care for Nimeah or feel her distress, but she had a job to perform, and the words were just one part of that.


    ¡°You¡¯re not bleeding too much. That¡¯s good,¡± she murmured as she cleaned the blood from Nimeah¡¯s legs.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay to cry. Let it out. You¡¯re okay,¡± she said when she saw Nimeah trying to hold back her tears.


    ¡°I brought something to help with the pain. Hold on.¡± She returned to the bundle of herbs that she had left on the edge of the bed earlier. She extracted a thick piece of pale plant root and handed it to Nimeah. ¡°Chew on this.¡±


    Seaka pulled the small table that sat beside the bed out to the center of the room and emptied her bag of supplies out on the rough surface. She quickly organized the bundles and containers of herbs that she had brought along. She had also crammed as many rags - pieces of clothing too torn or worn to repair donated by the villagers - in among the plants. She piled them all on the floor, then bent to pick up a large brown-colored piece of fabric, smoothed it out on the table, and began constructing her first of many poultices.


    ¡°For the bleeding. For the swelling. For infection. For pain,¡± she recited as she added herbs to the pile. She worked the herbs into a ball, wrapped them in the rag, and tied it at the top. She looked around for a pitcher or basin of water before remembering that Eindre had not returned yet. With a sigh, she set the dry poultice aside and began to work on another.


    Eindre knocked on the door before entering. He carried a bucket of cool, clear water. Seaka did not comment on the boy¡¯s absence but motioned for him to set the bucket beside the table and stooped to dip a bundle of herbs into the water.


    ¡°Sorry. This is going to be cold.¡±


    Nimeah whimpered as Seaka pressed the compress against her skin, and a new wave of tears escaped down her cheeks. Her husband hurried forward to take her hand. Seaka did not feel obligated to offer comfort with him here now, but she gave Nimeah¡¯s arm a pat anyway.


    ¡°There now. That¡¯s not too bad. The poultice should be changed every two hours until these run out. If she¡¯s still bleeding by then, it shouldn¡¯t be much. If that¡¯s not the case¡­¡± Seaka glanced up at Eindre, who was scanning the wrapped herbs that Seaka had lined up on the table, counting them. ¡°...send for me again.¡±


    Eindre nodded, his gaze now turning to the stone-carved mortar and pestle that she was pulling out of her bag.


    ¡°There¡¯s enough there to last two days. Try to keep her off her feet as much as possible, although some fresh air might do her good.¡± Seaka glanced over at the window; if there was a breeze, it did not reach the bed. ¡°You need to keep the bed as clean as possible,¡± she continued. ¡°Change the blanket she¡¯s lying on every time you change the poultice.


    ¡°Now this¡± - she gestured at the mixture she was grinding into a paste - ¡°will also help with the bleeding and pain. It is best when ground fresh and ingested. I would like to add something that will help her sleep, but ---¡±


    Seaka stopped mid-sentence, her grasping fingers dropping to her side and her gaze falling on Nimeah¡¯s face.


    ¡°But what?¡± Eindre asked, impatience coloring his tone.


    ¡°But you must be careful with the dosage. Only a thimbleful, twice a day. Any more, and the weed may kill her.¡±


    ¡°You say that it is safe?¡±


    ¡°Yes, in small doses. But¡­¡± Seaka struggled to find the right words that would temper her warning. ¡°...it might be dangerous to keep within your wife¡¯s reach.¡±


    ¡°You cannot mean to imply¡­? No. Nimeah...she would never¡­¡±


    ¡°I have seen women enduring similar heartache do much worse."Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    ¡°Seaka...¡± Nimeah sighed. Seaka met her gaze and was surprised at the strength she saw in the younger woman¡¯s eyes. ¡°I will not take more than a thimbleful. I promise.¡± Her eyes drifted closed again, but Seaka and Eindre both heard her whisper, ¡°But you should worry about Roakev.¡±


    ¡°I will keep the medicine out of his reach. You need not worry, my love.¡±


    Eindre knelt to kiss his wife on the cheek, and Seaka bent back over her work. She added the final ingredient and finished grinding everything together, working as fast as she could now.


    She asked Eindre to hand her a cup and dipped it into the bucket of water, adding it little by little to the mixing bowl until the powder became a thick drink. With a practiced hand, Seaka poured the liquid into an empty flask and wiped up what spilled with an extra cloth. She removed a silver thimble - a precious tool to her - from a pocket on the inside of her coat and approached Nimeah.


    ¡°May I?¡±


    Nimeah nodded, and Eindre helped her sit up enough to drink the thimbleful of medicine that Seaka held to her lips. Nimeah seemed to relax immediately. She gave Seaka¡¯s fingers a grateful squeeze before closing her eyes and turning her face away from the lantern light.


    Seaka packed up her bag in silence, stealing glances at Eindre¡¯s still figure as he watched his wife. She left the table where it was, covered in poultices and cloths. The flask and thimbles she placed on the top of the tall wardrobe. When she looked back at Eindre, he nodded his appreciation.


    ¡°One thimbleful when the sun is next at its highest, at noon. Then not again until the stars are all awake.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I understand. You have my deepest thanks, Mistress Lach.¡±


    Seaka crossed to the door without another word and opened it, but Eindre called out for her to wait. She paused on the door¡¯s threshold and looked at him over her shoulder.


    ¡°My wife is going to recover. You are going to see my niece now and she...she is going to recover.¡±


    He asked no questions, but she felt his statements deserved answers. ¡°Yes. Yes. And yes, I suppose, though there is nothing wrong with the Drottine.¡±


    ¡°Nothing wrong with the Drottine. Nothing wrong with her¡­¡± Eindre slipped the mourning mask from his face and pressed his thumbs into his eyes. ¡°I hear her crying every night. It¡¯s what babies do. I know that. And yet...he lets no one in to see her. No one except the one nursemaid. Nimeah has tried. She¡¯s offered her assistance, but Dizean refuses her help. She says she feels no offense, that he must be thinking of her, but don¡¯t think that¡¯s it.


    ¡°I think...I don¡¯t know what I think. Not anymore.¡± He sighed, and Seaka could hear every hour he¡¯d fought against his eyes to remain awake in the weary sound. ¡°I understand a father¡¯s need to protect his child. But this is something else. He will not let me get close enough to see what it is, but something is wrong."


    ¡°Yes, something is wrong. The Kongr has just lost his wife; he almost lost his daughter. He is afraid. I''m not sure any of us can fully comprehend the depth of his grief, or his fear."


    Eindre''s brow pinched in thought. "Perhaps you are right."


    "The child is strong, I assure you. I have seen her. She is rosy-cheeked and strong. Dizean will relent soon. I¡¯m sure of it.¡±


    Seaka could sense disapproval in Eindre¡¯s expression, but she did not know what he expected her to say. If the Kongr¡¯s own brother could not sway him, what use were the entreaties of an old Lach?


    As far as she knew, what she told Eindre was the truth. But she still did not know the reason behind the Kongr¡¯s summons. Her stomach dropped to the floor.


    ¡°Excuse me. I will go to the Drottine now, if you would offer me leave. I feel I have tarried too long speaking with you.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Go! Dizean does not know about my wife. You could tell him...if he cares.¡±


    ¡°My lord.¡± Seaka offered Eindre a shallow bow and hurried from the room, sacrificing silence for speed as she rushed down one dimly lit hall and then another.


    The two separate rooms that had belonged to the Kongr and Drottingr stood alone on the back wall of the structure, separated from the rest of the sleeping chambers by thin walkways on either side. The Kongr had kept his wife¡¯s chambers just as she had left it. Seaka was pretty sure that it had been used as a day room exclusively until Erina gave birth to her daughter, and then it had been converted into a nursery with room for Erina to stay with the babe in privacy.


    Seaka paused with her hand pressed against the nursery door and closed her eyes against the memories that swirled around the edges of her vision. The hours she had spent in happy visits to an old friend clouded over by the memories she held of the past eight months.


    Four months of happiness. That¡¯s all Erina had been allotted. Four months to adjust to life as a mother, and then the sickness had struck them both. The babe had survived; her mother had not. Seaka, with all her experience as a healer, had not seen the inevitability of this outcome until it was too late to prepare herself, or anyone else.


    She raised a hand to knock on the door and then paused. She had not stopped to wonder if she would wake anyone by arriving so late, but she thought she had heard...


    There it was again. A male voice, rough and low, singing, ¡°Rilken the honored and his men of justice, men as strong as stone, unyielding, mighty¡­¡±


    The voice faded again as if the singer was pacing away. Seaka shifted her bag onto her other hip and knocked softly on the door. The singing stopped, and she heard rushed footsteps as someone hurried to open the door.


    Seaka did not feel the smile that softened her lips as she prepared to face the Kongr, but she did feel her smile slip away when she saw that his arms were empty. She recovered quickly, bowing her head in deference. ¡°Kongr Dizean.¡±


    ¡°Seaka, you did get my message. You took your time coming.¡±


    ¡°I was attending to your brother¡¯s wife. She has had another loss.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I...I did not know.¡± He bent his head, pressing a fist to his mouth.


    The action spoke of a man who did truly care for his family. Seaka took in the dark shadows under his eyes and the way that his hands shook, and sympathy stirred in her heart.


    ¡°Will she...will she be¡­¡±


    ¡°Nimeah is weakened, but I think she will regain her strength in time. Time with those who care for her will be the best medicine.¡±


    ¡°Of course. Of course,¡± Dizean murmured. He was still standing in the doorway, blocking her view of the room beyond. ¡°Still, you might have sent a messenger...¡±


    ¡°I am here now, my Kongr. Is there something wrong? Is the Drottine in distress?¡±


    Dizean''s expression turned sheepish, his eyes shifting to the floor. ¡°Not at the moment. She is not doing what she was doing at the time I sent for you.¡±


    Seaka¡¯s eyes narrowed in suspicion. ¡°May I see her?¡±


    Dizean shifted just enough to allow her to pass, and then he shut the door quickly. Seaka¡¯s eyes swept the room, her gaze snagging on all the familiar corners and surfaces, before landing on the tiny circular bed standing at the foot of Erina¡¯s empty bed. She crept forward and gazed down at the sleeping Drottine.


    Sweet child, poor child, she thought.


    Not beautiful child.


    When she was born, Seaka had thought the child¡¯s resemblance to her mother was quite striking. But any beauty she might have possessed in the curve of her soft cheeks or the twinkle of her lavender gray eyes or the rosy hue of her lips was now marred beyond redemption, hiding behind the mask of red scars that reddened her face.


    The old Lach felt the child¡¯s forehead and ran a hand down her pale arm to search for the pulse at the junction of arm and wrist. The babe opened her eyes and stared up at Seaka with an intensity she was not used to seeing in a child who had not yet reached her first year.


    Seaka lifted the babe out of the nest of pillows. She reached up to place a tiny hand on the Lach¡¯s cloth-covered cheek and cooed, and despite herself, Seaka smiled.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you?¡± she asked as she stared down at the child.


    ¡°She¡¯s having breathing fits again,¡± Dizean said, approaching cautiously.


    ¡°She is?¡± Seaka stared down at the silent child staring back up at her. ¡°I don¡¯t hear a hitch in her breathing,¡± she started to say, but as if to prove her father right, the girl started to shake. Her breath stilled for a few seconds, and then she began to hiccup.


    Seaka let out a nervous laugh. ¡°Oh Dizean, surely you recognize hiccups. She¡¯s fine.¡±


    ¡°No...No, she doesn¡¯t stop. It goes on forever. And her fever markings. They¡¯re not fading. I fear they may be spreading again. If they start to spread down her neck¡­¡±


    Dizean continued on for two minutes while Seaka examined the girl¡¯s neck all the way down to her stomach and around to her back. Finding nothing, Seaka turned her back around and traced softly over the marks that covered the lower half of her face. They felt warmer to the touch than the surrounding skin. The babe cried out softly when she reached the swollen flesh under her left eye and leaned away from Seaka¡¯s hand.


    Poor thing. I wish I could take the burn away.


    ¡°Her marks don¡¯t appear to be spreading,¡± she said.


    ¡°Do you think they are fading? Will they?¡± He pressed further when she did not answer right away.


    Now for the bad news.


    ¡°I have uncovered no record of someone surviving from the Red Fever. Perhaps there have been a few cases here and there, but no one has come forward with the information. They may fade, but I can provide no satisfactory answers for if and when that may occur. I still find it a miracle that she survived at all.¡±


    She tried to emphasize this last point, but Dizean did not acknowledge it.


    ¡°You have been discreet in your research?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Kongr. So little is known of the cause of the illness. Most of what I have found are superstitions and ill omens. It all means nothing now. But I am beginning to fear...to wonder...if the Drottine¡¯s scars may...never...fade.¡±


    ¡°Never?¡± Dizean¡¯s expression grew distant. ¡°But¡­¡±


    The babe gave a shudder and began to hiccup violently. Her tiny body shook so much, the Lach almost dropped her.


    ¡°Seaka!¡±


    The panic on Dizean¡¯s face pained Seaka. She flipped the child so that she was lying face down on her arm and thumped her back. She quieted down at once. Dizean watched in stunned silence as Seaka flipped the babe back over and leaned her against her chest.


    Her actions were practiced from all her years helping young mothers adjust to their new roles. But though she looked at ease with a child in her arms, she was truly not. She had never had any children of her own. She had just been blessed with a quick mind, a long memory, and steady hands.


    ¡°See. Just hiccups,¡± she said, a hint of humor in her voice. ¡°They appear bigger with one so tiny, but they are still just hiccups.¡±


    Dizean stared at her with an unmasked look of awe. Seaka allowed herself a small smile at her secret.


    ¡°What could be causing them?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°What she¡¯s being fed, or perhaps how she¡¯s being fed, or...well, it could be a lot of things. I suggest keeping her upright as much as possible while the problem persists. I don¡¯t suppose you would know how she¡¯s being cared for?¡±


    Dizean declined to answer.


    ¡°And when she has these fits, you leave her lying there and stare at her like a hunk of rock?" she pressed.


    Dizean bristled at her words. ¡°Of course not.¡±


    ¡°Good! Because you will not break her.¡± She took a step forward and held the babe out from her body.


    Dizean looked at her blankly for a moment before he reached out his arms. Seaka slid the Kongr¡¯s child into his hold and grasped his shoulder. In a quiet, even voice - eyes fixed on the child¡¯s face - she said, ¡°I cannot look into the future and tell you how your daughter¡¯s face will fare. I cannot tell you how she will grow. But she is strong like her mother was. Stronger. When you need to find your wife in her, think of that.¡±


    Tears pooled in the corners of Dizean¡¯s eyes, but he reigned them in. His large hands pulled his daughter to his chest. She elicited a single yawn, laid her head on his shoulder, and relaxed against him, and he released a heavy sigh.


    ¡°Thank you, Seaka.¡±


    ¡°Kongr.¡± Seaka gave him a short bow though he was not looking at her. She averted her gaze to keep from staring at the tender moment between father and daughter.


    When Erina and her infant daughter had fallen to the Red Fever, Seaka had held no hope for them. Or indeed, for herself. She had understood the danger of caring for someone so ill, but she had chosen to stay.


    There was a reason that the Red Fever was shrouded in so much mystery. It was rumored to have been the result of an old curse enacted against the people of Ilvana before the time of Rilken. Superstitions and curses held no sway for Seaka. She understood facts and numbers. The Red Fever struck rarely these days. When it did, it struck without pattern or prejudice, and it left none alive. That was the truth of it, but she understood Dizean¡¯s caution in uttering the cause of his wife¡¯s death.


    The loss of the four-month-old babe would have been hard, but nothing compared to the loss of their beloved Drottingr. She knew that Dizean, and Ilvana by extension, would never be the same without Erina''s gentle nature that Seaka had seen touch the heart of even the most stubborn petitioner. She had counseled her husband to deny no one stead hospitality; she welcomed each and every person who entered her home like they were family.


    Dizean was a good Kongr. Dizean the Just, some called him. But Drottingr Erina - once crowned - had become the beating heart of her people.


    Seaka had been present the night Erina collapsed from fatigue in the dining hall. She remembered Dizean bringing her up to the nursery. She had carried the child herself, intent on seeing that Erina was properly cared for. Her friend had never left this room again.


    Dizean had ordered Erina and his infant daughter quarantined at the first mention of Red Fever. He had made Seaka promise to breathe no word of her diagnosis to anyone for fear that panic would ensue. Seaka had agreed at the time, although if she had known the extent of Dizean¡¯s fears, she might have cautioned him against falsehoods.


    Erina had tried to put on a brave face for the sake of her husband, but she soon began to wither like a flower in winter. The rest of her body grew pale while red scars crisscrossed her face and neck, and shivers and coughing fits attacked her mercilessly.


    She spent every moment alone with Seaka pleading for the Lach to spend her efforts on her infant daughter. She knew the truth of her fate, and she accepted it with dignity beyond measure. But she could not bear to see her daughter suffer.


    Seaka had weighed the odds. The chances of either surviving were slim...but if she had to choose, the newborn would never have been on her list of survivors. Knowing that, she could not do as Erina wished. The pang of guilt she felt about this fact had faded to a dull stab in her heart that flared into life at the sight of Erina¡¯s child, alive and well save for the fever marks.


    Erina had succumbed to the illness within three moons. But the baby - this smiling eight-month-old - was alive. And Seaka was confident that she would remain so. Wasn¡¯t that the most important thing?


    A Drottine could become a Drottingr. But before she could become her people¡¯s heart, she had to inspire theirs to beat harder. A pretty face was the easiest way to inspire such love and inspiration. That was simply the way the world worked. But Seaka was not cynical enough to believe it was the only way. Or even the best way.


    Erina had been beloved. If the Drottine¡¯s scars could be made to be seen as a sign of strength and not one of weakness, as Dizean spoke of them, Seaka knew the people could love her. Would love her. If only her father would allow them to know her.


    Behind Dizean¡¯s back so he would not see, Seaka placed a hand over her heart in a sign of luck and whispered, ¡°Erina, rest you in peace. Know that your love remains.¡±


    Her words were quiet enough that she knew Dizean, distracted as he was, did not hear her, but he turned toward the soft shush of her voice.


    Seaka jumped at the opportunity to continue their conversation. ¡°There was another reason I was delayed on my way to you. There was a group of Jarls waiting downstairs for me.¡±


    Dizean¡¯s eyes flashed. His arms tightened around his daughter, but she made a sound of protest in her sleep, and he relaxed his hold again. ¡°Halvor and his pack of western steadowners? They are constantly questioning my decisions, demanding more say in the council when the western steads are smaller and fewer in number. What knowledge does Halvor have of Ilvana that I do not possess? Nothing. Every word he speaks is full of ignorance and undeserved pride.¡±


    ¡°That may be true, but he is right about one thing. You have been keeping your daughter from the people. Her people. Your people. Your family.¡±


    Dizean groaned, and Seaka fell silent. He sat on the edge of the larger bed and laid his head atop his daughter¡¯s. ¡°She is so small.¡±


    ¡°If the Kongr of Ilvana insists on living in fear and suspicion, then you can only expect the people of Ilvana to live in fear and suspicion...and that is the last thing I am going to say, my Kongr. I will take my leave of you. If you or your family have need of me, I shall return.¡±


    ¡°Seaka, wait. You cannot leave.¡± Dizean stood up too fast and his daughter startled awake.


    Seaka took a few more steps toward the door, widening the distance between them so that Dizean would not think to hand her the child. He stood and paced to the wall and back, making no effort to smooth his strides. The child did not seem to care. She hid her face in her father¡¯s shoulder and drifted back off to sleep.


    ¡°You cannot leave. I need you here. I do not want to have to make you stay, but I can. I will.¡±


    ¡°No, you will not.¡±


    ¡°For her sake, Seaka. Please.¡±


    Dizean did not say Erina¡¯s name, but Seaka heard it in the gentle fall of his tone. She clenched her eyes tight, trying to quiet the pleading voice in her head. My daughter, Seaka. You have to help my daughter. Please.


    ¡°If I...if I could attend to my profession during the day, I could stay here with the child at night. If it would ease your mind to have me near.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Thank you, Seaka. Thank you.¡±


    Dizean took a step toward her, but Seaka stepped back again, hand blindly reaching for the handle of her bag. ¡°Tomorrow. I will return before the supper hour. Until then, I have errands to see to in the village and a house to pack up.¡±


    ¡°Of course. I shall send a cart and helpers to assist you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, my Kongr.¡± Once again, Seaka ignored the pain in her hip and back and bowed to Dizean. Her mask chose then to slip and she hastily caught it, wiping her sleeve on her damp forehead.


    Dizean did not comment as she replaced her mask, picked up her bag, and retreated to the door. When she looked back, she saw that he was staring at the wall over Erina¡¯s desk where she had hung the masks that she had donned for formal events.


    There were four masks in all: a black mourning mask topped with a circlet of dusky river pearls; a midnight blue half mask with threads of silver and white swirling artfully along the crescent-shaped curve; a bright red mask adorned with feathers gathered with care from the discarded feathers of the Drottingr¡¯s yellow songbird; and the most elaborate one of all. The fourth mask had been crafted to look like a Drakun¡¯s head covered in tiny golden scales and baubles that was meant to be slipped on over the wearer¡¯s head so that it covered everything from the top of their head to their neck.


    It had been a costly gift from the craftsmen of Seaka¡¯s village. There was no mark symbolizing the mask¡¯s maker, but the mark of the ruling stead of Ilvana, Dizean¡¯s own mark - a three-pointed mountain range - had been carved on the back of the mask.


    Seaka turned quickly to watch Dizean scrutinize each mask in turn and then turn to the bed and reach forward carefully to pick up the black mask that he had discarded. He sat and lowered his daughter onto his lap. The mask meant for his face was huge, but he held it over her face and a tentative smile curled the edges of his mouth.


    A chill entered Seaka¡¯s heart. She drew her cloak closer around her shoulders and left without another word, creeping soundlessly out of the building and turning toward the stables. She hoped no one would notice if she borrowed a horse. It would only be for half a day.


    A promise was a promise. She had promised Erina that she would help her daughter, and so she would.


    But if she was going to help raise this child - and she had promised to do just that - then she would have her say.


    Fresh air and sunlight. That¡¯s what everyone needed. That would help ease the heart pangs of sorrow that hung in the air and made it hard to breathe in that room.


    Tomorrow, little one. Tomorrow you will feel the sun on your face.

 Chapter 1A

    Lyssia opened her eyes and saw the Drakun face hovering inches above her own, glittering teeth parted. She took a deep breath to scream, but then she heard the wordless melody that emanated from the Drakun¡¯s mouth. The breath whooshed out of her as her eyes drank in the face that floated above her.


    Hard, gold scales. A halo of brown to hair that shone red in the flickering light. Sharp teeth drawn back in a wide grin. Gray eyes that held a piece of the sky at nightfall in the specks of lavender that twinkled in their depths.


    All desire to scream left her. Instead, she closed her eyes and nestled deeper into the warmth that surrounded her.


    It was a dream.


    The past haunted Lyssia''s dreams. She spent most of her nights running through hazy mazes of memory until, her mind thoroughly exhausted, she would land in the arms of the woman who held her close and serenaded her with a haunting melody that sounded so familiar.


    Surely, if Lyssia could remember the notes, she should remember the words that went along with them. She had tried to put words to the song when she was younger. Childish lyrics about sunset eyes and golden wings. They had never sounded right.


    Lyssia tried to reach out and take the songstress¡¯ hand. She tried to sit up and remove the Drakun mask so she could, at last, see the woman''s face. But she could not move her arms. They were constrained. All she could do was turn her face into the woman¡¯s arms and take a deep breath. Rosehips and forest pine. The scent of her dreams.


    She tried to hold onto the dream as long as she could, but she could already feel herself beginning to wake up. Her eyes fluttered open and came to rest on the row of color that graced the far wall: black, blue, red, gold. They were the first thing that she saw every morning when she opened her eyes.


    The room wasn¡¯t bright; the window was still covered. The light that did sneak through the edges of the shutters hinted that the morning was already growing late.


    Lyssia groaned. She threw her blankets up over her head and cast her mind back through the night, attempting to recall her earlier dreams. They were usually so real, so vivid, that she could remember the details several days afterwards. But her mind drew a blank. So that''s why her limbs felt heavy and relaxed. Last night had been one of her rare dreamless nights. A few hours of peace from the whirlwind of sight and sound and feeling that usually kept her from deep sleep.


    She stretched her arms up above her head. Her fingers brushed against the wall and snapped back quickly. She tucked them under her chin and peeped up over the edge of her blankets, blinking blearily at the empty fire grate. She had forgotten to prepare a fire before going to bed.


    The spring chill snuck beneath her blankets, wound its way down her body, and froze her toes. She wiggled them, wincing as feeling returned in the form of tiny bolts of lightning. Once she felt her feet were returned to normal, she rolled her ankles, stretched out her legs, and twisted her spin, slowly coming back to life.


    She kneaded her shoulders for a minute, digging her fingers into the stiff muscles. Soft fabric met her fingertips when they glided up her neck and along her cheek. She ran a light finger from her fabric-covered forehead down to her chin, checking the way the sleep mask fit snugly over her features. Then there was nothing else she could do to delay getting up.


    She slipped her feet out from underneath the blankets and buried them in the soft bjurn fur rug that lay beside her bed. Her bleary eyes roamed over to her desk, once again memorizing the route over the collection of rugs that would save her feet from the floor.


    Steeling herself against the rush of cold air, she sprang up out of her blanket cocoon and ran across the room. Her foot banged against the edge of the desk, and she hopped the rest of the way to the chair, breath held against the flash of pain that coursed up her leg.


    Only half of the old cedar wood desk was set up for her use. The pots of cheek and lip stain, the hand lyra made of polished wood and horsehair string, the hall-full bowl of hazelnuts, the bottle containing water and old rosehip petals, the gold finger band that lay in a carved box beside a dozen pieces of precious jewelry and covered over with a film of dust, the row of four ornate masks that hung high on the wall - all these things did not belong to her.


    Neither did the cedar chest full of clothes and furs she would never use, nor the tiny bed made with a bright orange child¡¯s blanket and pressed against the wall beneath the shuttered window, nor the unfinished woven tapestry of a yellow-leaved forest that hung beside the door.


    This room was only half hers, but truly, she did not mind. It had a history all its own that did not belong to her. She did not crave more space within these confining walls. She craved the freedom of the warmth of the sun on her face. But she had not felt that type of freedom for many years.


    Lyssia reached over and carefully, deliberately, flipped over the mirror that was propped up on a wooden keepsake box set between a stack of plain leather masks and blank sheets of writing vellum. Only once she was sure that she would not be startled by the sight of her bare face did she tug at the triple knot behind her left ear that kept her sleep mask in place.


    She tossed the mask over her shoulder. It landed on the bjurn fur rug. She pulled the lid off a clay pot that sat on the desk and sniffed at the contents. The salve made from a mixture of witch hazel and yender leaf was still potent enough to sting her nose.


    There was a cloth damp from last night hanging off the edge of the desk. Lyssia picked it up and rubbed at her face, taking special care with the rough skin of her cheeks, before applying a thin cooling layer of salve. She bent her legs under her, crouching in the chair with her cold feet tucked underneath her bottom, and reached automatically for a mask off the stack on the desk. It was made of two pieces of plain brown leather, double stitched together so that the outside could be oiled and treated to help it hold shape while the inside was left the slightly softer texture of cowhide.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    She had amassed quite a collection of masks over the years, all commissioned by her father and offered as gifts that she could not refuse. She kept her more formal masks hanging on the wall in a neat line beneath the masks that were not hers, but she rarely wore them.


    The mask in her hand was cracked along the edges, the inside was almost too stiff from the sweat stains, and there were faint food stains around the opening left for her mouth. Her hand strayed toward the least ornate mask that hung in her collection. It was also made of hardened brown leather, but a swirling design had been tooled into the leather and dyed green like a vine. Three purple flowers sprouted from the vines climbing along the mask¡¯s cheeks.


    But no, her father would expect her to choose something plain and somber for the days of Urd-Yute.


    The Yute celebrations fell in the time between the dark of the cold season and the planting season. Urd-Yute was the celebration of the past, and it was a somber time of thanksgiving. At least it was for those living at the Kongr¡¯s stead.


    Thinking about her father waiting for her in full Urd-Yute black to join him in another reading from the Lays of Past Kongren, Lyssia jumped into action. She fastened the plain mask in place and hopped over to her privy room, which was just a corner of her room sectioned off to hide her chamber pot and washing stand from the view of the door.


    She intended to give herself a quick cloth bath, but her actions were interrupted by the soft strains of a familiar song coming from the hallway. She dropped the rag into the bowl of wash water, yanked her slip back over her shoulders, and ran across the room to press her ear against the door.


    ¡°...Waiting through the dark


    Voice locked up tight with my heart


    And when the clouds finally part


    With the sun, I shall rise


    Hope does not fade


    But if you can find a way


    To wait for the sun


    Then you will see


    You have reason to sing


    Rustling your feathers


    in the dawn¡¯s healing light


    The hope in your heartsong


    Bidding your feet take flight


    And you will fly to...¡±


    Lyssia sighed in disappointment as the songstress moved on down the hall, taking her sweet song with her. Lyssia¡¯s hand inched toward the lock on the door. She pictured throwing the door open and finally discovering the identity of her mysterious morning visitor. But then, like always, she pulled her hand back and leaned her forehead against the door instead.


    She didn¡¯t need to know who passed by her room each morning and greeted her with song. It was enough to know that she wasn¡¯t the only one who needed to wake up with a song that heralded the dawn and not the night. And just like her, this songstress was caught up in the same tune. The notes and the words might be a little different each time, but the songstress always sang of the sun returning hope to her in climbing arpeggios that made it impossible for Lyssia - listening behind her door - to not lift her eyes off the ground.


    Rustling your feathers in the dawn¡¯s healing light! The hope in your heartsong bidding your feet to take flight!


    Lyssia pushed away from the door and twirled on her feet, throwing her arms out like wings. She felt the truth of the stranger¡¯s song, like a wingtip brushing her heart. She had to pause for a moment to catch her breath at the sheer pleasure of finding the right words to describe a feeling.


    She flew over on tiptoe to the window and threw open the wooden shutters. Light streamed into the room. Lyssia spun on the spot, reaching for the door to her wardrobe, and caught sight of the clothes already laid out on the oak chest.


    A pair of deep brown riding pants peeked out beneath a long, robin egg blue skirt. A pale green blouse was laid out beside the skirt along with a sage-colored cloak and a pouched belt. A pair of full, well-worn saddlebags sat on the floor beside the chest.


    Colorful clothes. Riding clothes.


    ¡°Eda!¡± she exclaimed. ¡°Eda-Yute!¡±


    Urd-Yute was over, and so was the solemn time of remembrance of the past. Today was the first day of Eda-Yute, the time of giving thanks for the present. It was also the first day of Steiner Mart.


    She had spent the long days of the cold season preparing goods with her own hands to barter at the Mart - containers of jam, embroidered squares of fabric, smooth river stones polished to a quick shine and inscribed with the old mark for luck, and little trinkets that she had turned into necklaces.


    They weren¡¯t particularly well-crafted, but the Mart was a chance for people to come together, celebrate their families, shake off the past year, and share what they had with one another. She would bring what she had and practice her bartering skills.


    She had also packed a small bag of coin in her belt pouch, but it was unlikely that she would find anyone at the Mart who had need or want of the thin iron coins. She kept it safely tucked away in a belt pouch alongside a letter - twice rolled and sealed - that she had written many weeks ago and kept hidden in her darkwood keepsake box until last night. She didn¡¯t know if she would be able to get it to the right person, but just thinking of it gave her a rebellious thrill.


    For all the time she had spent preparing her goods, she had spent twice as much time crafting her discussions concerning the Mart with her father. Her attending the Mart wasn¡¯t the problem, but the idea of her attending the Mart without the entirety of the stead accompanying her had to be approached delicately. She wasn¡¯t sure her father had been going to agree until yesterday when she had stumbled upon the right point of argument.


    ¡°Might some consider me weak, father, for never showing courage or interest enough to venture further than a stone¡¯s throw from the stead without a ten-man escort.¡±


    Her comment infuriated him, but he could not deny the logic that he heard in her words. His arguments had ceased immediately, and Lyssia quit the room soon after that when the supper conversation turned to talk of the Eda-Yute hunt.


    Her father had not spoken agreement to her plan to attend the Mart with just her two cousins and aunt for escort, but on the way to her room, she had been gifted with a glimpse of multi-colored tent tops and a table set beneath a blue tent laden with cheese rounds of all different sizes and colors.


    It was a glimpse of Steiner Mart in the afternoon light, and she knew it instantly for what it was. A glimpse of what was to come.


    Her dreams belonged to the past.


    Her daydreams belonged to the future.


    Her father would agree to let her attend the Mart on her own. She was sure of it.


    * * * * * * * * * *


    Eager to get her day started now, Lyssia made quick work of getting ready. She fastened the...

 Chapter 1B

    Eager to get her day started now, Lyssia made quick work of getting ready. She fastened the window shutters before dancing over to her desk and switching her plain leather mask for the one with vines and flowers. It might have been too colorful for Urd-Yute, but it was quite appropriate for Eda-Yute.


    Then she danced back over to the pile of waiting clothing, hopping again from rug to rug. The mysterious songstress¡¯ music was still stuck in her head. She hummed along in harmony.


    She cast another forlorn look at her unused fireplace. Two pairs of shoes - her black slippers and her riding boots - had been placed beside a long pair of woolen leggings on the warming shelf, but with no coals to warm them, they would be as cold and firm as the ground.


    Oh well, she thought, as she finished pulling on her cloak. She opened the shutters to let daylight in, confident now that she had a mask in place again. Then retrieving her boots, she returned to her desk. She had no need of powder to paint her face, but she still had to make her hair look presentable, and that was often an unbearable chore.


    She flipped the mirror back around and her humming died off as she stared at her reflection. Her head twisted from side to side as she examined how the mask looked on her. Her hair was beginning to unravel from the loose braid she¡¯d fixed it in the night before. She shook the rest free and ran a thick strand through her fingers.


    It doesn¡¯t really matter, she told herself. No one will be looking at my hair while I¡¯m bearing the mark of Ilvana on my mask.


    All of her masks were engraved with this symbol, and she bore it on her forearm as well. A three-pointed mountain encircled by a double circular band. She was the only person aside from her father allowed to wear this mark on her skin.


    "Allowed" was a generous term. She could not choose to set the mark aside, but she would have worn it anyway. She was proud of her kongdomr, proud of her family. She would not mind the mark, except for the fact that it made it too easy for eyes to find her.


    It didn¡¯t truly matter what she looked like, but she forced herself to sit still long enough to work the knots out of the bottom half of her frizzy locks and divide her hair into three sections. Slowly, she began to twist the locks into thin braids that she could secure at the base of the tie that kept her mask in place.


    As she worked, she spoke aloud all the emotions that she had felt since waking up. She listed them one by one. "Excitement. Confusion. Appreciation. Disappointment. Laziness. Peace."


    Each tug to pull another strand of hair into hand was an emotion named, and each braid secured was an emotion tied down. Her hands stuttered with nerves. Her appearance did matter. She just didn''t like to admit it. But everything she did mattered. Her every step was watched, her every sigh measured. And there was no room for nerves.


    She added nervousness to her list of emotions and gave another twist to the braid in her hand before tying it off. She stopped to examine herself in the mirror one more time, smoothing the sections of hair she''d left hanging straight to frame her mask and then flipping them over her shoulder. The ends hit the dip in her lower back. It would have to do.


    She stood and smoothed her skirt out, adjusted the flowing, bell-shaped sleeves of her cloak, and settled her belt over her hips. She walked across the room to retrieve the rest of her things in the delicate manner that she had been taught to walk - short strides, feet flat-footed and placed close together, back straight, hips slightly swaying. It was meant to catch the eye and display gracefulness, a trait that she had found hard to learn. Riding boots or no, it would do no good to forget herself and leap down the stairs like a crag goat.


    With a saddlebag and strap hanging over each shoulder, she crossed to the door and threw it open. Two figures stood on either side of her door like sentries, their oiled masks gleaming in the light from the lantern that hung in an alcove from the post set opposite the door. To someone else they might have gone anonymous, but she recognized them in the shape of the shadows they cast and the angle of their postures.


    ¡°Vas Morginnen, Cousins-mine.¡± Lyssia greeted them both with a shallow curtsy.


    The brown-haired figure on the left responded by pressing his hand to his heart and bowing. ¡°Lyssia,¡± he greeted her simply and held out his hand for her bags.


    Lyssia handed them over so he could sling them over his shoulders beside his own and turned to the shorter, lighter-haired boy on her left side.


    ¡°Vas Morginnen, Lys,¡± he said in a cheerful voice, snaking his arm around her shoulders. They were about the same height, but he liked to emphasize the inch and a half of difference by leaning over her. ¡°You finally decided to grace us with your presence. Ready for the Mart?¡±


    Lyssia glanced past him down the hall and then turned to glance down the stairs. Both were empty. ¡°Where is your mother?¡±


    ¡°Hahaha-mmmh.¡± Roakev choked back a laugh, and Lyssia glanced at him with wide eyes.


    On impulse, she made sure that they were alone before asking, ¡°What? What happened? Ro?¡±


    Roakev ducked his head to avoid her gaze, but Lyssia shook Azerian off and stepped toward him, standing on tiptoe and craning her neck to peer into his eyes. ¡°What¡¯s so funny? Tell me. Tell me.¡±


    Azerian spoke first. ¡°My mother is in a bit of a...mood this morning. I think she¡¯s just eager to quit the stead for a while. She said she would wait for us by the stables.¡±


    ¡°Did she take official leave of the Kongr?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Azerian¡¯s subdued response and glance at the ground told Lyssia that there was more to the story.


    ¡°She threw her shoes at him,¡± Roakev said, tripping over the words in his haste to speak, and though his arms were back in their defense position crossed before his chest, she heard the laughter that wanted to break through again in his voice.


    ¡°Well, what actually happened was¡­¡± Azerian froze his constant shifting, his hand creeping up to clasp his neck. ¡°I hid them on the stairs. She had to spend longer looking for them. I could sense she was getting tense last night, and I thought she could use a laugh. But I may have miscalculated.¡± He shrugged and leaned back on his right foot, and then he was rocking back and forth again.


    ¡°Uh-hu,¡± Lyssia and Roakev said at the same time. Lyssia patted her older cousin¡¯s arm, and he leaned into the touch briefly before pulling away and nodding toward the stairs.


    ¡°Right. After me.¡± Lyssia took her skirts in one hand and brushed past Azerian, who fell into step beside Roakev. She glanced back at the odd pair, pausing on the second step down.


    ¡°Lyssia?¡± Azerian asked, his eyes raking her from top to bottom searching for the cause of the troubled look in her eyes.


    ¡°Have either of you seen my father today?¡±


    Both boys shook their heads, and Roakev asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice, ¡°Why? Are you worried he¡¯s changed his mind?¡±


    Lyssia thought for a moment, but she knew deep down that he would not.


    A bright blue tent. Yellow and white wheels of cheese. Bright red apples. Voices talking, singing, laughing. A feeling of contentment.


    She gripped the stair railing as the vision swept over her. It was gone a moment later, and she swayed on her feet, grateful for the solid feeling of the wood beneath her fingers.


    ¡°Lys, you okay?¡±


    ¡°Yes. No. He will not change his mind. I¡¯m sure of it.¡±


    Roakev stared at her, his eyes unreadable. She saw his fingers working against the straps of her saddlebag, though, and she sensed his discomfort.


    Azerian reached up pretending to adjust his mask and lifted it to the side so Lyssia had an uninterrupted view of his grin and wink. ¡°I know. I feel it too. It¡¯s written on the side of Aturnel.¡±


    Roakev groaned. ¡°Not this again.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Azerian asked.


    ¡°You cannot predict the future.¡±


    ¡°Oh really? You¡¯ll be thankful the next time it¡¯s going to rain and I remind you to take a cover.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t predict that last time I was caught in the rain.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes I did.¡±


    ¡°You little---! I was sneezing for a week!¡±


    ¡°Manners, boys!¡± Lyssia called over her shoulder as she started down the stairs again. Then she tuned them out. She was already down the steps and out the door in her mind.


    For once, the weather seemed willing to cooperate with her wishes. There was not a cloud in the sky. Azerian and Roakev kept up their bickering until they set foot on the stone-lined path that would lead them to the receiving hall where the Kongr would be waiting for them to bid him good morning. No doubt the hall was already full of visitors. There would be no getting around a public farewell.


    The sound of a dozen voices raised in song reached Lyssia before she rounded the long building that housed her father¡¯s receiving hall and meeting room and the dining hall. The group of singers was accompanied by a quartet of instruments - a hand lyra, a bone flute, a low bass drum, and a lur. The latter was played with such enthusiasm as it kept tempo with the drum that it nearly drowned out the singers.


    It took Lyssia half a stanza to recognize the lyrics beneath the lur¡¯s blaring tone. It was a classic Yute song that summoned the spirit of all three cycles of the celebration - Urd, Eda, and Aon. The past, present, and future. The singers finished the song and then started again.


    Lyssia, Azerian, and Roakev stood in a line, watching them with varied expressions of patience. As the singers started their third and final repetition, Lyssia closed her eyes and focused on one of the female voices. She mouthed the words along with the woman, imagining that she sang the harmony. It was a song that every child was taught when they were young. She had performed it many times over the years for her father and his guests.


    When the song was over, the trio offered polite applause and turned toward the open doors to the receiving hall, waiting for the crowd of musicians to clear the way. The flute player stood from the bench he had occupied at the front of the group and approached them. ¡°Drottine,¡± he said in a thin voice that sounded like the whisper of leaves in the wind.


    ¡°Skald Bjarke.¡± Lyssia inclined her head respectively. ¡°Vas Morginnen.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Morginnen. Will you play for us?¡±


    He held out his flute toward her, fingers lovingly cradling the weathered bone casing. Lyssia tucked her hands into her sleeves. It was an honor for him to offer his instrument to her, but the thought of touching it, let alone his hands, made her stomach turn sour.


    Bjarke¡¯s scrutiny always left Lyssia feeling like ants were crawling up her spine. He was a tall man - easily the tallest in any room he found himself in - and thin as a pole. He always wore somber colors, no matter the season, and half masks that kept the bottom half of his face uncovered. It helped with his trade. As a Skald, he was both musician and historian.


    Needless to say, he was easily identifiable, and Lyssia had taken note of his tendency to be found lurking in the background everywhere. It was another habit that linked him to his trade, she supposed, but that did not ease the tight feeling in her gut every time she crossed paths with him.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Bjarke drew the flute back. ¡°Or perhaps you would sing for us?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I have other plans this morning. I do not intend to stay long.¡±


    ¡°You three are...visiting the Mart?¡±


    ¡°If the Kongr allows.¡± Lyssia¡¯s eyes turned toward the receiving hall again, and she shifted onto the foot closest to it, unconsciously leaning in that direction.


    ¡°We shall miss your voice this morning, but perhaps it is for the best. I, too, must beg leave of the Kongr.¡±


    ¡°You are leaving the stead?¡± Lyssia¡¯s attention snapped back to the Skald.


    ¡°I have a longing for my ears to be filled with nothing but the sweet sound of birdsong, and I feel I have neglected my horse as of late. He will be eager for a chance to stretch his legs among the trees.¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s tense shoulders fell into relief, and she smiled. The forest lay to the east of the stead, and the crossroads where Steiner Mart was held was to the north.


    ¡°Good luck in your query, Master Skald.¡±


    ¡°And you in yours, Drottine, Roakev, Azerian.¡± Bjarke folded his form into a bow that encompassed all three of them. He did not retreat but held this posture until Lyssia nudged her cousins¡¯ arms, and they stepped past the Skald. Lyssia¡¯s spine tingled as Bjarke fell into step behind them.


    The musicians were still milling around the front of the receiving hall, trying to catch word of whatever discussion was happening within. Lyssia walked through the small crowd, barely registering the sight of others hurrying out of her path, and stepped into the shadows of the double doors.


    Two dozen pairs of eyes fixed on her as soon as her boot met the hardwood floor. The line of windows along either side of the hall let in some light and air, but the room still felt stuffy crowded as it was.


    Lyssia could never fathom why her father would prefer to spend a fine weather day stuck indoors in discussions when he could enjoy the fresh air. She supposed that he was aware of this shortcoming in her and that it contributed to his overall opinion of her, which seemed to change daily.


    He seemed to be in an agreeable mood this morning as he welcomed her into the hall with a merry, ¡°Daughter! Come! Come!¡±


    She might have rushed forward to greet him and soak in the warmth in this voice were it not for the stares that riveted her to the spot.


    She was gifted ten months of relative quiet and very few stares every year, but as soon as Yute began, the Jarls descended upon the stead.


    It was not always the same group of men. Of course not. But none of them dared to stand in the Kongr¡¯s presence - or hers - without a mask for fear of insulting the memory of the Kongr¡¯s lost wife, and so they were all one big masked blur to her.


    When she sat at the table with them for their discussions on peace and governance and crops, she would try to follow along with the speakers. That meant taking note of who carried what mark on their masks or their arms; who had dark, straight hair as opposed to light, cropped hair; who had beards unruly enough to be seen around their masks; whose bellies were large and whose were skinny.


    She tried to prepare herself for the test she felt was always about to be given her, but by the next morning, all her observations would be washed away. She failed before she could even begin. What she could never tell her father, though she wished she could, was that it hardly mattered who spoke when they all said the same thing.


    There seemed to be more of a crowd celebrating Yute at the stead this year. The stares were growing worse. A few Jarls brought their wives with them during their yearly visits. Their wives, but never their daughters, nor any younger children. But eldest Jarlssons were common guests.


    Lyssia imagined her father would shudder at the thought of her forming a bond with a girl her age, someone she might actually enjoy spending time with or spilling her secrets to. Thinking of her loneliness made her feel guilty and she glanced at her cousins over her shoulder.


    Azerian and Roakev were waiting quietly on either side of her, one step behind. Azerian¡¯s eyes slid to her momentarily and he gave her an encouraging smile. Lyssia took a deep breath as she turned back to face her father, who was reclining in his seat at the far end of the room. She would have to pass through the crowd of onlookers to reach him.


    With all those eyes on her, she had to make a quick decision about what mask she was going to wear. She could afford to lose her hold on one emotion, but which should she choose? One that would make her appear bold or meek. Bold or¡­


    She chose meek.


    Lyssia did not try to hide the nervous fluttering of her hands as she took hold of her skirts. She lifted them a little higher than was necessary and leaned forward to keep herself slightly off balance. Once the choice had been made which mask she would wear, it was easy to throw herself into the role. She kept her gaze lowered as she sailed across the room just a clip too fast to look graceful.


    She glanced up only once at a grouped trio who stepped aside to let her pass, but their masked faces gave nothing away. As if she had been caught looking at someone she should not have, she snapped her head back around and kept her eyes on the floor until she could see her father¡¯s boots resting on the ground before her.


    Two straight-backed chairs were set at the head of the room, the only seats in the hall. Her father always sat in the seat to the right. It looked no different than the one beside it. They were set close together like equals might sit close to whisper plans in each other¡¯s ears. Her father¡¯s hand would often stray to land on the second chair¡¯s arm, but it wasn¡¯t Lyssia he was reaching for, and she always felt squashed trying to make sure that his arm went undisturbed.


    She saw him reach out for the hand he imagined was waiting for him to hold, and her eyes snapped back to the floor. Without saying a word, she tossed a section of hair over her shoulder to block her view of the whispering observers and lowered herself onto her knees before him. She waited a heartbeat for her cousins to follow her cue and drop to their knees as well. Roakev was hidden from view by her hair, but Azerian shot her a furtive glance.


    Lyssia tipped her face up and smiled at her father. Up close, she could find no trace of the warmth of his voice in what she could see of his face. He seemed impassive beneath his white and gray rabbit fur mask. It was not black, but it was a far cry from the colorful outfit that she wore, and she felt suddenly foolish for the choice. She wiggled one of her boots free from the edge of her skirt and imagined her nerves traveling all the way from her head to her foot. Her boot began to tap against the floor while the rest of her remained still.


    Dizean¡¯s expressionless eyes traveled along their line before settling on Lyssia. He leaned forward in his chair, extending his hand palm up toward her. ¡°Vas Morginnen, daughter.¡±


    ¡°Vas Morginnen, father,¡± Lyssia said. She lifted her hand, but when he dropped his hand without taking hers, she shifted to brush another strand of her hair back from her face. Her smile remained glued in place even as the tip of her boot began to tap faster against the ground. She held her breath, hoping the movement was not as loud as it sounded to her ears.


    ¡°You have not come to sit with us,¡± Dizean said, and Lyssia saw one of his feet swivel to the side. The tips of his toes now pointed at the group of Jarls that stood closest to his seat.


    Lyssia followed the movement and glanced at them without turning her head. She sensed an expectant mood in the room, one that had nothing to do with the turn of the season. She was put instantly on guard, but she didn''t know how to combat the feeling.


    ¡°No. I have come to ask leave to attend Steiner Mart. I...We¡­¡± She opened her arms to indicate Azerian and Roakev and kept them wide, imploring. ¡°...wish to experience the first day of Mart alongside those who have traveled far to celebrate the joy of Eda-Yute with their countrymen and women. This is the best way that we know to celebrate our present, to give thanks for Ilvana and her people. We hope this plan pleases you.¡±


    He knew her reason for coming before him in riding attire. He knew she meant to attend the Mart. He wanted her request heard here and now for his own reasons. She would play along, making her words dance to the old tone of formal language and bent postures. Anything to secure her chances of attending the first day of Mart.


    Dizean nodded at her explanation as his gaze swept over her group again. ¡°You have plans to ride to the crossroads, and yet you do not ask for anyone to join you. Do you not wish for company? Have you no need of an escort?¡±


    His other boot shifted as he leaned an arm against the side of his chair, and now both of his feet pointed toward the Jarls.


    Lyssia tilted her head to glance down at her lap, shifting her body in the same direction without turning away from him. ¡°Of course, I will bow to your wisdom, but I am not afraid to ride alone.¡±


    She would not look at the observant group of Jarls and their sons who, if she was reading the room correctly, would jump at the chance to accompany her. It wasn''t her presence they craved but the attention it would gain them.


    Or perhaps, she thought, berating herself for her harsh thoughts toward this group of strangers whose names she could not even keep straight, they too were just jumping at the chance to leave the stead. That was fine. She could not stop any one of them from attending the Mart. But they would have to find their own way there.


    ¡°As you should not be among your people,¡± Azerian muttered.


    Dizean¡¯s eyes cut to him, and Lyssia felt Roakev stiffen on her other side. Lyssia¡¯s foot doubled its tempo as her heart leaped into her throat. She willed Azerian to look over and read the warning in her eyes.


    Follow the script, Azerian. Just keep your head down, play your part, and stick to the script.


    ¡°Because we shall be her escort.¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s breath rushed out of her as Roakev rose to his feet and bowed low, a fist clasped over his heart.


    ¡°I offer you my solemn vow. No harm shall befall the Drottine.¡±


    Compared to the look he had given Azerian, Dizean''s eyes fairly glowed with warmth as he turned his gaze to Roakev. Lyssia took advantage of her father¡¯s distraction to nudge Azerian¡¯s leg with her boot. He bent his head under the force of her glare.


    When Dizean - and the rest of the room - turned their attention back to him, Azerian had an air of sincere chagrin about him. He left Lyssia on the ground alone and stood to mirror Roakev¡¯s posture.


    ¡°No harm shall befall the Drottine. I swear it. I will never leave her side. She shall be as safe with me as she has been during every hunt and visit that I have accompanied her on, where no one has ever thought to harm her, but where I was vigilant and observant and¡­ and furthermore, I am honored---"


    Lyssia¡¯s boot shot out again and kicked his ankle.


    "---at the trust you are showing us. On my word. No harm. None.¡±


    No one moved, no one breathed, as everyone waited to see how the Kongr would react to his nephew¡¯s speech.


    Dizean held his gaze for a long moment before sighing and proclaiming in a weary voice, ¡°Sometimes silent agreement is all that is necessary, Azerian. You must learn to use silence as a tool.¡±


    Azerian looked like he was about to respond, but he bit his lip instead and inclined his head in acknowledgment of the Kongr¡¯s words. He missed the release of the tension in Dizean''s posture that Lyssia looked for. He was not truly mad at Azerian, only frustrated. He was fighting an uphill battle if he still thought he could tame Azerian''s quick tongue.


    ¡°You will allow us to be your representatives at the Mart this year, father?¡± Lyssia asked, trying to bring his attention back to her.


    ¡°Yes. You will be my representatives. This shall be my Eda-Yute gift to you. In the spirit of the season, I say go, spread joy, and celebrate this day with songs of glad thanksgiving.¡±


    "You honor us, Kongr, with your blessing and your gift. I offer you a blessing. May you be surrounded with joy tenfold this year and may your strength ever increase."


    For the first time that morning, Lyssia saw a genuine smile grace her father''s lips. He extended his hand to her, and Lyssia took it, gratefully standing and smoothing out her skirt.


    ¡°Thank you, father. Thank you.¡± She curtsied to him as she motioned for Roakev to pick up their bags and start for the door. Then she raised her gaze to the watching Jarls, and after completing one full turn, curtsied to the room.


    Azerian offered her his arm, as eager as she was to quit the receiving hall. She placed her hand lightly atop his sleeve, matching her pace to his stately retreat. They were halfway to the door before Dizean called out again, ¡°Drottine!¡±


    Lyssia paused with one foot raised, her muscles involuntarily stiffening. Azerian¡¯s hand snaked up to keep hers in place. Roakev, one foot out the door, stopped as well. They both heard it. The warning in his voice.


    ¡°Remember who you are.¡±


    As if she could forget.


    ¡°I trust you shall conduct yourself with pride. No daughter of mine should kneel before anyone else.¡±


    I should have chosen bold.


    Lyssia turned back and lowered herself into another stiff curtsy. ¡°Yes, my Kongr.¡±


    She hurried out the door, towing Azerian in her wake. She turned to pull Roakev along as well, not trusting herself to stand there for one more moment, and saw that Roakev¡¯s father had followed them out.


    ¡°Drottine, I request a moment of my son¡¯s time.¡± His words were clipped, but he inclined his head politely and waited for her to respond.


    ¡°Of course, Uncle. We shall wait over here.¡± Lyssia tugged Azerian over to the bench that Bjarke had occupied earlier. He strained against her hold, hoping to overhear Roakev¡¯s conversation and tease him about it later. But Lyssia knew that tone in her uncle¡¯s voice. It was the same tone that her father had just paralyzed her with, and it did not deserve an audience.


    ¡°We need to talk.¡±


    ¡°About what?¡±


    ¡°Az!¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Azerian finally stopped trying to pull away and swung around to face her. ¡°For¡­?¡±


    ¡°For drawing attention away from me.¡±


    Azerian started to shake his head, but Lyssia held up a hand to halt his protest. ¡°Don¡¯t waste your excuses on me. I know you better than that. Besides, you need to save them. You¡¯re starting to run out of material.¡± She patted him on the arm, her voice dipping in sympathy.


    Azerian lowered himself into the bench beside her and clutched his chest in mock defense. ¡°I truly have no idea what you mean.¡±


    ¡°Mmmhmm.¡±  Lyssia was startled to see Bjarke slipping out of the receiving hall and heading toward the stables in loping strides.


    ¡°The Kongr is generous this morning.¡±


    Lyssia ignored the snarky comment. Her attention was caught by Roakev and his father, both standing straight and immovable as tree trunks with arms crossed and knees locked. Their voices were too low to hear, but whatever Eindre was saying, it was causing Roakev to fall back behind his stiff mask.


    Lyssia wondered why her uncle was displeased. Had he not seen what had just happened? Roakev had conducted himself in a manner that should make his father feel proud. It wasn''t his fault if Lyssia and Azerian were chastised for their performance.


    Eindre dropped his arms when he walked off, hastening to return to his place beside the Kongr¡¯s chair. But Roakev stood there for a long moment without moving. When he turned and started to make his way over to them, his movements were wooden.


    Lyssia jumped up before he reached the bench and flashed a quick smile at both her companions, baring her teeth. ¡°Come on!¡±


    Without stopping to wonder who might be watching, she hiked up her skirt, displaying several inches of riding breeches, and took off at a fast pace for the stables. Her feet did not run, but her heart ran before her, and she hurried to catch it.

 Chapter 2A

    Yute et Saedas Ridineig


    Recorded during the First Age of the Drakun Kongren


    Dedicated by an unknown Skald-midig in honor of the first Kongr of Ilvana


    When the bite of the wind turns barren


    When the sun melts the shadows away


    When flying minstrels call anew from their hollows


    And black bjurn crawl forth from their dens


    When the South Crow changes flight


    And to the north brings wind


    Then the time of remembrance is upon us


    And with all of nature, we sing again


    Yute, Urd-Yute, we are grateful


    For what has come before


    Yute, Eda-Yute, we are thankful


    For the things we hold in handLove this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Yute, Aon-Yute, we celebrate


    All the things fate holds in store


    Life, we celebrate life


    Thanks, we give thanks


    Let all Ilvana sing


    Wake the earth


    Bring the spring


    Yute et Saedas!


    We give thanks!


    * * * * * * * * * *


    CHAPTER 2


    Lyssia glanced over at her aunt for the hundredth time since they had passed through the stead gate. Carryn had been waiting for them on the far side of the stables with four groomed and saddled horses. She had chosen a sweet mare with a golden coat aptly named Honey for Lyssia as opposed to her stockier steed. She had been all smiles and murmured pleasantries when Lyssia ran up with Azerian and Roakev sprinting to catch her. But Lyssia had noticed the slight tremor in her fingers - all eight of them - as she checked the fit of the saddles for the tenth time, and there were dark circles under her eyes.


    Lyssia rode between her vacant-eyed aunt and her brooding cousin and tried to follow Azerian¡¯s animated chatter, but despite her best attempt to retain her light mood, she felt her spirit rapidly deflating. The silence was not unusual for Carryn or Roakev, but this was not a comfortable silence. It was heavy with worries unspoken. She had a good guess at what was weighing Roakev down, but Carryn¡¯s mood was a mystery to her.


    The relief she felt twenty minutes into their journey when she saw her aunt take a deep breath and shake her shoulders loose was tremendous. Slowly, the tension that made Carryn¡¯s hands tremor drifted away on the breeze and small smiles crossed her lips when her son directed his one-sided conversation in her direction.


    An hour after they left the stead, the narrow path they followed met up with a wider road of trampled earth - the halfway point to their destination. When Azerian pointed it out and suggested they pick up the pace, Carryn looked over at Lyssia and beamed. Lyssia¡¯s answering grin extended wide past the curve of her mask.


    Carryn took off like an arrow released from a bow on the heels of Azerian¡¯s horse. Lyssia gripped the reins tighter, nudged her mare¡¯s sides with her boots, and let loose a shriek of excitement as she cantered after Carryn. Roakev followed behind her, a dark brooding presence chasing them.


    * * * * * * * * * *


    Ho, Karl!¡± Azerian cried out.


    The cart driver had stopped several lengths up the road to allow...

 Chapter 2B

    ¡°Ho, Karl!¡± Azerian cried out.


    The cart driver had stopped several lengths up the road to allow a group on foot greater access to the path so they wouldn¡¯t have to trample through the tall grass and weeds. Short, rocky outcroppings migrated along the width and breadth of the passing fields like the strands of an intricate spider web or the sharp spine of some massive creature that lay hidden beneath the ground. It would be too easy to catch a boot in between the rocks and twist a foot, or a hoof.


    The man turned to wave them forward, but Lyssia reigned in her mare. Every muscle in her body constricted. The mare tossed her hand, and it was all Lyssia could do to relax her hold enough to bring the reins to rest in her lap. Carryn stopped beside her, but Roakev rode a little ways before turning back to face them both, waiting for her to make a decision.


    Lyssia looked over at Carryn. Her attention wasn¡¯t on the cart but the road past it; her eyes were once again glassy and unreadable. But when Lyssia raised a hand to swat at a passing fly, she startled.


    ¡°You okay, saedhirte?¡±


    ¡°Me? Oh, yes. Just...a bit of a headache.¡±


    ¡°Hmmm. Me too.¡± She drew her horse closer to Lyssia¡¯s and reached out to fiddle with a loose stitch in her sleeve. After a moment, she said, ¡°I¡¯m thinking about visiting some of your mother¡¯s cousins.¡±


    ¡°Another visit?¡± Lyssia swallowed. ¡°So soon?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been a few months.¡± Carryn laughed. Then patting Lyssia¡¯s arm, she added, ¡°Just a short visit. I¡¯ve been feeling cooped up. And your father...well...he doesn¡¯t like it when his kitchen staff pace the hallways.¡±


    Carryn¡¯s bright eyes - golden in the early afternoon light - soothed Lyssia¡¯s glare, even as her words stung Lyssia''s heart. Carryn was a widow. That title usually held some respect. It meant she should be the head of her own household, held in trust for Azerian until he married.


    But she was not the head of her own household. She just shared household duties with her sister-in-law, Roakev¡¯s mother, while she resided under a roof that was not her own. Lyssia had never understood why her father disliked his wife¡¯s sister so much, or why Carryn had chosen to sacrifice her inherited freedom to fetter herself to living under his close scrutiny when she so clearly craved the freedom of widowhood.


    She imagined it had a lot to do with Azerian. In theory, proximity to Lyssia and her father should gain him favor. If only he had more of a propensity for following established rules, like Roakev. Lyssia might cringe each time he spoke out of turn and counsel him to keep his toes in line more often than he was wont to do, but she loved him - and Carryn. She knew there had been a time when they did not live at the stead, but she couldn''t imagine living without either one of them now.


    "I sent a note to your mother''s cousins to let them know our plans. Hopefully, a few of them will be at Steiner Mart today to greet us."


    Lyssia''s chest fluttered with nerves. She had not had the opportunity to get to know her mother''s family well. In fact, she barely knew them at all. An old memory of her standing beside a wheel of cheese that reached her shoulder while a smiling woman Carryn''s age held it upright from the other side rose to the surface of her thoughts, and she smiled.


    ¡°Do you think Reeza and Odil will be there?¡±


    Carryn laughed in delight. "You remember Reeza and her old goat?"


    Lyssia shrugged uncomfortably. She had guessed at the names. She was as surprised as Carryn that she got them right.


    "Hey! Hey!" Azerian was motioning for them to join him.


    Roakev approached the cart cautiously and exchanged a tense greeting with the driver. He looked so uncomfortable, shoulders taut and knees digging into the sides of his horse.


    Azerian waved to them again, and then turning to Roakev, he called in an unnecessarily loud voice, "Aren''t these the reddest, juiciest apples you''ve ever seen?"


    Lyssia, wary of the strange cart driver¡¯s scrutiny, had the odd urge to turn around and ride back to familiar settings, but the rush of curiosity she felt at Azerian¡¯s words won out. She stood up in her stirrups attempting to catch sight of the cart''s contents. She couldn''t see any apples from this distance, but she did catch sight of a pair of blue eyes peeking at her over the cart''s edge. She raised a hand in greeting, but the eyes disappeared as if a little head had ducked back down nervously. A moment later, two pairs of eyes popped back up, cautious but too curious to stay down.


    A slow, shy smile spread across Lyssia¡¯s lips. She raised her hand in silent greeting but got no reaction from her mysterious observers. She rubbed a finger along the skin at the top edge of her mask, as close as she could come to kneading her forehead in thought.


    She would be the first to admit that she was not the most adept when dealing with people. It was impossible to let herself relax completely when she could feel eyes on her. It wasn¡¯t her fault. If anyone knew the truth of it, they would surely find no blame in her. Wasn¡¯t it enough that she was trying to step out of her comfort zone?


    But that was no excuse for Azerian. He had assured her often enough that he was no expert at making friends. He was just more experienced at bluffing. If her cousin felt even the slightest bit of tension or distrust now - if he was bluffing - he hid it well. His confidence was a well-tailored mask that he wore over his white and green painted face mask.


    Lyssia knew masks; if he could wear one made of confidence, so could she. It wasn¡¯t so different than her public performances. She could not think of time spent in front of her father and his Jarls as anything but a performance.


    Azerian was still waving her forward. Taking a deep breath, Lyssia approached the cart. This had been her goal for the day: to step out amongst her people, to speak with them, to foster goodwill and friendship. Let this be her first.


    She kept one eye fixed on the cart driver as she studied Azerian. Taking note of his posture, she relaxed her shoulders slightly, dropping the mare¡¯s reins in a loose hold on her lap. She tilted her head, pointing her chin and shoulders toward the cart driver, and sought his eyes honestly.


    ¡°Ladies, Vas Morginnen. I was...¡±


    Lyssia knew the moment the Karl recognized her. His hands dropped to clench at the lead reins before him. Surprise then alarm flashed across his face. He hunched in on himself, hiding his face from her.


    "Drottine! Vas Heill! Vas Eda-Yute! Excuse us! Please! Please!" He swept his arm wide to indicate that the way was clear for her to pass.


    His nervously shouted greeting, unnecessary for their close quarters, caught the attention of the group he had let pass earlier. Lyssia saw them turn back out of the corner of her eye, but she did not look over to see if they covered their faces.


    Her eyes sought out the eyes that had peered at her over the cart edge. The cart was, indeed, full of rosy crabapples. Sitting among the barrels of produce were two girls. The younger girl was hunched over her lap lyra and did not look up, but her older sister met Lyssia¡¯s gaze and smiled before bowing her head, and a jolt shot up Lyssia¡¯s spine.


    ¡°Vas Morginnen, Karlsman! Vas Heill, Karlswomen! My cousin is right. Your apples are the fairest I¡¯ve seen by far.¡±


    The younger girl pressed her pink cheeks into her hands, but her sister¡¯s smile widened. She picked an apple out of the barrel beside her. ¡°Vas Heill, Drottine. To your health!¡± she exclaimed and drew her hand back as if to toss the apple at her.


    ¡°No, no!¡± Lyssia protested, throwing her hands up just in case.


    ¡°Isi, don¡¯t throw it! But please¡­¡± He gestured to his daughter, who had fallen back onto her knees at her father¡¯s shout, to offer the apple again.


    Carryn¡¯s soft chuckle soothed the hurt look on the girl¡¯s face. ¡°I believe what my niece means is that you should keep your wares for a bargaining customer. Your blessing will be enough of a gift on this fine morning.¡±


    Lyssia gasped, a soft exhalation of surprise, and then she went absolutely still. Carryn nodded encouragement, even reaching out her hand to help steady the girl as she leaned forward and pressed her fingertips to Lyssia¡¯s brow. She hesitated in that position, leaning over the side of the cart. Then finally realizing that she was not about to be reprimanded further, she took a deep breath and shouted, ¡°Vas Heill, Drottine! May your strength never fail, and may you find peace everywhere you walk!¡±The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Lyssia tensed at the ringing volume of her voice. Her mare responded to the movement and shied to the side. If Carryn had not had hold of her side, the girl would have toppled out of the cart. The cart driver cried out, but before he could react further, Roakev was already pushing the girl back beside her sister.


    ¡°My...my apologies,¡± Lyssia said, yanking on the mare¡¯s reins harder than was necessary.


    Lyssia looked closer at the older daughter. She had spoken with so much authority. She was not that much younger than Azerian or herself, Lyssia realized. But there was a childish youthfulness to her that was foreign to Lyssia. Seeing that fire in her eyes - in both of their eyes - and the way they leaned against one another now reminded Lyssia of another pair of sisters, pale-haired girls she had met once a long time ago. Her heart swelled with affection for them.


    The mare pulled against Lyssia¡¯s grip, but she held the reins firm and pulled her forward until her nose brushed against the wooden planks of the cart¡¯s side. Without stopping to ask for permission, she laid her entire palm over the older girl¡¯s forehead and offered her a blessing of her own.


    ¡°May you, and your sister, never be harmed by that which cannot be cured. May the rain always fall upon your fields. May you never find yourself without love."


    The girl looked to be in awe as Lyssia backed away. It made Lyssia nervous to sit beneath such a stare. She turned to listen to the grateful Karl as he praised Roakev¡¯s speed. She noticed the younger girl directing her awe-filled gaze at him. He didn¡¯t seem to notice, but she offered the girl a kind look and was rewarded with a shy smile in return.


    The crowd around Lyssia¡¯s group - which had tripled in size as travelers on the road to Mart caught wind of the commotion - released a collective intake of breath. She threw her glance around the gathering of onlookers, pretending as if she was only just now realizing that her actions had drawn attention.


    None of those surrounding them wore masks. Most lowered their eyes when she turned their way, but a few heads did not bend under her gaze. She felt respect for these hardworking people. She envied them their freedom and the surety they must feel in their roles in life. She felt an overwhelmingly sudden urge to be a part of them.


    She waved to the crowd, including them all when she proclaimed, ¡°Vas Eda-Yute!¡±


    Cries of ¡°Vas Eda-Yute!¡± and ¡°Vas Heill, Drottine!¡± echoed in her ears.


    ¡°My companions and I are riding to Steiner Mart. Will you join us?¡±


    Again, the crowd of strangers responded in eager affirmative. Lyssia sighed in remembrance of her original plan to keep her head down and slip silently into the crowd while the Mart was in full swing. Now she would be marching in at the head of a noisy procession. She sacrificed one desire for another, but it was too late to take back her words.


    Lyssia started to ride forward and claim the lead position of the procession, but the unexpected weight of Azerian¡¯s hand on her arm stilled her. Her mare swayed beneath her, uncomfortable caught between the cart and Azerian¡¯s horse. Lyssia stroked the horse¡¯s neck to comfort her as she shot a questioning look at her cousin.


    ¡°Drottine, Cousin, I did not break my nightly fast before leaving your father¡¯s stead. Perhaps I could have your leave to ride beside our new friends and attempt to charm an apple from them. A song may be worth an apple or two...If I had proper accompaniment.¡±


    He gestured to the younger sister¡¯s lyra, and judging by the way she clutched her instrument and ducked her head again, Lyssia was fairly certain that Azerian had winked at the girl behind her back. She shook her head and exchanged a look with Carryn, who had not stopped smiling since Lyssia¡¯s blessing of the girls.


    ¡°By all means, Cousin,¡± she said, speaking quickly to hide her pause. ¡°It is right to journey forth with song. Our Eda-Yute celebration demands it. You need not ask my permission to grace our ears with your voice.¡±


    Prompted by her formal reply, Azerian bowed low in his saddle, sweeping his hand before him in a grand gesture and knocking his knuckles against her leg. ¡°Do you know¡­¡± His voice dropped low as he consulted with the young lyra player, and with a little cajoling, he was able to coax her into playing for him.


    Lyssia positioned herself beside the cart driver as their group started forward. She listened closely to the opening strains of the girl¡¯s song, curious to hear what tune Azerian had chosen. She groaned when she recognized the first line of a popular Ridineig, a fast-paced dancing song that was often sung at gatherings. She had taken an instant dislike to it the first time she heard it. No matter what instrument it was played on, the music always sounded out of tune with the song¡¯s words.


    Clearly, the poet who had written the lyrics did not understand the true lack of charm one would feel chasing a sweetheart whose face he has never seen, who always wore a mask. The ending of the musical tale should be more bitter than sweet, and it should definitely not be accompanied by an upbeat tune. It made no sense whatsoever, and it annoyed Lyssia to no end.


    Her aunt and the cart driver both heard her reaction to the chorus and chuckled. They said nothing, but their sympathetic looks made it easier to endure the performance. Azerian had a sweet voice. Like a chickadee in full wing, Bjarke had once remarked begrudgingly during one of their music lessons. And the girl¡¯s lyra, though not made of the finest materials, was expertly turned. It was easier to listen objectively when they switched to a second song. It was clear that they made a fine pair, and Lyssia found her fingers tapping along her saddle horn and wishing for her own instrument.


    The rest of the journey passed quickly as the large group, buoyed by festive music, made their joyous way to the crossroads that marked Steiner Fields, where the Mart was held every Eda-Yute morn.


    The Steiners had been an old, well-off family, and the fields where the Mart was held used to belong to them. The tale of how the fields became a public meeting ground was odd in a sad way. The Jarl named Steiner had had ten daughters and no sons. He had spent the better part of his life attempting to marry off his daughters, and the moment after his youngest daughter stepped over his doorstep to take her new husband¡¯s hand, Steiner, then an old man who had outlived two wives, fell over and took his last breath.


    Rather than claiming possession of the land, his generous sons-in-law had come together in agreement to gift certain parcels of his land to the nearby Karls, freeing them of their obligations to the Steiner family. The old house that Steiner and his daughters had lived in was burned to the ground along with his personal garden and farming field, long since unused, and the location turned into a place for people traveling along the roads to meet and rest.


    When exactly Steiner Mart had been established, Lyssia wasn¡¯t sure, but she knew the story of Steiner and his daughters as well as anyone else. Surely, he would have been pleased that his legacy still existed in some form.


    A melodious sound greeted Lyssia and her companions as they crested the last hill that stood between them and Steiner Field: many voices raised together. Lyssia could not make out the words but the tune was one she knew well. It was the same song that she had overheard Bjarke lead this morning.


    Several people from her group joined in. Those who had experienced a bountiful winter sang along with those who voices who held the strain of a lean season. They sang of the joy they held in the knowledge that they had stood their ground another year. At the Mart, they would share all they had with one another and begin to discuss their preparations for the season of growing that lay just around the corner. No one would go home today with an empty stomach or a mournful heart. Today, they were all family. They sang with one voice, and the beauty of their song brought tears to Lyssia¡¯s eyes.


    It was well known, even to her, that Ilvana was not a rich kongdomr. They had no patron of good fortune watching over them. Not anymore. But still, they thrived because Ilvana was their home, and they knew how to live alongside her wildness. That¡¯s how she imagined Bjarke would start his tale, by invoking thoughts of the Old Age and reminding them that their land was still alive with a light strumming of his fingers on his instrument.


    ¡°If rocks and weeds could make someone rich, every Ilvanian would have a cartload of gold.¡± That was how Carryn explained it. ¡°But our people do not need gold. We are blessed with an abundance of stubbornness. The animals are stubborn. The people are stubborn. There is no reason to fear the cold months because they always give way for the time of spring blessings. Always have. Always will. The land is stubborn too.¡±


    Recalling the memory of her words, Lyssia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as Carryn had done and trailed her fingers absently along her mare¡¯s neck. Slowly, the group of strangers around her started to disperse, off to tell the news of what had happened on the road to Mart.


    She kept having to twist in her saddle to acknowledge their farewells, but she could not turn away from the Mart. It had thoroughly captured her attention. Her eyes danced along the sharp line of tents and the shapes that darted in and out among them and then raced along the short line of trees that marked the field boundaries.


    Steiner Field was spread out below them, two miln of green-yellow grass that did not seem bare for its lack of trees or flowers. The field was alive with men, women, children, and pack animals. Their height made the sound of so many people still seem far away, but still, despite the distance, the revelers¡¯ song rose on the wind to greet them.


    She counted the masks in the small portion of the Martday crowd she could see. One in three people strode about with covered faces; the rest did not seem fazed by them at all. It was fascinating to watch them going about their business like busy little ants without a care for the eyes that watched them from above.


    Just then, the smell found her nose as the song had her ears, and she turned in her seat and pressed her sleeve to her nose. The movement dislodged the image of a hawk swooping down on an ant pile from her mind, which was good. She had no idea where her thoughts were going.


    Roakev turned away with his nose covered at the same time she did, and they locked eyes in solidarity a second before Azerian pulled up between them. Roakev''s parted lips pinched into a hard line. Lyssia tightened her hold on the mare with her knees, expecting her to show signs of nerves again, but it was Roakev¡¯s horse who bucked and skittered forward. He wrestled control back and circled around to sit on Lyssia¡¯s other side, fire in his eyes. Whatever he had been about to say was lost.


    Lyssia sat like a lump of rock between them, wanting to show support for Roakev and confront Azerian, but also feeling the familiar pull to lean in toward Azerian¡¯s excitement and share in that. Carryn broke the silence first, saving Lyssia the trouble of being peacekeeper.


    ¡°Well, come on then. We¡¯re the last ones down. Let¡¯s find the cousins¡¯ tent first. It will be yellow with a blue sun painted on the side, grandfather Idun''s mark."


    Lyssia¡¯s eyes darted from one tent to the next. There were yellow tents tucked in everywhere among ones of every hue and shade of the rainbow. ¡°Blue and yellow tent. Right. Easy.¡±


    She lingered near the top of the hill even after Azerian and Roakev had started after Carryn. Her nose had gotten better used to the smells that wafted up from the jumbled mess of people and animals, and she took a deep breath, savoring the hints of sweet baked things hidden among the tents. Her stomach fluttered with nerves, and she clutched one hand to it. But then it rumbled with hunger, and that settled the matter.


    Her mother¡¯s cousins...her cousins...if they had come, would have plenty of food to share. Tucking her hair up against her mask to hide the easily recognizable three-point mountain, she trained her eyes on Carryn¡¯s fast-retreating form and spurred her mare forward.

 Chapter 3A

    They found the yellow tent with the blue sun not far from the line of picketed horses and cattle that marked the western edge of the field. Carryn¡¯s cousins were a boisterous lot. They barely fit on their allotted square of land with all their people and goods, but they were more than happy to welcome Carryn and her bunch at their table.


    They served a meal of roasted mutton, spicy cabbage stew with pickled beets, wrapped logs of herbed goat cheese, and gooseberry and cream pies. It was a simple meal but filling. But the best part, in Lyssia¡¯s opinion, was the rounds of fresh baked rye bread that smelled faintly of the wood oven used to cook them and the pot of jam and butter that accompanied them. Tall cups of warm goat milk and cider made from bruised apples and barley mead were passed around.


    Lyssia insisted that Carryn be given the seat of honor at the center of the table, where she would be able to enjoy the attention of all the older cousins. She inserted herself, instead, among her younger cousins and won their favor by using her longer reach to secure extra pies for their side of the table.


    The mixture of awe and sugar-bliss on their faces as they accepted her pilfered offerings did not make her feel uncomfortable. Food took center stage soon enough, and she was left to enjoy her meal without trying to avoid awkward moments of eye contact over her plate. She kept her ears open for any mention of her mother''s name, but everyone seemed content to keep the conversation centered around that winter and the coming spring.


    Azerian and Roakev loitered outside the tent until she had found her place, and then perhaps making up for their lack of attention on the road, they attempted to squeeze into seats on either side of her. Shoulders and legs pressed together and heads bent close, Lyssia did feel closer to them than she had in a long time. They didn¡¯t last five minutes before an older cousin, laughing good-naturedly, separated them.


    ¡°Drottine¡± - he paused to nod respectfully to her - ¡°boys, we rarely see you. You can give us a few hours of your time. No worries. You¡¯ll be reunited with each other soon enough.¡±


    Azerian drifted back toward his mother and picked a seat where he could join in her catch-up conversations without being reprimanded for sitting too close. Roakev was drawn into a discussion with the only other cousin there who appeared to be close to their age. Lyssia had no idea what they were talking about, but it did not take long before he relaxed against the table and stopped shooting glances her way. Lyssia was instantly grateful for the other boy for helping to put him at ease.


    People began to disappear from the tent as soon as the food was consumed, but Lyssia pretended not to notice. It was getting warmer. She took off her cloak, spread it on the ground to protect her legs from the grass, and pulled her youngest cousin onto her lap.


    ¡°Let me braid your hair back,¡± she offered.


    The girl wiggled impatiently but did not move from her seat as Lyssia divided her hair into sections and got to work. After she was done, her sister wanted to have her hair braided. A few of the older children approached her as she twisted the last piece of curly brown hair into place and asked if they might paint her.


    She was confused at first until they showed her the designs they had painted on their faces and arms - roughly drawn trees and flowers, barely recognizable animals, and squiggly lines that meant nothing but made Lyssia smile. She had only the one mark on her wrist, and they saw her pale arms as a valuable canvas.


    Lyssia could not deny them their fun. She agreed to sit still while they used a pot of sticky berry stain to draw bright red and purple designs from her wrist up to the edge of her capped sleeves. They laughed and talked over each other, eager to share their life stories with their new friend. Lyssia did not mind all their chatter. It rather pleased her that she had managed to gain their friendship so easily.


    Still, this part of her afternoon had to end, and soon if she was going to have any time to explore outside the confines of this one tent.


    She thanked the children with genuine delight when they were done and was obliged to be led around by the hand so they could show off their artwork to the adults present. Carryn caught her eyeing the wide entrance to the tent, planning her escape, and managed to extricate her from her young cousins¡¯ hold.


    Lyssia could have slipped out behind Carryn¡¯s seat right then, but she hesitated, suddenly guilty at the thought of leaving her aunt behind. Carryn looked back at her, sensing her loitering presence, and reached for her hand to give it a squeeze.


    ¡°Go on, love. Just be careful.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to come?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll go walk about in a bit. Have your fun.¡±


    Lyssia gave her aunt¡¯s cheek a peck and asked, ¡°Is there anything I can bring back that would make you smile?¡±


    ¡°Honey, if you can find someone who has any left to trade.¡± She pulled an apricot-colored piece of linen from her pocket and flipped it over to show her the bee embroidered in delicate yellow and black stitches. ¡°It¡¯s a small offering, but perhaps¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, I doubt anyone would say no,¡± Lyssia said, accepting the linen cloth. She folded it carefully and slipped it into her pocket. She started to make good on her retreat, but the moment before she disappeared around the corner of the tent, she looked up and locked eyes with Roakev.


    ¡°Oh no. Oh no. Oh no no no.¡± She half walked, half ran to the nearby picket line where she had left her bags beside her horse.


    ¡°And where do you think you¡¯re going?¡±


    Lyssia jumped, dropping her bags on the ground. Her cousin¡¯s approach, while stealthy, had not been unwholly unexpected. She didn''t know why she was so jumpy.


    She stared down at her bags, half-expecting with her luck that everything would have spilled out on the ground. Thankfully, nothing seemed to damaged. She stuffed Carryn¡¯s embroidery into the top bag, shuffled them both into her arms, and turned slowly to face Roakev¡¯s suspicious frown.


    He was not alone. Azerian stood with one hand encircling Roakev¡¯s arm, keeping his grasping fingers from reaching her.


    ¡°I knew it!¡± Roakev exclaimed.


    Lyssia flinched and took a step back. She opened her mouth to respond, but Roakev rounded on Azerian before she could speak.


    ¡°I knew you two were planning to sneak away. Always whispering. Always planning things without me.¡±


    ¡°Ro, I...he..well, I¡­¡±


    Roakev ignored her stuttered attempt at an explanation, but Azerian shot her an unreadable glance behind the other''s back. His eyes shifted over toward the tents, back to her, back to the tents.


    Realization slowly dawned for Lyssia. He was telling her to run. She shook her head. Why would she run from Roakev? She would just have to reason with him.


    ¡°I bet you didn¡¯t even think about inviting me when you planned to come here today. You just thought it would look more proper if you had me along."


    ¡°Roakev---¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s simply not true,¡± Azerian said, and he seemed genuinely offended. ¡°She was sneaking away from both of us, you dunga.¡±


    Roakev glared at the insult before turning a wary eye to Lyssia. ¡°Were you?¡±


    ¡°Was I...what?¡±


    ¡°Sneaking away from both of us.¡±


    Lyssia hugged her bags closer to her chest, anticipating his attempt to grab them. ¡°Yes, I was. And of course I meant to invite you from the beginning. I feel safe having you watch over me...from a distance.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°But I was thinking---¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°At least let her make a proper request, Roakev.¡±


    Roakev rounded on Azerian again, thumping him in the chest with a fist. ¡°Hmmpff,¡± Azerian groaned and rubbed his hand over the area, but that did not seem to mollify Roakev¡¯s anger.


    ¡°You should be trying to stop her too. You made her father the same promise I did.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, to make sure she doesn¡¯t get hurt. She won¡¯t. You just have to have a little bit of trust.¡±


    ¡°I believe your exact words were, I will never leave her side.¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The two paused for a moment, locked in a silent battle that Lyssia could not see. She glanced in the direction Azerian had indicated earlier and considered slinking off while they were both preoccupied. But she stayed glued to the spot until, finally, Azerian shook his head and looked down, conceding defeat to the staring contest.


    He stuffed his hands into unseen pockets on the inside of his cloak and shifted his weight onto his back foot, rubbing at one ankle with the other. ¡°I didn¡¯t really say how close I would be standing to her. I mean...you know...just that my eyes would be on her.


    "And besides, that wasn¡¯t the only promise I made,¡± he said in a chipper voice, stepping forward to sling his arm around Lyssia¡¯s middle and give her a big squeeze. ¡°I made a promise to my Drottine. She''s almost as important as the Kongr. And I never break a promise.¡±


    ¡°Please, Ro,¡± Lyssia said, eager to reinsert herself in the conversation and stop them from talking about her like she wasn¡¯t there. She made a point of stepping away from Azerian, putting the same distance between herself and both of them. ¡°You don''t have to turn your back on me, but I need to walk the Mart as if I¡¯m alone. I need to interact with everyone on my own terms, without having a guard breathing down my back and watching my every movement. That¡¯s why I left my father¡¯s escort behind. You know that.¡±


    ¡°Lyssia...I understand. I do,¡± he repeated when she sighed. He crouched slightly so that they were on the same eye level. She was not comforted by the look in his eyes, but she straightened and met him straight on, responding to his attempt to connect with her on her level. ¡°But if you think eyes are not going to follow you around - handsome and fearsome escort or no - you will be disappointed. And I don¡¯t want that for you.¡±


    Azerian snorted. ¡°Fearsome and handsome. Which one are you? The fearsome one, right? And I¡¯m the handsome one? That makes sense.¡±


    Roakev ignored him. ¡°You¡¯ve been building this trip up in your mind, thinking it will change things somehow to get this tiny bit of freedom. But it won¡¯t change anything, Lyssia. It won¡¯t, and I don¡¯t want you to think---¡±


    ¡°You let me worry about that, Ro.¡± Despite his argument, she smiled. The care in his voice was so obviously genuine that she could not help but soften her stance. ¡°Whether I¡¯m disappointed or changed or¡± - she shrugged - ¡°whatever. I would be so, so thankful if you would give me some space. Have a little trust, like Az said. I would let everyone know how grateful I am to have such a loving, understanding, handsome cousin and protector. I will sing your praises among the Karls and Jarls and to every pretty maiden I meet. I will sing of your kind eyes, Roakev-ami. Your wise brow. Your---¡±


    ¡°Enough.¡± Roakev slapped a hand over his mask, shielding his gaze. ¡°Go!¡±


    ¡°Thank you!¡± Lyssia darted out behind the next tent before he could change his mind.


    ¡°Lys!¡± Azerian called after her, jogging to catch up. ¡°He will be watching. Me too. Promises.¡± His teeth flashed bright white against his brown mask for a moment, and then he leaned forward, his voice dropping into serious tones. ¡°There was another promise I made about a certain foreign trader who may or may not be here today and may or may not be able to help you send a missive to a certain person.¡±


    ¡°You know, you¡¯re really not helping our case here against whispering behind a certain person¡¯s back.¡±


    They both looked to see if Roakev was watching them. He was, and his arms were folded like heavy chains before his chest.


    ¡°Just get to the point," she said, bouncing impatiently on the balls of her feet.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind taking the letter now and seeking the trader out on my way to the nearest cider stand. I know you get nervous about this sort of thing.¡±


    ¡°No, I want to do this. Besides, I want to meet this trader of yours. I¡¯d love to hear the story of how you two became acquainted.¡± Her voice dripped with suspicion, and he quickly changed the course of the conversation before she could press the subject further.


    ¡°You just don¡¯t want me to read your letter.¡±


    ¡°Of course not! It¡¯s private.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not like you¡¯re giving any great Ilvanian secrets away. It¡¯s probably just full of weather observations and girly poetry and bleh¡­"


    His weak attempt at guessing the contents of her letter made her giggle. ¡°Oh, no. We mostly talk about boys. Your name comes up a lot."


    ¡°You only get two letters a year. I hope you¡¯re not wasting all your space on me.¡±


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Lyssia said, business-like again. ¡°Where can I find your trader?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t even know if he¡¯s here today. Look, I¡¯ll keep an eye out for him, and I¡¯ll signal you. He¡¯s got really light hair, ultra-blonde. No beard. A scar on one cheek. He''s probably not covering his face. He''s got like a wide...squished...really flat nose."


    Azerian pressed against his mask over his nose picturing his friend''s face and then tugged on the edge of his shirt. "And he''s usually dressed...Let''s just say he does not blend in well.¡±


    He waved a hand in the air and took a breath to continue his description, but Lyssia had heard enough.


    ¡°Noted. Thank you for your assistance.¡±


    Azerian gave her a jaunty salute and stalked off. Lyssia set her feet in the other direction and tried to forget about everything but how thankful she was to be at the Mart.


    She went out in search of honey first, pausing only briefly to acknowledge the over-enthusiastic greetings of those who took note of her passage. With her bags in hand, she could not continue hiding the mark of Ilvana on her mask, and the berry tattoos did not help her blend in either. She smiled at everyone she passed, trying to call back up the invisible mask that she had worn while conversing with the cart driver and his daughters.


    Lyssia didn''t stop until she found a tent owner who was willing to part with a good-sized covered container of the sweet liquid gold that was Carryn¡¯s favorite treat. She offered one of her homemade necklaces in addition to her aunt¡¯s embroidered bee and watched in amusement as the tent owner tried to decide what to do.


    She had already refused his offer to give her the honey as a gift. Was she offering a fair trade? Could he ask for more if he thought she wasn¡¯t? Could he refuse one of her offerings without offending her? Every question and emotion was plain on his face, and Lyssia drank them in.


    Finally, he agreed to her terms. They had conducted the whole trade with his eyes steadfastly glued to her hands. When he passed her the container of honey, his eyes slid up to meet hers. He saw the excitement in her sparkling eyes and the wide curve of her smile and heartily returned her farewell with a blessing of health and happiness.


    ¡°Vas heill et adhuil, Drottine,¡± he said, grasping the hand she held out to him between both of his and kissing her knuckle. She allowed him to linger over the moment, trusting that the account of those who watched them would follow before her.


    With that thought in mind, she lingered at the next tent to converse with the woman who stood behind the table. She was holding a babe in each arm and was more than eager to talk about how excited she was to be at the Mart. Lyssia ended up trading her a jar of apricot preserves for a small package of salted strips of pork meat and winked as she walked away, slipping them into her bag for later.


    Roakev was right about one thing. Lyssia had thought about this first day of Eda-Yute a lot. But she knew that no matter what happened, she could not be disappointed by today. She wished she knew how to explain that to him.


    It was the simple fact that she didn''t expect anything to change tomorrow. No more so than Winter turned to Spring every year.


    She would have an increase in hunts and helping the villagers plant crops to look forward to once Eda-Yute and Aon-Yute was behind them. She¡¯d be strictly supervised of course.


    But she was not supposed to think about that or about tomorrow or anything else but right now. She was not expecting change. She was not even expecting happiness. She had fought for the chance to come to Mart today just to get a taste of the contentment she had felt in her vision. For all the effort she had put into getting here, surely that wasn''t too much to ask.


    With her expectations set so low, how could she be dissapointed?


    Lyssia glanced up and saw Roakev watching her from two tents over. She wiggled her fingers in his direction and turned her back on him.


    She wandered among the tents, sucking on a honeycomb and staining the lips of her mask. She offered greetings and blessings freely and declined gifts with a polite duck of her head and crossing of her arms. Her feet tried to glide over the grass, but grass was not really made for gliding, and neither were riding boots. It took a conscious effort to allow herself to just walk, but once she did, she felt immediately foolish for her attempts to put on any airs of grace.


    She found someone else willing to trade the wrapped skein of undyed thread she¡¯d brought alone - very useful to his trade, he assured her - for a smaller container of honey, combless this time. She traded a second jar of preserves and an embroidered picture of a v-shaped flock of birds winging through a bluish-gray sky for a hard wedge of cheese wrapped in oilcloth.


    The apple seller had found a spot to set up his barrels into a makeshift stall beneath a green tent darned where it had worn thin around the edges with tan patches. He had set up his daughters before the tent to call attention to the apples and entertain passerby with songs.


    The older daughter waved eagerly when she saw Lyssia across the path, and she wrapped her hands around Lyssia¡¯s arm as soon as she was near, tugging her back to the barrel she had been using as a singer¡¯s podium. She dropped her hand quickly, grimacing at the sticky berries that came away on her fingers. Lyssia laughed at the expression on her face and rubbed at the smeared tattoo, licking the patch of bright berry that came off on her finger.


    ¡°Isi!¡± her younger sister exclaimed in a near imitation of the tone their father had used when Isi almost fell out of the cart. Lyssia turned fast enough to see the look of pointed reproach that flitted across her features before she ducked her head and hid behind her curtain of dark hair.


    Lyssia threw her head back and laughed louder, dispelling any thoughts of her being mad at Isi''s familiarity. Isi led her over to the barrel she had been using as a singer¡¯s podium. She leaped back onto the lip of the barrel and held her palm out. Lyssia obediently stepped close so the girl could make a show of laying her hand on Lyssia¡¯s forehead and blessing her a second time.


    The witnesses did not bother to hide their whispers behind their hands but stared and pointed openly. When the younger girl, without looking up, set her fingers to dance across the strings of her instrument in a musical fanfare at the end of her sister¡¯s blessing, they applauded.


    Lyssia agreed to stay for one song. She perched on the edge of an upturned barrel and stomped her feet along to the upbeat folk tune. When the song was over, the girls¡¯ father agreed to a like trade - her last two jars of homemade apricot preserves for two jars of his homemade apple butter. A crowd of people swarmed his tent after that, and Lyssia beat a hasty retreat.


    A woman a few tents down sat alone at a stall that displayed only raw and pickled turnips. She wore a thin black mask over her face. It was simply designed and free of any ornamentation - a mourning mask, though it was a celebration day.


    The woman lifted the mask free to blot at her forehead with her sleeve. Staring at her thin face, Lyssia realized that turnips must be the only thing she had in abundance. She had nothing else to bring to share, but she was still here.


    Lysis waved one last time to the girl singing from her perch and made a beeline for the woman, but before she could get to her, two groups stopped to examine her wares. Lyssia waited for them to pass on and was surprised by the goods that had been left in place of procured turnips. The woman scooped them off the counter and into a box that was far from empty.


    Lyssia let her gaze pass by the woman with the proud brow and the tent that smelled like turnips and walked on. They were a stubborn people, but they looked after their own.


    **********


    Satisfied that her greedy stomach would soon be filled with the treats she had squirreled away, Lyssia made her way...

 Chapter 3B

    Satisfied that her greedy stomach would soon be filled with the treats she had squirreled away, Lyssia made her way over to a section of the Mart where goods besides food were laid out for inspection. Most tables were a jumbled mess. No craftsmen made only one good.


    The people here were just as eager to offer her gifts, but they were also more quick to look her in the eye and reached for her hand when they offered her a blessing. Her efforts at appearing approachable were paying off. She was pulled in multiple directions by hands eager to claim her attention.


    "Drottine Lyssia, I have something lovely over here. True silver. Try it on."


    "My lady, a gift for you. It is made from the softest lamb wool."


    "Drottine, my family and I are about to sit down for a meal. We would be honored to have you join us."


    "Oh no...I''m not...Thank you, but I can''t¡­"


    Lyssia feared for a minute that she was going to be overrun with well-wishers. Perhaps it had been better when she was surrounded by people too nervous to approach her.


    "Please, we have more than enough. I made the stew myself this morning."


    She was trying to step out of the path of the woman who seemed about ready to drag her to her family¡¯s dinner table. Lysia had managed to wave off everyone else, but this woman was persistent. She was flitting around Lyssia like a magpie who had found a shiny treasure. It did not help that she wore a dainty half-mask over her eyes that flared up on the edges like wings. It was not hard for Lyssia to imagine it had a beak as well.


    "Drottine."


    Lyssia turned to see who was trying to claim her attention now. The woman who had approached her from behind was gray-haired, two head shorter than her, and had a face that was more familiar to Lyssia than her own.


    "Seaka," she sighed in relief.


    Seaka muttered something under her breath and then chuckled softly. Lyssia frowned and started to lean down toward her, but Seaka turned her back on Lyssia and addressed the magpie-woman with a pointed glare.


    "If I were you, I would not forget who this girl is. She might forget, but we cannot."


    Lyssia ducked her head at Seaka¡¯s words. They sounded too close to what her father had told her, and she wasn¡¯t ready yet to let her mind return to the stead.


    The magpie-woman shook her head as though waking from a dream and dropped into a curtsy so deep her knees creaked in protest. "My apologies, Drottine. Please forgive me. I hope you do not take offense."


    Lyssia frowned at the way her voice shook at the end. She held up her hands, keeping them close to her body but palms out in a forgiving gesture. "Of course not. But I have some¡­" Lyssia''s eyes followed Seaka as she took off down the path without even a last parting glance. "...some business to attend to with the Lach. Excuse me. Vas heill et adhuil," she murmured, patting the woman''s shoulder as she passed her.


    "Yes, and to you, too, Drottine. Vas heill!" Her voice was full of warmth again, but she did not move a muscle until Lyssia was well past.


    "Lach Seaka! Seaka, wait!"


    Lyssia thought at first that the old woman couldn''t hear her, but then she saw Seaka throw a glance over her shoulder and pass into the shadows behind a rose-colored tent. Lyssia quickened her pace.


    "For you," Seaka said without preamble when Lyssia stopped before her. She held out a pot identical to the one that sat on Lyssia''s desk.


    "Thank you, but I don''t need any more yet."


    "You will." She waited only long enough for Lyssia''s hand to wrap around the pot before taking off again.


    Lyssia fumbled with her bags, trying to work the pot into a corner where it would be safe. By the time she caught up with Seaka again, she was babbling away as though Lyssia had never left her side.


    "...good food. But I have a hard time listening to the prattle. I can''t. You...you understand?"


    She peered at Lyssia sidelong, and Lyssia nodded. "Yes. Uh¡­Watch out." Lyssia took her arm and guided her around a gaggle of children that crouched over something in the middle of the path.


    "I can''t do it. But was there something you meant to ask me, Drottine?"


    "No, I...I only wished to know how you are. Do you have many clients? You have been away from the stead for a while. I have missed you."


    Seaka patted her hand, carefully extricating herself from Lyssia¡¯s hold. "There there now. No need to carry on. I''m fine."


    "Good." Lyssia let the conversation lapse, eyeing the path Seaka was leading them down. Lyssia had heard what people at the stead whispered when Seaka visited. She is too old. She is losing her mind. She is becoming grouchier by the day. But no one refused her services, because she was the most knowledgeable healer in the western half of Ivana. Perhaps in the eastern half as well.


    Lyssia did not put much stock in what people said though. Seaka was a constant fixture in so many of her childhood memories. In her well-informed opinion, Seaka was the same as she had always been. A little grouchy, a little scatterbrained, but brilliant and kind and someone whom she loved.


    Lyssia bit her tongue and refused to ask the old Lach if she knew where she was going, but she could not stop the rush of relief she felt when she heard someone call out, "Mistress Lach!"


    A man rushed out of a tent to their left and stepped into their path. "Mistress Lach! You have brought the remedy for my mother?"


    "Yes, yes. I have it." Seaka patted the satchel at her waist, but the man wasn¡¯t looking at her.


    He had recognized Lyssia, and he shifted to give her his attention. "Drottine."


    "Karlsman." Lyssia gave a polite nod of her head and deliberately turned back to Seaka.


    "Are you ready to discuss price?"


    "I don''t know how much we...but it doesn''t matter. We need the remedy."


    "Don¡¯t worry. We will work something out."


    Seaka reached out to pat his arm, much like she''d patted Lyssia''s hand earlier when she felt Lyssia had gone on too long. She and the man started for the back portion of his tent, which had been sectioned off with a blanket drape. Lyssia started to follow them but hesitated before stepping through the narrow doorway.


    "Drottine-saedhirte."


    Princess Sweetheart.


    Lyssia turned to face the woman who had left her seat in the front of the tent and was shuffling toward her. She was bent over a short pine cane. Her gray hair fell wild like a winter river over her shoulders, hanging just shy of the floor, but someone had taken the time to braid a section down the middle and weave shiny blue and brown beads into it. Her face was even more lined than Seaka''s, but when she tipped it up to squint at Lyssia''s eyes, Lyssia saw that she had earned twice as many laugh lines as frown lines.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    "Drottine...Erinasdaughter."


    Lyssia''s throat constricted around her response.


    "You are she. Are you not?"


    "I---" Lyssia swallowed and tried again. "I am. Though I am not called by that name often."


    The woman nodded thoughtfully and placed a hand over her heart as if she understood more than Lyssia said. Then she sighed and leaned into her cane.


    "May I help you back to your seat?" Lyssia asked.


    The woman said nothing but placed her other hand on Lyssia''s arm and followed her back to the tent. She had been perched on a bench, not a chair, and she did not let go of Lyssia''s arm when she sat. Lyssia had no choice but to sink down onto the bench beside her.


    The woman leaned to the side to grab ahold of her grandson¡¯s ear and pulled him down to whisper something in his ear.


    ¡°For you, daughter of the mountain.¡±


    The boy returned with a black bag tied with a drawstring, which the woman motioned for him to open. Her hand disappeared into the bag and withdrew a long silver chain.


    Lyssia gasped in awe before she would see what was engraved on the circular pendant. The stamp of Ilvana had been carved into the brilliant medal surface, and around the tallest peak curved a creature akin to a thick snake with a long tail, four clawed feet, and a pointed snout.


    ¡°A Drakun. For strength. For wisdom. For you.¡±


    ¡°Oh no. I...I couldn¡¯t,¡± Lyssia said automatically, but she was already reaching out to touch the minuscule Drakun.


    Her hand closed around the pendant quickly, and she stuffed it into her bag before she could stop herself. ¡°But I will trade for it.¡±


    She withdrew her last necklace - a long piece that she had spent hours designing from the smoothest gray pebbles she could find, polished and strung together with a gray-blue peregrine feather hanging straight down in the middle.


    Her head hung as she looked at it. It was not near as well crafted as the necklace she had just accepted. She wanted to shove it back into her bag and hurry away to hide her embarrassment. But the woman held out her hand, and when Lyssia laid the necklace on her palm, she closed her fingers around it and clutched it to her chest.


    The next moment, it was hanging around her neck. Lyssia watched her arrange the drape of the necklace with a curious smile on her lips.


    "Thank you. Vas heill, Drottine-saedehirte."


    "Karlswoman, I also have this." Lyssia fumbled for her bag of coins. She extracted three copper coins with holes stamped in the middle of them and offered them to her.


    "No. No. It is enough." She ran her hand along the necklace of stones, refusing to accept the coins.


    Lyssia examined the stubborn tilt of the woman''s chin as she weighed the coins in her hand, thinking. Then slipping all but one back into her bag, she plucked four strings from the loose edge she had been feeling blindly all day on the inside of one of her bags.


    The strings were too short for a necklace, but she twisted them together to form a loose cord, slid the coin onto its length, and tied it around the grandson''s wrist.


    "For good fortune," she said, pressing her fingers against the coin and feeling the boy''s racing pulse. He stared at the coin and ignored Lyssia until his grandmother poked him in the back with her cane and he remembered to bow his head and thank her.


    Lyssia went to check on Seaka but she had already left to complete another errand. The woman''s son was smiling and relaxed, so he must have struck a good deal with Seaka.


    Lyssia turned away from the tent then and her eyes landed on a table laid with a variety of cheese rounds. Her breath rushed out of her and she paused with her hands fisted in her skirt waiting, waiting, waiting¡­


    No magical tingling enveloped her. The heavens did not open and pour a rain of contentment down upon her. She began to feel silly for standing there staring intently at a hole in one of the cheese wheels, and she giggled to herself.


    That warmed her throat pleasantly, so she laughed again, louder. She retrieved the silver necklace and threw the chain around her neck, clutching the pendant to her heart. It seemed that contentment had snuck up on her a long time ago. Perhaps even before she had tried to sneak away, when her cousins welcomed her to their table, or when she had heard Azerian and their young friend playing together on the road to Mart.


    She had been so intent on focusing on what was going on around her and ignoring her own thoughts that she had not recognized that emotion for what it was, nor the happiness that now bloomed to life as she felt the Drakun pendant settle in the hollow of her breastbone.


    She giggled again and opened her eyes, coming eye to eye with a younger couple who stood close by, watching her with obvious worry. Lyssia smiled ruefully at them and shrugged, and they returned her gesture with slow smiles of their own.


    "Vas Eda-Yute!" Lyssia exclaimed at the same time the man did. She bobbed a curtsy and hurried off before anyone else stopped to join them. She was thankful that her pink cheeks were hidden.


    It was a difficult decision to make after her recent revelation, but there was nothing to do then but carry her acquisitions back to her horse and find her cousins. She had seen them loitering at the edge of her vision, occasionally turning to find them crossing her path but never getting too close. She had no doubt they would find her soon, so she let her feet roam along a new path that would lead her in the direction of her family''s tent.


    It was easier to wave aside gifts now that her bag was full, but they weighed her down and slowed her pace. The Drakun pendant knocked against her heart with each step. She would have to get used to the sensation, but it did not feel entirely uncomfortable.


    She was still searching for the top of her cousins¡¯ bright yellow tent when Azerian approached her from behind and took hold of her arm. Her heart jumped up into her throat at the unexpected contact and stayed there when she looked up and saw that his face was uncovered. He held two expressions in equal balance: mischief and care.


    ¡°You¡¯ve found him?¡±


    Azerian didn¡¯t answer but guided her down a row of tents that led to an open area. Lyssia followed his gaze. Roakev was sitting around the edge of a marked-off area. It was the site of Jarl Steiner¡¯s old sheep pen. The border was still marked with a chipped but evenly laid stone wall that stood only a foot off the ground. The dirt inside was churned and prepared for performances.


    It was empty at the moment, but Lyssia was sure that this was the direction she had heard music from not long ago. It was not only meant as an area for musical performances but as a location to air out grievances. Men and women could arrange to enter the arena during Martdays and settle their disputes or grudges through combat. No steel weapons were allowed, and Azerian, who generally had more freedom to roam than her and more experience with the Mart, had assured her this was a tradition that was strictly upheld in honor of Ilvana¡¯s history.


    Once they had been a people who lived by the sword. Once Ilvana had been champions of conquest. Until the time of the Drakun Kongren. Now the people of Ilvana may have teeth and spines of steel, but they live through and by the peace they have formed with the land.


    It was odd how passages from text or song could spring suddenly into her mind when she wasn¡¯t even thinking about them. That cryptic passage was one of the few descriptions she had been able to find of the Old Age in the texts stored in Skald Bjarke''s study. As the picture of the rolled book laid open before her faded from her sight, she felt a tug toward the stone arena. It was a pen maintained to hold in anger instead of animals, she thought and was surprised at the idea''s appeal. She was generally not a fan of the displays of bravado that broke out often on the exercise yard when the Jarlssons were in residence.


    Lyssia took a step forward, but Azerian pulled her back and turned her in the opposite direction. At the end of the row of tents was one set slightly apart. The tent itself was made out of a bright white cloth that stood out amongst the riot of color that surrounded it. Other, smaller differences marked it as a foreign-made design, but the color was enough to make her pause.


    She did not see the man that Azerian had described, but a woman with pale yellow hair and wearing a heavy fur coat sat on a stool leaning up against the pole that supported the tent opening. She was working on something small and angular with her hands and smiling absentmindedly at passerby.


    ¡°That¡¯s the trader¡¯s tent?¡± she asked in a small voice.


    ¡°Try to contain your enthusiasm.¡±


    ¡°Sorry. I just...I¡­¡±


    ¡°Lys¡­¡± He stepped around to face her, worry creasing his brow. ¡°Do you want me to take it?¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯ll do it.¡± She slipped a hand into the bag attached to her belt, pulled out the rolled letter, and clutched it to her chest along with her purse of coins. ¡°He¡¯ll recognize your name?¡±


    ¡°Yes, he will. And yours.¡±


    Lys glared at him, and he held his hands up in a gesture of peace. Quick as a wasp sting, she hung her bags over his wrists, ignoring him when he winced and cried, ¡°Hey!¡±, and danced away.


    ¡°...I¡¯m going to meet him. Take a honeycomb. Stay here. Watch Roakev.¡±


    His expression brightened at the mention of the honeycomb. ¡°We¡¯ll be here waiting for you.¡±


    Lyssia nodded and started across the short distance between walking paths. She had almost reached the tent with the blonde-haired woman lounging out front when a commotion broke out behind her.


    ¡°You will fight!¡±


    Lyssia whirled at the shout. Her heart beat triple time as she sprinted back toward where she had left Azerian. Oh Az, what have you done?

 Chapter 4A

    Lyssia only had a moment to search frantically for her cousin¡¯s lanky form. As soon as she pushed to the front of the growing crowd, she felt two hands take hold of her and pull her to the side.


    ¡°Roakev, Azerian,¡± Lyssia sighed in relief.


    ¡°Lyssia.¡± Roakev said her name in much the same tone. His fingers squeezed her wrist tight like he was regretting every decision he had made that day. Lyssia wriggled her fingers, trying to get just an inch of space to move, but he would not relent his hold.


    Azerian¡¯s hand on her other arm jumped and then squeezed even tighter as he began to pull her and Roakev back, away from the old sheep pen arena.


    The crowd was forming a circle around two men who both wore plain brown masks that hid their faces as thoroughly as Lyssia''s mask hid hers. Only their eyes and mouths were left uncovered.


    The taller man standing to the left had a light brown beard that curled around the bottom edge of his mask and callused hands that looked too big for his long arms. The man standing across from him within the arena was shorter and stouter. Lyssia had no time to catalogue his other visible features. Her attention was snagged by the steel blade in his hand.


    ¡°I thought you said nobody ever used a real blade in the arena?¡±


    She directed the words at Azerian, but he and Roakev answered at the same time.


    ¡°They usually don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just a stance. He won¡¯t use it.¡±


    Lyssia cocked her head at the surety in Roakev¡¯s answer. Unlike Azerian¡¯s voice, his voice did not quiver. His hand slid up from her wrist to her elbow.


    ¡°He won¡¯t?¡± she said, leaning forward, not trying to break his restraining hold but straining to hear what the two men were saying.


    She spotted a familiar figure across the circle. Her aunt had made it to the fighting arena. Carryn waved, then grabbed hold of the man¡¯s arm beside her and pointed at Lyssia. Lyssia was sure he was one of their cousins, but she couldn¡¯t remember his name. She could never remember their names. He and Carryn turned and slipped into the crowd.


    ¡°Azerian, your mother.¡±


    ¡°What? Where?¡±


    She pointed at the spot where Carryn had been standing. ¡°She¡¯s gone, but she was there. She looked worried.¡±


    Azerian took two steps forward, cursed under his breath, and returned to her side. She could read his thoughts as clearly as if she was privy to the words running through his head.


    ¡°Hey.¡± She yanked at his arm, pulling him down to speak directly in his ear. ¡°She wasn¡¯t alone, and she saw us. She¡¯s probably circling around to us now.¡±


    He nodded at her words, but the tension did not leave his hunched shoulders.


    ¡°Azerian, if you need to---¡±


    ¡°I refuse!¡±


    Lyssia jumped and twisted back around to face the arena. The weaponless man had been the one to shout. She watched him jut out his arms and lengthen his spine, obviously trying to use his height to cow his opponent.


    The stouter man responded by flexing both of his impressive forearm muscles. The sword jumped in his hand, and Lyssia winced as sunlight glinted off its length and blurred her vision. If she had any doubt that the sword was a prop, that hope was dispelled.


    ¡°You cannot refuse! A Martday challenge cannot be ignored!¡±


    The first man spoke again, lower this time so Lyssia could not hear. The stouter man thrust his sword into the ground and dusted his hands off on the leather apron that hung from his neck.


    ¡°Guess you were right,¡± she said.


    Roakev¡¯s intake of breath did not sound like a victory. Lyssia¡¯s eyes flashed up to his, and at that moment, the crowd gasped. She whipped back around, unintentionally breaking Roakev¡¯s hold on her elbow.


    ¡°You have thrown mud on my honor, and I will have my recompense!¡±


    The taller man was holding his jaw. There was a fire in his eyes now that matched his opponent¡¯s, but still, he did not advance. He held up his free hand and shook a fist at his opponent, who had retreated to stand beside his sword again. ¡°No! I will not set foot in¡­¡±


    His voice dropped beneath the hum of the crowd again, and Lyssia gritted her teeth in frustration.


    ¡°...your fault that¡­¡±


    ¡°You hypocrite!¡± The stouter man shouted. He yanked his sword free of the earth and brandished it.


    ¡°Enough! Stop!¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s voice carried across the crowd, louder and stronger than it had ever been for fear that she was about to witness a murder. And not just a murder, but one where no one stepped forward to prevent it. The barrier of backs before her melted away, and with only one breath to think about what she would say next, she stepped forward until she stood in a triangle between the two quarreling men.


    She heard Azerian and Roakev rush to keep step with her. Azerian hopped over the low stone wall to put himself between Lyssia and the man with the sword, but Lyssia placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back a step so that he wouldn¡¯t block her line of sight.


    She turned her attention back to the strange men before her. The spark of desperation she''d felt was already starting to grow dim. Lyssia inhaled sharply and bit the inside of her cheek, using that tiny prick of pain to fuel her voice.


    ¡°I am Lyssia, Daughter of Dizean and Drottine of Ilvana. Put down your weapon and explain the meaning of this disturbance.¡±


    The stocky man slowly lowered his sword, and both men stared at her, unabashedly eyeing her up and down as they decided whether or not they would follow her order. For an order it had been, spoken with the feigned authority of one who was used to being obeyed.


    The taller man moved first, lowering his eyes and bowing his head. ¡°Drottine, please extend your blessing to me and allow me to explain. This display of temper is not my doing.¡±


    ¡°Liar! That is what you are, you filthy swine! Drottine, I swear to you---¡±


    ¡°Drop your weapon!¡±


    The shorter man reacted immediately to the sharp ring of authority in Roakev''s voice. The hilt of his sword thudded against his boot. He faltered mid-step, hastening to turn his advancing posture into one of retreat. Roakev and Azerian mirrored him as he stepped forward, to the side, and back.


    Glancing between the two hostile strangers, Lyssia said, ¡°It is a sunny day. Your families are enjoying the Mart. It is Eda-Yute! Can you not settle your argument honorably as neighbors are supposed to do?¡±


    Her emphasis on the word ¡°honorably¡± caused both men to shift and look down at the ground.


    The stouter man broke the silence this time. ¡°That¡¯s all I ask. To prove my honor. To defend my name against this curd drinking dunga--"


    ¡°My lady, this man is no neighbor of mine. He is a thief and a cheat. He says that I have damaged his honor, but he---¡±


    ¡°You have!¡±


    ¡°I have not!¡± the taller man declared. ¡°In truth, my lady, all this man wishes to defend is his coin purse.¡±The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Defend yourself then!¡± The stouter man kicked against something that lay on the ground.


    Lyssia gasped in shock. She had not noticed the second leather-hilted sword laying on the ground. She appraised the man through narrow eyes.


    She felt a flutter of fingers along her spine and glanced to her right. Azerian was gone. Carryn was now standing in his place, and Lyssia was surrounded by a crowd of cousins. The expressions on their faces ranged from nervous to alarmed, but they were a solid wall at her back.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± she asked.


    She did not try to make her voice climb above the men¡¯s argument, but the stouter man had not given himself over to his rage yet. His eyes flashed toward hers as he said in a gruff voice, "Ardbon Loakson, my lady."


    "How do you make your livelihood, Ardbon, son of Loak?"


    "My trade is smithery."


    "And what is your neighbor''s name?"


    "This man is no neighbor of mine," Ardbon grumbled, but then he said in a voice growing cooler by the syllable, ¡°Liefer. He tends his own fields.¡±


    Lyssia nodded thoughtfully, though this told her nothing. She did not have to fake her curiosity when she asked, "And what is the nature of your disagreement?"


    "My lady¡­" Ardbon paused. Lyssia patiently watched as he steadied himself and searched for the right words to explain the outbursts that Lyssia had witnessed.


    ¡°Drottine, forgive my rough speech. Liefer and I made a deal. We came to a fair agreement. He was to pay me four bushels of wheat, three bushels of corn, and an old bar of iron - pockmarked iron - for my five-year-old mare. Now he is trying to go back on our deal, though we shook and drank on it." His eyes narrowed as he glanced at Liefer, but his gaze snapped back to Lyssia¡¯s quickly.


    Liefer snorted; the crowd murmured and shifted around them; Carryn''s fingers pressed lightly on her back. Lyssia scrunched her nose to keep from clenching her jaw and imagined drawing a curtain around herself and the two men whom she had chosen to confront.


    "Karl Ardbon¡­ it is true that you and Liefer shook on this trade? Four wheat, three corn, and iron. I am not adept at trading livestock, but what you call a fair trade sounds like a steep price for a mare who has passed birthing age."


    Lyssia would have given anything to see the look on Ardbon''s face at that moment. She passed a strand of hair behind her ear and leaned subtly back into Carryn''s touch. But again, she kept her tongue and allowed Ardbon to find his words.


    "The mare is worth it. She is too willow-legged for my purpose, but she is perfectly capable of pulling a harness plow. She¡¯s gentle, obedient, hard-working. And she may have a colt in her yet if properly studded. Pardon, my lady," he apologized.


    Lyssia inclined her head. The descriptive phrase did not offend her, but perhaps it would have offended another lady. So she said nothing, allowing nothing but the hint of an amused smile to give away her reaction


    "Thank you, Karl Ardbon, but...there is more to the story." She turned to the taller man, Liefer. ¡°You agreed to the deal, but¡­?¡±


    Liefer struck a confident pose, spine straight, chest out, hands on hips. ¡°But he did not tell me that the mare has a lame foot.¡±


    ¡°She does not!¡±


    ¡°She is going lame,¡± Liefer hissed over his shoulder without looking at Ardbon. "I was prepared to pay for her and take her to my farm today, but I cannot buy a lame mare. She will be no use to me.¡±


    ¡°I understand. I---¡±


    ¡°You promised to take her." Ardbon surged forward until he stood within grappling distance of Liefer. Standing in the taller man''s shadow did not seem to make him nervous, but Lyssia had a different reaction. She flinched when she saw his finger pointing at Leifer''s chest, just an inch away from poking him.


    "Karl Ardbon, don''t..." she squeaked. Thankfully, no one seemed to hear the slip over Ardbon''s tirade.


    "The deal was struck a fortnight ago! There is nothing wrong with the mare¡¯s gait. You are a liar!"


    ¡°You are a liar. You lied to me about her condition. I have not damaged your honor by asking for your honesty. You have damaged your own honor.¡±


    ¡°Speak no more about damaged honor! You have dealt me a public wound. And I will not---¡±


    ¡°I have lived my entire life without stepping into those stones. I refuse to do so now!¡±


    ¡°Then you will forfeit the right to argue your case!¡±


    Lyssia stood speechlessly staring between the two men. The argument had gotten out of her control so quickly, she had not even been able to prepare herself for what she would say once she had the full story. She had to act before one of them decided that they were not satisfied with trading verbal insults. She had to force their hands toward a solution that did not involve the swords that had been discarded on the ground between them.


    Lyssia glanced down and gave a start. They had been there, but Lyssia was sure that her eyes were not betraying her. The two swords were missing.


    Her gaze shot straight up and she locked eyes with a towering figure wearing a black half mask and a tanned cloak. Bjarke''s mouth was pressed into a thin line. He showed no surprise at seeing her; his gaze directed hers to the right and down.


    Azerian was half crouched on the ground at the front edge of the crowd, a sword in each hand. He looked up and caught Lyssia''s eye, and an impish grin spread across his face. He balanced a sword on one knee, hilt pointed toward her, and gestured suggestively.


    Lyssia waved him forward. Now that the swords were out of the bickering Karls'' reach, she felt a huge weight lifted from her shoulders. Fear had been her motivator for stepping forward, not anger, and now that Azerian had nullified the cause of her fear, Lyssia felt her muscles starting to sag. She straightened her legs with some effort, locking her knees to keep her balance, and held out her hand toward Azerian, who had circled around their group of cousins to hand her one of the swords.


    There would be time to ponder her motivations and emotions later. She would be plagued with the appearance of Bjarke and how her father would react to the news of her involvement in this squabble. She doubted he would have chosen to place himself in this situation, and he most certainly would be displeased with the news that she had. But now that she was here, surely he would prefer her to stand tall and speak with authority rather than turn tail and run like a hare confronted with two snarling dogs.


    Lyssia did not exclaim at the heavy weight of the sword but stood there admiring the grip and twisting the blade this way and that to test its balance while Azerian handed his second stolen sword to Roakev and retrieved the two belt blades he had stashed away beneath his cloak.


    She watched with eyes half lowered for the moment the Karls realized they had been visited by a nimble-handed pilferer. Their hands both flew to their empty knife sheaths, and Ardbon''s face started to turn a deep shade of pink.


    "Now see here, lad. That''s my---"


    "Karl Ardbon¡­"


    Lyssia waited for him to turn back to her before favoring him with a smile.


    "These blades are your work?"


    "Y-yes, my lady," he stammered, caught off guard by her casual tone.


    "They seem very well made."


    "Thank---"


    "But it is my understanding that steel blades are not allowed in the arena. I can see your disagreement is warranted, and I would gladly witness a bout of staves between you two so that this anger might find an end and this Mart might continue in its festive spirit."


    Lyssia stumbled once or twice in her speech, but as she quickly replayed her words in her mind, she was pleased by them. She had reclaimed a sense of civility for the pair, and she expected them to be pleased by the change of course.


    She was confused to find that her words were met with crossed arms and hard stares.


    "Ahhh, here we reach an impasse again," Ardbon said, with no chagrin for having his rule breaking pointed out. "He refuses to step foot in the arena.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t blame him. You''re supposed to smack each other in the side, not hack each other''s arms off. I wouldn''t---"


    Lyssia grabbed Azerian''s arm and squeezed it until he stopped talking. "That is true. But now that my cousin has confiscated your steel, I''m sure Karlsman Liefer would not deny you a ---"


    Liefer was shaking his head.


    Lyssia''s mouth snapped shut as her thoughts spun faster and faster, trying to keep up with this new turn of events. "You would? You would deny Ardbon the chance to reclaim his honor? For you to reclaim yours? I thought Martday bouts were a tradition followed by all Ilvana''s citizens."


    "I do not believe that a man''s honor can be lost and reclaimed so easily. My father never fought a battle with anything but his words. He never stepped into this arena or any other, and I intend to uphold his example."


    "I see," Lyssia murmured, and the hard part was that she could see both sides of the argument clearly. Liefer''s words held just as much weight as Ardbon''s. The solution called to her on the breeze like a well-known melody played just low enough to be out of her reach.


    Lyssia''s voice was low and even as she leaned into the wind, listening, silly though it may have been, to those calming notes the wind whispered in her ear.


    "I held much the same view of the arena this morning as you do. But I think I can see now how useful a chance to deal a good whack on the side can be for calming angry spirits and allowing neighbors to create space for a peaceful discussion."


    Almost without seeming to notice, the two Karls had leaned in to listen to Lyssia''s quiet explanation. They were standing in a triangle again, and Liefer and Ardbon were both bobbing their heads along to her words, focused for once only on listening to her.


    Lyssia''s voice dipped down further into a conspiratorial whisper. "I do hope fear does not control your actions. Though I would understand if cautious fear were present in your hearts."


    Ardbon was quick to respond, somehow making a whisper seem like a shout. "Fear, Drottine? No."


    Liefer was slower to answer, but the careful manner of his speech was impossible to ignore. "I do not fear the arena."


    "If fear is not present, might I suggest another means to reach an amicable compromise? One that will require some amount of courage but does not involve Karl Liefer fighting in the arena?"


    Liefer and Ardbon shared a confused glance.


    "Aye, Drottine. And what compromise do you propose?" Ardbon asked.


    "That you allow me to examine the mare myself and make the decision as to who has the right of it. I promise to be thoughtful and fair if you both promise to abide by my decision. If either one of you decides he cannot do so, I will step into the arena to fight myself."


    **********


    "You, Drottine? What stake have you in this fight?"


    Lyssia shrugged, trying to keep hold of her appearance of ease. "I feel as though I have already...

 Chapter 4B

    "You, Drottine? What stake have you in this fight?"


    Lyssia shrugged, trying to keep hold of her appearance of ease. "I feel as though I have already entered the arena. I cannot step away until an agreement is reached."


    Liefer spoke agreement first, Ardbon soon after, and then Lyssia found herself presiding over her first petition for justice.


    Roakev and Azerian both protested when she explained her plans to potentially step into the arena herself.


    "With staves," she clarified, leveling a glare at Roakev. "Remember, I beat you last time. I''m not entirely helpless."


    "And I doubt anyone would openly strike you, arena or not," Azerian added before ducking back behind his mother and avoiding Roakev''s jab.


    Carryn, for her part, remained calm as she kissed Lyssia''s masked cheek and took Ardbon''s sword from her, freeing her hands. The cousins tried to follow her lead, but Lyssia saw the anxious gazes they passed amongst themselves when they thought she couldn''t see. None would speak out against her decision. The crowd''s mood seemed to have returned to a celebratory high as those gathered in the front waited to see what happened next and shout the news to those standing too far back to hear.


    "Where is the mare?" Lyssia asked Ardbon, but it was Liefer who answered.


    "Ardbon would not take her back. She is with my son, Nurik."


    "Have him bring her here."


    Liefer hurried to follow her request.


    "Roakev¡­" Lyssia took his arm and drew him a little ways off to the side. Her cajoling tone seemed to put him on edge, but he did not pull away. She patted his arm in a soothing manner as she asked, "You have learned a lot about horses from your father?"


    He nodded warily. "Yes¡­"


    "I will need your help examining the mare. If there is anything wrong with her, I need to know. And I need you to be absolutely sure of her condition."


    Roakev grew thoughtful as he turned to appraise the horse that Leifer guided through the path that had opened up in the crowd. A boy no more than three years younger than Lyssia followed behind Liefer with a hand on the mare''s side. The cousin whom Roakev spent all his time talking with earlier stepped forward and offered Lyssia a half bow.


    "I would like to offer my assistance, Drottine. I know something of horses."


    "Ofrid." Roakev clasped his arm and gave it a grateful squeeze.


    "Ofrid," Lyssia whispered his name, and when he glanced back at her, she said, "Thank you."


    The mare was standing before them now. Lyssia greeted Liefer''s son by name, and his ears turned an embarrassing shade of red.


    "Will you allow the mare to be examined by someone without stake in this discussion?" she asked Ardbon and Liefer.


    Both men were quick to agree. Their bearings had changed since they had placed the outcome of their disagreement in her hands.


    Their postures were more relaxed. Their arms hung at their sides instead of raised to strike, and they met each other''s gazes head-on with eyes that held more curiosity than anger.


    "My cousins," Lyssia said as Roakev and Ofrid stepped forward to take the mare''s lead rope. "They are far more knowledgeable than I when it comes to horses. I trust their judgement."


    "Aye, Drottine. I''m sure they know what they''re about." Liefer did seem pleased as he watched Lyssia''s cousins run their hands along the mare''s neck and back and down each of her legs before crouching side by side and lifting her hooves one by one.


    The waiting seemed unbearable to Lyssia, caught between the two groups. Ofrid gave nothing away as he returned to his place standing behind her. Roakev brought the mare closer to Lyssia and coaxed her to raise one hoof.


    "Ofrid and I have conferred with one another, and we believe that---"


    "Wait." Lyssia held up a hand to silence him. "Remove your mask."


    "Lyssia?"


    "Please, Roakev. Just do it."


    Glancing once to either side, Roakev released the mare''s leg and reached to untie the tight knot that kept his mask in place. Lyssia took the mare''s lead and turned her partway so that the two Karls could see the leg Roakev had indicated.


    "I have asked my cousin to remove his mask before delivering his judgement of the mare''s condition. This way you may see his face and know that he speaks the truth. Now I would ask¡­"


    Her gaze darted between the two men and the boy who stood behind his father, trying to gauge their reaction to her words.


    "...that you remove your masks as well and show me your faces so that I may see you have nothing to hide. If you trust me, you will do this."


    Lyssia did not know all the reasons behind Ardbon and Liefer''s decisions to wear masks to Mart. She refused to trust those who proclaimed their only reason for going about in a mask was to follow an edict of mourning that had been proclaimed over two decades before. Here, among those who did not frequent the Kongr''s stead, she believed that excuse even less. No, some instinct to hide from each other must be at play.


    She was setting them up for a test that should be easy enough to pass. How unexpected it must be to hear such a request spoken by the daughter of Dizean, but if they had nothing to hide, then how could they refuse her.


    The two Karls came to that realization at the exact same moment, and they removed their masks together, like an image in a double-sided mirror. Liefer pulled his son forward to stand beside him and whispered something in his ear. He removed his mask as well, baring his red cheeks to Lyssia''s view.


    Lyssia smiled in earnest as she examined their faces. Liefer and his son looked so much alike with their sun-tanned features and wide set eyes. Ardbon''s face was sun-darkened as well but it appeared more weathered. Lyssia was taken aback by the scar that marred his right cheek. Her eyes lingered on it long enough for Ardbon to grow nervous, and she was not sure her softened smile was enough to put him at ease.


    She nodded to Roakev to continue, glancing down to see that he had stuffed his mask into his belt and was holding his long hair back with one hand, making sure it did not disguise his features. He lifted the mare''s hoof with his free hand and carefully bent it out for the observers to see.


    Lyssia turned quickly back to Liefer and Ardbon, intent on catching any signs of shock or deceit on their faces.


    "This is a fine animal, but both of her front shoes are damaged. See here.¡± He drew a line along the bottom of the mare¡¯s iron horseshoe. "They must be bothering her. Though it''s hard to see if you don''t know what to look for, and she might not complain if she''s as easy tempered as the owner claims. If the shoes are not replaced soon, she could develop a limp."


    He stood and reclaimed the mare''s lead, walking her in a short circle around Lyssia. She could not tell if the mare''s gate was affected by her damaged shoes. But what irked her more was the fact that she could not tell which man was the liar. Liefer''s smile was confident yet calm. She could detect no cockiness in his gaze, and she did not think his son''s nerves had anything to do with the horse. Ardbon''s proud smile at having his mare praised was quickly overcome by an expression of bewilderment.


    Neither man was a liar. She would bet every last coin in her purse on that fact. How rude of them to waste everyone''s time on a simple misunderstanding, she thought, and then fought hard not to laugh. Only a misunderstanding. She should count it an Urd-Yute blessing.


    "The problem is easy to miss? And she is healthy otherwise?"


    "She appears to be," Roakev said.


    Lyssia did laugh then, a polite chuckle instead of a loud guffaw. "Well, then there is no problem. This is just a simple misunderstanding that deserves a simple solution."


    "What solution would that be...Drottine?" Liefer dropped to his knees, hands resting lightly on his thighs, face upturned to hers. The posture of a humble petitioner.


    Ardbon stared down at him for a moment before it struck him to kneel as well. He kept his palms up and open, as though waiting for something to be dropped into them.


    An idea was forming in Lyssia''s mind. She paused, allowing her thoughts to take shape and flow into words. "Karl Liefer, you will not have need of the mare until Yute is passed. Is that correct?"


    "Yes, my lady."


    "Karl Ardbon, is the iron you were meant to be paid of the quality necessary for horseshoes?"


    "Yes, my lady, but---"


    "And would there be enough for two shoes?"


    Ardbon ground his teeth in frustration. "I believe so."


    "Good. Then you have until the end of Yute and the beginning of the planting season to fix the mare''s damaged shoes. Liefer will give you the iron and what wheat and corn you will need to feed your family during that time. He will do this because he is a good and honest man, and because you are an honorable man, you will return the mare to him and collect the remainder of your payment - which will be sufficient - before the sun sets on the last day of Yute. Does this seem fair?"Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Lyssia waited for both men to signal their assent, although their faces told her that they would not argue. But there was still one more condition to add to the table.


    "It would appear that no one is required to fight in the arena today, but I know of another way you can make yourself of use."


    Lyssia glanced over at Azerian and Roakev, giving them a silent warning not to challenge what she was about to offer.


    "In seven days, my father is sending out boats to fish the waters off the eastern coast. It is to be a part of our Eda-Yute celebrations. I am accompanying him, and we could use three more men, provided they are honest and trustworthy and they can work amicably together. You will, of course, be compensated for your time."


    "Drottine, we are honored,¡± Liefer said, standing and immediately dropping into a bow.


    Ardbon followed suit, adding a second bow as he uttered agreement. ¡°You are kind, my lady.¡±


    Neither asked about the compensation she mentioned. They knew that whatever they were given would be more than enough to account for their time spent away from family, and being invited to fish on the kongr¡¯s boat was an honor.


    It would also provide a chance for Lyssia to see if her decision was being followed.


    A wave of exhaustion overtook her. She barely noticed Liefer and Ardbon''s numerous bows as they left the circle of onlookers. She felt her aunt''s presence only as a warm arm around her shoulders, a hand in hers. She did not know where her bags were or if she was still surrounded by a crowd of cousins or strangers. She heard someone talking as if from a great distance. They said her name, but she didn''t care.


    She thought for a moment that she was going to collapse, which would have been alright. Her job was over, and it would save her from having to endure more of the crowd''s stares. But she would take Carryn with her. She tried to extricate herself from Carryn''s hold, but the arm held her fast.


    A sharp smell hit her nose, something akin to the scent of her ointment but not quite the same. Inhaling the scent made her feel less dizzy. She opened her eyes and found Seaka standing before her. She held a flask up toward Lyssia; that''s where the smell was coming from.


    "A drink to celebrate our wise Drottine for whom we gave thanks this Eda-Yute day. She is a peace seeker and a peacekeeper in the vein of her mother, kind Drottingr Erina. I drink to her memory as well as to the daughter of Erina."


    Seaka drank from the flash and then offered it to Lyssia again. Her fingers closed woodenly around the container of liquid, and she paused as she heard "to Erina, and the daughter of Erina," travel like a whispered refrain, first through her entourage and then around the strangers gathered to watch them.


    "Drink, Lyssia," Seaka said in much the same tone she had used when trying to get Lyssia to drink her medicine when she was young and not feeling well. It was an automatic reaction to take a deep breath, hold it, and swallow two big mouthfuls of liquid.


    It didn''t taste like she thought her ointment might. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the flask held treebark tea mixed with honey, the familiar taste only marred by a hint of something spicy.


    The tea was strong. It eased her dizziness and strengthened her shaking legs. She focused on the section of crowd in front of her and lifted the flask as if offering a toast before bringing it to her lips again.


    She turned to hand the flask back to Seaka with a grateful smile. The Lach patted her hand and whispered, "Smile, little dove."


    Lyssia did not have time to ask her what she meant, because following on Seaka''s heels was a woman that Lyssia did not recognize. She wore a red scarf tugged up high over her chin but no mask.


    ¡°Drottine,¡± the woman whispered and bowed her head. She held out her hand, and Lyssia reached out as if to clasp it in greeting. But instead of squeezing Lyssia¡¯s fingers, the woman pressed her palm open and dropped a smooth bead bracelet into it


    ¡°Vas heill, Drottine,¡± she said, and before Lyssia could respond, she was gone and another woman had taken her place.


    Lyssia¡¯s eyes grew wide as they roved up and down the line of people that stood waiting to wish her good health and good day and place little trinkets and containers of food in her hands. Not one person wore a mask, although several people were gripping cloth and leather masks in their sweaty palms.


    The day had warmed considerably without Lyssia noticing. She decided quickly that she would have preferred passing out, but Seaka''s treebark tea kept her on her feet.


    ¡°Vas heill. Vas Eda-Yute,¡± she said over and over, smiling with practiced precision and clasping one sweaty hand after another.


    No one had to tell her that this was not the time to refuse gifts. She sensed the importance of this moment, though she had never experienced anything like it before. She did not give in to her desire to see what expression Roakev wore. After her talk with him outside their families'' tent earlier, she wondered what he would say about all this.


    Lyssia did sneak glances out of the corner of her other eye. She watched her aunt''s proud smile widen with every hand she clasped, and she saw more and more of the older cousins quietly bid their leave of her. Lucky them. They must have sensed their usefulness had come to an end.


    Still, they had stood beside her while she faced down a man with a sword. She wished that she could have had more time with them today. Or that she would have spent less time planning her escape and more time getting to know these strangers who called her cousin.


    Why should hoping for such a chance make her feel guilty? Why should she be denied any connection with them? She had never dared ask her father these questions before. It was an unspoken rule - the separation of his wife¡¯s family from his own - and only Carryn had survived the split. It was easy enough not to think about them when they were nameless and faceless, but Reeza...Ofrid...


    Lyssia had been brave enough to argue for her chance to visit the Mart today. She had been brave enough to bid for her freedom to walk among her people unchaperoned. And yes, she had been brave enough to end a potential sword fight between two grown men with nothing but her voice. It suddenly didn¡¯t seem too far a reach for her to broach the topic of visiting cousins with her father.


    She saw Ofrid break away from the group and called out to him. "I beg your patience, Karlswoman," she said, leaving her place in front of her line of well-wishers, and walked over to where Ofrid waited with a look of bemusement on his face.


    "My lady, how can I serve you?" Ofrid asked, lowering himself into an overdone bow.


    Lyssia stifled a flash of hurt, wondering if he meant to insult her. "Cousin, since I have already handed out three fishing invitations, I thought I might continue. I would be pleased to have you and as many of our kin who can be spared visit my father''s stead and fish with us. I''m sure my father would be pleased to have you, and Carryn as well. We have plenty of room to accommodate you all."


    Ofrid wrung his neck, such a look of nervousness on his face that she feared she had caused him pain. Perhaps that last comment had been too much.


    "Ofrid¡­?"


    "Are you sure your father...I mean, the Kongr, that he would¡­" He took a deep breath. "It is my understanding that we were not welcome at the Kongr''s stead."


    He echoed her earlier thoughts perfectly, but she shook her head. "It''s time...It''s time for us to be together. We¡¯re cousins. Family." She reached out hesitantly and squeezed his fingers when he slid his palm atop hers.


    "If you are sure we would be welcome...I will speak with my father and try to convince him to accept your invitation. Thank you...Cousin."


    Lyssia released him, and he beat a hasty retreat away from her receiving line, which had curved closer to where they stood. Her own hope mirrored in his eyes was what energized her as she returned to receiving gifts and offering blessings.


    When it was over, she looked over the small pile of gifts that lay at her and Carryn''s feet.


    "What am I supposed to do with all of this?"


    Seaka, who had stayed beside Carryn throughout the whole exchange, bent to pick up a wrapped parcel of cheese. "I know of a family in need - two families, now that I think of it - who could use these gifts."


    "Wonderful. You may take it all. I would be grateful if you would not tell them where they came from when you take the gifts to them."


    "Me, take the gifts? I have no means to carry all this."


    "Did they come to Mart today?" Carryn asked.


    "How should I know? Oh, never mind! I was only trying to be helpful¡­"


    Carryn smiled indulgently at the old woman as she lapsed into muttering to herself. She turned to Lyssia and gasped, reaching quickly for her arm.


    "Lyssia, are you alright?"


    Suddenly, four pairs of hands were reaching out to steady her and four pairs of concerned eyes were glued to her pale face.


    Lyssia could not tear her gaze from the black-masked figure who was slinking through the crowd, shoulders hunched as if he was trying unsuccessfully to blend into the crowd.


    "Yes. I''m fine," she answered, surprising herself with her own flat tone of voice. It seemed she had reached her limit for emotions. She tugged on the end of a braid that had escaped from the rest. "I was just thinking what my father will say about---¡±


    ¡°About you jumping in front of that Karlsman''s sword? He''ll be too pig-headed to recognize how brave and Drottine-y you were. But then again, he never agrees with me, and I thought that was the greatest thing I''ve ever seen. If I told him that he''d just call you foolish and me an---"


    "Azerian! That is inappropriate!" Carryn rapped her son on his side. "You shouldn''t be saying such things. Although, I too, would defend your actions, my dear."


    Lyssia nodded absently at their assurances, but she wasn''t paying attention to her or Azerian. Her gaze was caught on Roakev. He wasn''t smiling at her or shaking his head at Azerian. He looked almost as exhausted as she felt; his eyes were full of a sad understanding.


    Here was where she stood on equal footing with her older cousin. Neither could live up to the roles their fathers expected them to uphold, but neither could stop trying.


    Lyssia leaned into Roakev''s chest, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and bent to place a kiss on top of her head.


    "I won''t be the one to tell him what happened. I doubt he''ll hear the news from anyone here. It''s over. It''s done. You''re not hurt. I''ll get you home. Get you some rest. It''ll be like nothing happened."


    Lyssia pulled away, prepared to tell him that Bjarke would carry the news to her father, and she didn''t want to pretend, and besides, how could she when she had invited who knows who many people now to visit the stead and fish on her father''s boat. She took a deep breath to tell Roakev all that, but then she caught sight of something over his shoulder that erased all other thoughts from her mind.


    Roakev felt her stiffen and turned, pushing her behind him. Lyssia''s eyes skipped over the three masked men approaching them. They had no armor or visible weapons. They made no threatening moves, but they had an aura of baleful intent about them. They were making a beeline straight for their group. Straight for her.


    Azerian stepped around the pile of gifts and moved up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Roakev. He bent to pick up one of Karl Ardbon''s swords that had been discarded on the ground.


    "Wait! Don''t!" Lyssia flung herself forward and grabbed hold of Azerian''s arm.


    "Lyssia, let go!"


    "No, Azerian! We don''t know if they mean harm."


    He uttered a wordless hiss and attempted to swing her back around behind Roakev. She let him move her but kept hold of his arm.


    "Don''t you dare pull a sword on someone who has not threatened us."


    "We won''t, but we will protect you." In one fluid motion, Roakev pushed Lyssia back to stand beside Carryn and Seaka and pressed one of the swords into her hand. "And you will protect us."


    His words sent an icy thrill down Lyssia''s spine, but she shot an extra glare at Azerian before turning to face the newcomers. People shifted out of their path and threw them wary glances, aware as she was from this distance of the predatory nature to the way they stalked forward, eyes glued to her group. But no one stepped forward to stop them.


    The wrapped leather that covered the sword¡¯s hilt pressed hard lines into her palm. No matter how silly she felt pointing a weapon at someone who for all she could see was unarmed, she was grateful to have its weight to ground her.


    The men stopped twenty paces away, just on the other side of the walled-in arena. The one who stood in the lead held out his hand, motioning for his companions to stay where they were as he continued forward.


    Lyssia''s view was blocked momentarily as Roakev shifted his stance from watchful to cautioning. The hand holding the dagger he had slid from his belt jumped a few inches and then returned to rest against his leg. She could see, though, that the man''s eyes never left her. He paid no mind to the defensive posturing of her cousins but strode straight up to them.


    "Drottine Lyssia."


    Lyssia was thrown off guard by his relieved sigh. "Yes," she said, responding to his statement as if it were a question and watching with growing curiosity as the man knelt on one knee.


    "I beg your protection for myself and my men."


    Lyssia licked her lips and ran her hand down her skirt, searching her mind for an appropriate response. When she opened her mouth, the only thing she could think to say was, "Who are you?"


    He tugged his mask to the side. The ties fell away easily as if he had not taken the time to secure them properly.


    Lyssia drew in a sharp breath. "Magnor?"

 Chapter 5A

    ¡°Andev. Igone. Murel. Linea.¡± Lyssia whispered the names to herself as she sank into the shadows beneath the lip of the empty, open-sided tent. Activity swirled all around her, but she sat still and repeated the names of the expected visitors, because remembering their names was the only job she had been given.


    Horse and oxen hooves pounded the grass in the section of the field closest to the crossroads. Worker¡¯s dirt-encrusted boots traveled back and forth between carts and tents, setting up for that day''s festivities. More delicately made slippers, peeking out below long skirts, and thinner soled boots polished to shine loitered in groups amongst the tents, while half a dozen previously clean boots and trousers ran through the churned mud that marked some hard used area of the field. These belonged to her cousin and his playmates. She could hear them shouting challenges back and forth, but she didn¡¯t look up.


    She had overheard someone say that the Mart that was usually held here had been packed up for the year just yesterday. The field had not yet recovered from the crowds, but her father had wanted someplace festive for their first meeting with---


    "Andev. Igone. Murel. Linea."


    ---the Listorians and their shared celebration of Aon-Yute.


    "Why do you look at the ground so much?¡±


    Lyssia jumped to her feet and spun around. ¡°Az...Az¡­¡±


    ¡°Azerian,¡± the boy said, raising his hand and pointing to himself.


    ¡°I know. You just...startled me.¡±


    "Oh, I''m sorry." He plopped down on the ground where she had been crouching and smiled up at her. Lyssia drew her arms around herself, her gaze darting uncertainly at his shoes - which appeared to be a size too big for his feet - and his undyed mask.


    Azerian and his mother were new arrivals at the stead. They had shown up three full moons ago when the cold of winter had reached its peak, alone and in need of shelter. Azerian was just a few months older than her, or so she had been told. She had turned ten on the day the grain fields were harvested.


    Azerian and his mother, Carryn, seemed nice enough, though she hadn''t had much time to get to know them. Her father had been adamant that she spend as much time as possible studying the history of Ilvana and their Eastern neighbor, Listoria.


    "It will not do for you to embarrass yourself, or me."


    Lyssia screwed her eyes tight. Andev. Igone. Murel. Lins...Lin...


    "So why do you?"


    "What?" She opened her eyes to find Azerian had scooted closer and was now on his knees.


    "Why do you stare at the ground so much?"


    "I''m not staring at the ground. I''m looking¡­" Lyssia bit her lip, too embarrassed to continue. But Azerian''s wide eyes seemed so genuinely curious.


    Lyssia sank slowly back into a crouch, resting on her heels, and reached for a stick that lay on the ground. She pretended to be fascinated by it, holding it up to the sun and picking at an exposed strip of bark. "I was looking at people''s shoes. You can learn a lot from shoes."


    "Yeah?" Azerian turned his head to the side and peered at the nearest group of shoes. "Hmm. Maybe. Seems like you''d miss a lot always looking down though."


    Lyssia shrugged and turned the stick over, rubbing the rough bark with her thumb. A long moment of silence stretched between them.


    "You hungry?" Azerian asked.


    Lyssia''s stomach rumbled in response.


    Azerian giggled and jammed a hand into his pocket, pulling out a plump red apple. He polished it with his sleeve before holding it out to her.


    "For me?"


    "Yeah."


    "Th...thank you." Lyssia held the apple up to her nose and took a deep breath. It smelled freshly picked, not like it had been sitting in a barrel for a month waiting to be eaten.


    "I''d be quick about eating it. It''s actually Roakev''s. I kinda took it from his bags when he wasn''t looking."


    "You stole it? I don''t want...You should take it---"


    "Hey!"


    Azerian wrapped his hand around hers, hiding the apple. Lyssia''s heart hammered loud in her ears as she tugged their interlocked hands toward the deep pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt. Azerian found the pocket opening and pushed the apple through and then brought her hand to the ground. He laid his hand beside hers and leaned back on it, appearing at ease.


    "Sounds interesting. Do tell me more about...that."


    Lyssia fought to keep the corners of her mouth from lifting. "You first."


    Azerian laughed again, this time letting out an amused snort that prompted Lyssia''s smile to break loose.


    "Hey, Azerian! Leave Lyssia be!" Roakev shouted, yanking Azerian to his feet and away from her.


    Azerian yelped. "Why? What did I do?"


    "I''m sorry, my lady." Roakev bowed to her, pulling Azerian down with him, and then, hand firmly clasped around Azerian''s upper arm, he retreated to where his friends were waiting.


    "She likes to be alone with her thoughts," Lyssia heard him explain.


    "She does?" Azerian twisted around and waved at her. Lyssia waved back, her arm flopping sadly onto her lap when he stumbled and had to turn back around.


    Roakev released the weary sigh of a twelve-year-old always having to explain himself. "Yes. All women do."


    "Ohhh..."


    Lyssia picked up the stick that she had been messing with earlier and threw it at Roakev''s back, a silent act of defiance. It fell short several feet, but she saw Azerian look back and grin.


    She ignored him, hunching over her knees and burying her face in her arms.


    "Andev. Igone. Murel. Linea. Andev. Ig---"


    "Lyssia!"


    Lyssia separated her arms so she could peer between them. The summons came from Azerian''s mother, Carryn. She was standing beside three other women. Roakev''s mother, Nimeah, was among them.


    Nimeah held one pale arm over her swollen stomach. The other was threaded through the arm of the squat woman standing beside her. Lyssia kept her eyes locked on her as she stood and started forward. Nimeah gave Lyssia a small smile, but before she reached the group, her aunt took hold of the fourth woman''s arm and whispered something in her ear. The woman nodded, and Nimeah was led away by the two strangers without a backwards glance.


    "Lyssia." Carryn drew her attention away from Nimeah. "Nimeah didn''t want you to worry about her. She''s just exhausted is all. She''ll be fine."


    Lyssia shrugged. Carryn''s smile wavered a tiny bit, and Lyssia got the impression that she had expected a different reaction.


    "Was there something you wanted, Lady...Aunt...Carryn?"


    "You may call me Aunt. Or just Carryn, if you prefer. I only wished to tell you..." She leaned forward and took Lyssia by the shoulders. The warmth of her smile reached her golden-brown eyes. "You''re beautiful!"The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "I am?" Lyssia squealed


    "Yes, you are." Carryn''s hands swept up and down Lyssia''s arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Lyssia shivered at the unusual but pleasant feeling.


    Carryn dropped one of Lyssia''s hands and reached up to tug on the collar of Lyssia''s dress and then the end of her ponytail. Lyssia''s attention was caught by the hand that still held hers in a loose embrace.


    It had taken Lyssia several days after Carryn''s arrival for her to notice that her aunt''s hands were different. It was hard to tell that there was anything to see when she wore gloves, which she did often. But she wasn''t wearing gloves today, and it was clear as day that she had only three fingers on her left hand. The pinkie finger and the one beside it were missing.


    Carryn had wrapped a long strip of fabric over the smooth curve where her fingers should have been, the knot hidden in the layered bands of fabric that encircled her wrist. Lyssia didn''t know if Carryn covered her hand for herself or her others, but she thought she wouldn''t mind. Carryn''s hand felt just like any other hand, soft and warm in her own. She was sure she wouldn''t flinch at the sight of it unwrapped.


    "Would you like me to braid your hair like mine? It wouldn''t take long, and I would be grateful for the distraction. It helps to keep my hands busy when I''m nervous."


    Lyssia''s eyes jumped to Carryn''s. "You''re nervous?"


    ¡°A little,¡± Carryn said and shrugged as if it was no big thing to admit.


    Tears welled up in Lyssia¡¯s eyes. She dared not open her mouth and risk ending this delicate moment. Holding fast to Carryn¡¯s wrapped hand, she plopped straight down on the grass and began undoing her hair ties.


    "Not here, silly," Carryn laughed, tugging Lyssia back to her feet. "Let''s find some shade." Squeezing Lyssia''s hand tight, she pulled in the direction of the tent that Nimeah and her companions had found shelter in.


    Carryn ignored them as she pulled the fourth chair out from their table and positioned it so that Lyssia could sit and watch the last of the items being removed from the carts.


    "I believe"---Carryn said as she gently tugged at the tie that held Lyssia''s hair back---"they''re setting out food in that tent for your young guests. I can go over and take a look at it with you if you want. Make sure everything is set up the way you want it."


    "Okay." Lyssia bounced on her seat in excitement. Then her hair was free, and Carryn was running her fingers through her frizzy locks, and all she could do was lean back against her chair and sigh.


    "What''s this?" Carryn asked tugging gently at the thin silver chain and circular lock that hung behind her right ear. She traced the raised seam that traveled down from the chain to where the mask ended just below her chin.


    "A lock! Your father...he doesn''t...does he lock your masks?"


    Lyssia squirmed uncomfortably. "He used to, but not anymore. Not usually. He said just for today. Just in case."


    "In case of what? Why does he always ---Oh, never mind. Those are not questions for you."


    Carryn''s fingers attacked Lyssia''s forehead and scalp, smoothing all the worried lines and knots away. She gathered Lyssia''s frizzy mass of hair and smoothed it down over the back of the chair. Then she used her fingers as combs, humming a merry tune as she worked all the kinks out.


    Lyssia felt Carryn brush her hair toward her left shoulder and start to make a tight braid. Her injured hand did not seem to slow her down at all. Lyssia closed her eyes and imagined the final product. It would look like a lopsided crown, and the end would rest on a graceful curve over her right shoulder, just as her aunt''s did. She imagined tossing it over her shoulder as she laughed at a guest''s joke, the motion appearing confident and carefree.


    Carryn pulled at the braid and Lyssia, drawn from her daydream, winced.


    "Sorry," she said, shifting so Lyssia could see her apologetic smile. "Halfway there."


    "Lyssia!" A deep voice called from across the gathering field, shattering Lyssia''s bubble of calm.


    Lyssia tapped the edge of her mask, her hand shaking with sudden nerves. She scooted forward in her seat and started to rise, but Carryn drew her back and placed a restraining hand on her shoulder.


    "Breathe," she whispered. "Just breathe."


    Again, Lyssia''s father called her name, and then closer, "Carryn!"


    Carryn rested her chin on top of Lyssia¡¯s head and exhaled, inhaled, and exhaled again, her mouth shut tight. Lyssia heard her open her mouth and inhale to speak, but she shut it closed again when her father continued.


    "Lyssia, did you hear me calling you? And Carryn, what are you doing? We don''t have time for this! Andev and his party will be here any moment."


    He paced a circle around Lyssia''s chair. She bowed her head beneath his glowering gaze. Carryn cleared her throat, and he stopped and turned to glare at her.


    "Dizean, I do not expect you to understand, but we girls need this time to ourselves. Every once in a while, we just need to take five minutes to fix our hair."


    Dizean huffed, put off by Carryn''s calm answer. "She...she looked just fine. Fine enough to meet the Listorians. But what I don''t know is if she remembers their names. It will be an embarrassment to us all if she doesn''t."


    "I do know their names, father. I''ve been practicing."


    Carryn''s hand on Lyssia''s brow now was comforting as she paused to sweep a loose strand of hair back into her hold. "Of course you have been. We only need a minute or two, Dizean. I''ll send her running back to you as soon as I''m done."


    "Well¡­" He shook his head, his gaze drifting out to the crossroads and beyond. "Two minutes." He strode out of the tent''s wide opening, calling for a worker''s attention.


    "Two minutes¡­" Carryn muttered to herself as she resumed her work. Lyssia kicked her feet against the legs of her chair, eyes downcast and wet with unshed tears.


    "There. I''m done. No, wait¡­" Carryn bent to pluck a small white daisy growing near Lyssia''s feet and threaded the long stem into the top part of the braid, fixing the bloom to rest by her right ear and hiding the silver lock from sight. "Now I''m done."


    Dizean returned as Carryn helped Lyssia to her feet, looking her up and down with a cold stare. Lyssia lifted her head to meet his gaze, and his eyes softened. "Good. She looks...you look...good. Come to my tent. I have some things to go over with you before our guests¡¯ arrival."


    "Yes, father." Lyssia lowered herself into a practiced curtsy. He pivoted on his heel and marched off toward the largest tent. Lyssia started to follow him but turned back quickly and threw herself into her aunt''s arms. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."


    Carryn''s arms encircled her, and she bent to whisper in her ear, "You are beautiful." She pulled back so she could look into Lyssia''s eyes. "We all have our own ways of dealing with nerves. Some of us get quiet and some of us get loud. Don''t let it throw you. Just breathe. In-out-in. And smile. I know you''ll be just fine."


    She dropped her arms, releasing Lyssia, but Lyssia only clung to her skirts tighter. ¡°Please. I want to spend more time with you.¡±


    Carryn¡¯s arms were around her again, but this time she was pushing Lyssia away. Her hands clamped around Lyssia¡¯s as she held her at arm¡¯s length and smiled down at her. ¡°We will. Starting today. Your father needs you now, but I¡¯ll come to you later. I love you, Lyssia-ami. Just remember to breathe.¡±


    Lyssia nodded, her throat thick with an emotion she couldn¡¯t name. Carryn released her other arm, and she turned quickly, racing halfway across the gathering space before she realized she wasn¡¯t supposed to run. She stopped short and folded her hands before her, counting ten fast heartbeats before she started forward at a more measured pace.


    She could see her father pacing in his tent. He sat in one of the chairs set slightly apart from the food-laden table, but he seemed incapable of sitting still. First one leg then the other began to bounce, and his neck jerked from side to side as he attempted to relax. Suddenly, he slapped his hands on his knees, pushed himself to his feet, and started pacing again.


    He is nervous. Lyssia¡¯s mind rejected the thought of her father having anything but perfect composure, but she could not deny what her eyes could plainly see.


    He turned in his pacing and spotted her. ¡°Lyssia!¡±


    Lyssia jumped back at his shout, but she hurried to take the hand he held out to her. He led her to the chair he had recently vacated and watched her seat herself on the edge of the seat and smooth her skirts out. She swept her braid over her shoulder, picturing Carryn instructing her to breathe.


    One deep breath in, out, in. ¡°Listoria is our neighbor to the east. Ilvana and Listoria are sisters, thus named by the Drakun Kongren who settled their borders. The Kongr of Ilvana is Andev, so named after his grandfather, who was known as Andev the Clear-sighted. Andev¡¯s Drottingr is Igone of the green thumb, which...I¡¯m not sure I understand what that means, but I plan to avoid discussion of titles and the color green altogether.¡±


    Lyssia had to stop to take another breath. She peeked up at her father, who nodded for her to continue. It was impossible to tell if he was impressed by her recitation.


    ¡°Kongr Andev and his wife have four children. The Drottines of Listoria are twins, born eight years ago. Their mother named them after---¡±


    A commotion interrupted Lyssia''s speech. Her father crossed to the side of the tent that faced the crossroads. Rising behind the hammered wooden post was a steep hill, a perfect vantage point for those approaching the meeting field.


    A figure on horseback had sat sentinel atop the hill since the Kongr''s party left the high ground for the field. He had abandoned his post and was now cantering toward them. Lyssia¡¯s attention was caught between the fast-approaching horse wearing tack branded with the mark of Ilvana and the cart that had just created the hill.


    The oxen-pulled vehicle was topped with a tan covering tied to stakes that ran the length of the high cart sides. Sitting beneath the covering and shielded from the direct sun were several light-skinned figures, all with pale hair that hung straight down their backs. Little else was distinguishable from this distance except the mark painted on the side of the cart: a five-petaled yellow flower surrounded by three dark arrow-shaped leaves.


    A second cart pulled up beside the first along with a dozen men on horseback. They stretched out in a line, waiting for the lone Ilvanian rider to return with an invitation to approach. Lyssia''s thoughts were so completely caught up in imagining the faces attached to those figures riding in the Listoria¡¯s cart that she was only vaguely aware of the rider pulling up before the tent and bending on one knee before her father.


    "My Kongr, Drottine."


    "Bjarke."


    Lyssia''s head whipped around. On his knee, Bjarke crouched at her eye level. Hastily, Lyssia lowered her gaze.


    "What news, Skald?"


    "Andev of Listoria and his kinsmen approach. Will they receive a warm welcome at your table?"


    "I extend a hand of friendship to Listoria. Andev and his kinsmen are welcome at my table. I declare that they are under my protection. Let it be known, and escort them here to us."


    **********


    With a swirl of his dark cape, Bjarke was astride his horse and...

 Chapter 5B

    With a swirl of his dark cape, Bjarke was astride his horse and off again. Lyssia¡¯s father placed a hand on her shoulder and, pressing his arm against her shoulder blades, he led her out to stand in the empty no man¡¯s land between his tent and the crossroads sign. His fingers clenched tighter around her shoulder as Bjarke met the group atop the hill. Lyssia''s hand inched up until it made contact with his. He didn''t release his hold, but his fingers relaxed at the soft touch.


    They stayed that way - Lyssia''s hand atop her father''s, his arm leaning on her shoulders - as the Listorians'' animals picked careful paths down the steep side of the hill. Lyssia felt everyone else present gather around them. She tried to speak once, turning her head to see if Carryn was standing near her, but her father made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat and she snapped back to attention.


    Three men pulled forward to lead the Listorian party forward. Lyssia recognized two of them. Bjarke rode on the right and her uncle, Eindre, sitting ramrod straight and bearing a brooch with the mark of Ilvana on each shoulder, rode on the left.


    The man in the middle could only be the Listorian Kongr. His coloring and the loose cut of his clothes set him apart from his Ilvanian entourage, but even alone, his confident bearing would have given him away as someone used to being looked up to and not down on.


    Kongr Andev did not stop at the crossroads as Eindre and Bjarke did, but continued a few paces past them and dismounted on his own. He smiled at Lyssia and her father, but instead of stepping forward to greet them, he held up a hand beseeching them to wait and turned back to the carts.


    One of Andev''s men came forward to take control of his horse while he walked back to the first cart and the woman who was being handed down from a drop-step set into the cart''s side.


    Andev waved the man aside and helped his wife to the ground. Most of the Listorians present - including the rest of her family - had chosen to wear pale colors. But Igone stood out in her flowing white gown, white as the wool of a year old lamb before its first shearing.


    Her hair was just as pale as the rest of her kinsmen, but her skin was a shade darker as if she spent more time out in the sun than any of the others. Her feet were clad in sandals that left her iridescent toenails and ankle adornments free. Lyssia was shocked to see that her left hand was dyed a light pea green.


    Igone of the green thumb...hmmm.


    But even that mystery could not compare to the allure of the necklace she bore around her strong neck.


    At least it had to be strong, Lyssia thought, to hold the weight of the wide band of jewelry bedecked in golden feathers and shimmering silver and emerald disks. A portion wrapped around her neck, and two pieces shaped like curled paws were draped over her shoulders.


    A final thick strand had been made to resemble a sleeping animal''s head, its tiny cheek pressed up against the side of her neck. The way it lay coiled up against the three strands that encircled Igone''s throat made her think it might be the necklace''s clasp.


    Lyssia shifted on her feet and narrowed her eyes, trying to identify the creature by its strange head. It had a delicate snout, gold-dipped feathery plumage sprouting from its crown and down its neck, and tiny silver gems like stars dusting its closed eyelids. Lyssia could not even begin to put a name to the beast; she had never seen anything like it.


    The golden-haired Drottingr stepped gracefully down from the cart. As her foot met the ground, something green billowed out behind her. An attached cape? Lyssia hoped so, because she could not see how Igone was staying warm without sleeves or a cloak.


    On the other side of the cart, another guard was helping two girls in matching peach-colored dresses to the ground. A boy jumped out after them, pulling on one of his sister''s hair as he went. To her credit, the girl managed to not cry out, but Lyssia did see her stomp on her brother''s boot with her dainty slipper and send him sprawling in the dirt.


    Lyssia drank in her triumphant smirk and his surly pout. It had been too long since she had seen a face. How must she and her father in their masks of hardened leather that hid their faces from brow to chin look in comparison. Her nerves doubled in size, but she lowered her hand and clenched them together before her, and she did not give in to her urge to back away.


    Her father would never forgive her if she messed up their first meeting with the Listorians. This was their chance for alliance, for peace, for security among the other kongdomren. If the history texts she had read were still to be believed, Listoria held no small amount of wealth and power. If they were able to create a friendly, mutually beneficial relationship with Listoria, then forming alliances with the others would not be far behind.


    Drottingr Igone called her children over to her as Andev reached into the cart to pull out another, smaller boy. He had one arm clamped around the boy''s middle and the other holding fast to his arms, but the boy managed to wriggle free of his father''s hold and rush over to his mother.


    He clung to her skirts and yelled, "I''m hungry, Mam! Hungry!"


    "Shh! Hush now." Igone swung him up into her hip, whispering in his ear and shooting a glance at the group of Ilvanian''s waiting for them. She gestured to one of their guards to bring them something from the other cart. The boy began to clap his hands together and whine, but Igone shushed him again.


    While his wife was occupied with his younger son, Andev took control of the other children, lining them up in front of him. Igone accepted the requested item from the guard - a small orange fruit - and handed it to the boy who had declared himself hungry. He uttered one cry of glee, stuck the whole fruit in his mouth, then was silent.


    A strange look passed between Andev and Igone. Then with a nod and a little nudge from the Kongr, the family walked forward together until they stood close enough for Lyssia''s father to reach out his hand in a welcoming clasp.


    Lyssia waited for her father to do just that. To break the silence and greet their guests. One minute passed, then two. She saw a brief look of worry pass over the Andev''s features before he smoothed it away. Still, no one moved. No one spoke.


    She peeked sideways at her father. He was smiling politely at Andev, but his eyes were glossed over with panic. Lyssia felt like time had stretched so thin that it stopped working. Was she the only one aware of it? What was she to do? She didn''t know what welcoming words were correct to bestow upon royal guests.


    And then, a miracle occurred. Time snapped back into place. Kongr Andev reached across his son''s head and clasped her father''s forearm. "Dizean, my friend. It is good to meet you at last."Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    He came to life with a little shake of his head and returned the gesture. "Andev! I can not tell you how happy I am to welcome you and your family here today. Igone¡­"


    Releasing Andev''s arm, he leaned forward to take the Drottingr''s hand and pressed his lips against the back of her hand. "May I offer you, my friends, your first blessing today. May the sun light all your days and the moon your nights, and may the stars always guide you home."


    Lyssia recognized the blessing. She had heard him practicing it on the way from the stead that morning.


    "Thank you," Igone said, dazzling him with her smile so that he stood leaning over her hand for a beat too long. Andev had to stretch his arm over their interlocked hands to reach for Lyssia. She slowly placed her hand in his, hesitant to touch a stranger, but she barely felt his lips tap her knuckles before he released her.


    "And to our young hostess, I say, ''vas heill.'' And may you grow as tall and strong as a sunflower¡­"


    "...nourished by the rain and reaching ever higher toward the blue sky." Igone finished the blessing, her disarming smile now turned on Lyssia.


    "Th-thank you," Lyssia stammered, taking a step back and dipping into a curtsy.


    Andev chuckled, the deep sound reaching her ears like rain slapping against rocks, and spread his arms wide to indicate the three children standing before him.


    "I have brought along my heirs and children to meet you today. My daughters, Linea and Murel"---the twin girls curtsied together, two perfectly synchronized bobs, their gazes flashing up to meet Lyssia¡¯s for one brief second before returning to the ground---"and my sons, Ansev and Sundric."


    Ansev scowled at Lyssia as he bowed, but Sundric, sitting contentedly on Igone''s hip, continued to stare vacantly at the distant trees and chew on his hard fruit.


    Dizean asked how their journey had been, and Andev eagerly turned away from the others to reply. As soon as their father¡¯s attention was diverted, both of the girls relaxed, leaning in toward one another until their shoulders touched. The girl standing on the right grabbed her sister''s hand and whispered something in her ear. The other girl glanced up at Lyssia again and giggled.


    Lyssia frowned. What had she done that was worth laughing at? Was it her appearance? She reached up to tug the end of her braid.


    Igone laid her free hand on her giggling daughter''s shoulders. "All right now. All right. That''s enough. It''s time to present our gifts. Murel, you first."


    "Yes, Mam," Murel replied, turning to wave forward one of the Listorian guards.


    "Gifts? I didn''t¡­I didn''t bring any gifts." Lyssia ducked her head to hide from the girls'' curious gazes.


    "You don''t need gifts. You¡¯re the hostess. We give gifts to you,¡± Murel blurted and immediately looked regretful.


    Lyssia saw the way Murel wrung her hands together and how her cheeks grew warm though she held her ground and her gaze steady, and she smiled. "Of course. How silly of me."


    Murel straightened with a grateful sigh. Her sister rocked forward on her toes, arms extending back like she was about to flap a pair of wings and leap into the conversation. Lyssia leaned forward as well, curious to hear if her voice matched her twin''s.


    "Murel¡­the gifts¡­" Igone said before Linea could speak.


    "The gifts," Murel agreed, bobbing a curtsy to her mother before turning her back on them and taking a wrapped rectangular package from the man who had come forward.


    "Thank you, Giall."


    "Drottinge¡­." The man bent his head over his hands, which still held two items. Linea grabbed hold of another wrapped object. This one was oblong with a rounded corner on one end. The third item - a darkwood box - remained untouched as the sisters turned back to Lyssia.


    Linea rocked back on her heels and gave a little bounce. "Can I go first, please? Please, sister dearest?"


    Their brother rolled his eyes, but Murel just tucked her chin and stepped back without complaint.


    "This is for you. Thank you for hosting us."


    Lyssia was surprised by the weight of the oblong object wrapped in soft animal skin. Lyssia removed the skin, letting it drop to the floor, and gave a long appreciative, "Oooooh".


    Linea had given her a beautiful silver hand mirror. Given its weight, she had no trouble believing that it was real silver. Tiny red and yellow gems circled the mirror¡¯s rounded edge and the smooth handle.


    There was no mirror in Lyssia''s room. She assumed that her mother had owned a mirror, but she had never known need for one. Still, it was quite possibly the most beautiful gift she had ever received.


    Murel unwrapped her gift before handing it to Lyssia. The book was also quite heavy, and the binding was stitched cloth instead of leather. The soft cover was a rich, deep blue that made her want to cry.


    Lyssia ran a gentle finger down the book¡¯s spine before opening the cover and reading the title scrawled on the first page. "The Laikari of Master Sorek, Laikisr of Listorian History. Laikari...that¡¯s like...Lays?¡±


    ¡°Lays?¡± Murel asked, passing an anxious glance to her sister, who shrugged.


    ¡°Songs," Lyssia said, and then added when she saw their confused faces, "Sung history."


    "Laikari aren''t sung. You have a speaker and actors...silent performers...who act out the history being narrated. Sometimes there is music...sometimes not¡­"


    Lyssia nodded thoughtfully as she flipped through the first few pages. She didn''t know whose hand the book was written in. It could have been Murel herself or some long passed stranger. But whoever had filled these pages had written with a precise, dedicated hand.


    Lyssia positioned the book over her heart, pressed the mirror on top of it, and met each of the girl''s gazes in turn. "Thank you very much for your generous gifts. I love them."


    "Ansev¡­" Igone had shifted to stand behind him. She gave him a tiny push forward, stepping back when her younger son kicked at his brother''s shoulder. Ansev grabbed the box out of Giall''s hands, shuffled forward, and tried to thrust it into Lyssia¡¯s arms.


    ¡°Oh...I...Uh¡­¡± She juggled the book and mirror between her hands, trying to gain a hand free to grab the box, but it was clear that she couldn¡¯t hold anything more. ¡°Could you please put it¡­¡± She nodded to the ground.


    Ansev sighed dramatically as he bent to place the box at her feet. He paused and tipped his head back to look at her, and Lyssia got the feeling that he was trying to peer straight through her mask. "Thank you," she murmured, turning her attention on the darkwood box, and he stood and went to stand behind his mother.


    There was nothing for it. Lyssia would have to crouch down on her heels to open the box. She placed the book and mirror carefully on the ground and fumbled with the box¡¯s latch. It was empty. Her eyes raked across the cloth lining, but there was nothing there. The box was empty. She ran a hand around the inside edge, hoping that she wouldn¡¯t have to pronounce whatever gift it was meant to hold missing.


    She glanced anxiously at the ground around the box, and her eyes snagged on the book. The blue cloth lining of the box matched the book¡¯s binding. Someone had painted a bulbous yellow tree on the underside of the box¡¯s lid. The tree¡¯s leaves were filled with the same red jewels that adorned the mirror. The book, the mirror, and the box - they were a matching set.


    Without pausing to wonder if they would fit, Lyssia placed the book and mirror inside the box, closed the metal latch, and picked the box up. She tripped on the edge of her dress as she tried to stand and almost landed back on the ground on her knees, but the twins jumped forward and grabbed her arms.


    They held on as she found her balance. A chorus of ¡°sorry, sorry, sorry,¡± passed between them until they were reduced to giggles. Murel took the box while Lyssia brushed her skirts off and then passed it back to her, but she kept her hand pressed on the underside of the box until she was sure Lyssia had it.


    ¡°Are you quite alright, dear?¡± Igone asked.


    ¡°Quite alright. Thank yooooh¡­¡± The breath whooshed out of Lyssia¡¯s lungs all at once as the metallic creature¡¯s head lifted off Igone¡¯s shoulder and turned its emerald eyes on Lyssia. The Drottingr ran a hand over the top of its head, flattening its crown of golden feathers, and trailed a finger beneath its chin. It made a soft sound, nudging Igone''s fingers with its delicate nose.


    It began stretching one appendage out at a time like it was waking up from a dream - first one leg, then another, and another, and another, then its tail, which had been wrapped around Igone¡¯s neck, and finally ---


    "Wings¡­"

 Chapter 6A

    "Oooooh!" Lyssia released another soft exclamation of surprise.


    Igone wasn¡¯t wearing a cape. The creature had hung its wings down her back. When the long appendages were fully extended, it looked like Igone was about to take flight.


    Looking straight at them gave Lyssia the impression she was looking through a wing-shaped piece of sea glass. Her uncle had brought back several pieces of the green glass the last time he had returned from a trip to visit Ilvana''s Western steads. They were situated closer to the sea, and he had spent a long afternoon explaining to her and Roakev how the glass was constructed from sand and heat and the sea salt that gave it its brilliant green color.


    She didn''t remember any of the whys and wherefores of how the glass was made, but here it was in its natural form, made from sunlight, wind, and power and used to clothe a myth.


    For though she had found descriptions of this ethereal beast and others of its kind in a few of the old texts her father had set her to learn, she had never dreamed of meeting one in person.


    Igone smiled as the small creature lifted itself up on its front feet and looked at Lyssia again. Its claws dug into her shoulder, but she did not wince. Lyssia wondered if she wore padding beneath her dress.


    ¡°Is...Is that¡­?¡± Lyssia dropped her eyes as Igone turned from the creature to her. She could not hold both of their gazes.


    ¡°Do not be afraid to ask questions, Drottine. If we do not ask questions, we do not learn.¡±


    ¡°Is that your....your Drakun? A real Drakun, I mean? I¡¯ve never seen one before.¡±


    Ansev¡¯s mouth popped open as he swung around to glare at her. ¡°Of course it¡¯s a Drakun! Do not insult u---¡±


    Igone¡¯s hand clamped down on his arm, and he cut off abruptly, shrinking under her heated gaze.


    ¡°Yes, my dear. The thought saddens me, but I know Ilvana is without Drakuns. You are smart to recognize Thisska as such,¡± Igone said, running a hand along the top of the creature¡¯s feathery crown again. It closed its eyes and hummed a sweet note.


    "But she is not my Drakun, as I am not her Drottingr. The Ancient Ones do not serve us. We are connected, because I serve the land she is a part of. We have been together so long, Thisska and I, we are a part of each other. When I told her we were visiting Ilvana''s land, she refused to be left behind. Thisska is so curious. And I...I could not refuse her. I could not leave a piece of my heart behind."


    Lyssia''s eyes glossed over in confusion. Igone noticed, and instead of baretting her as her uncle had done that afternoon he set forth to teach her about sea glass, she chuckled.


    "I am sorry, young Drottine. It is hard to explain. Perhaps with time, we can learn more about each other. I look forward to discussing your...songs of history. But now, I must attend to my husband. Ansev, come. Girls, I will leave you to become better acquainted with Lyssia."


    Igone nodded to her, and Lyssia curtsied again. She felt like a spinning tree seed floating down and up and down and up as the wind blew this way and that, but it did not seem wise to ignore a Drottingr¡¯s nod.


    Igone turned aside but paused quickly as the Drakun on her shoulders shifted again. The creature turned so she faced Linea and Murel, eyeing them both in turn. They froze, both trying to catch and hold the Drakun''s gaze.


    Suddenly, her wings snapped open. She pushed off Igone, brushing the side of one wing along Sundric''s cheek and eliciting a giggle from him, and glided the short distance over to Linea. Her claws dug into Linea''s dress as she pulled her way up to perch on the girl¡¯s left shoulder.


    Linea stayed absolutely still while the Drakun stretched out over her shoulders and settled her wings against her back before giving a tiny hop and beaming over at her mother.


    A look of jealous longing passed across Murel''s features but banished quickly. Lyssia glanced over to gauge Igone¡¯s reaction to the scene, and was surprised to see that a semblance of the Drakun, head curled against the side of her neck as it had been while she slept, had been branded onto Igone¡¯s skin with ink. The image did not come close to matching the beauty of the Drakun¡¯s feathers, but the ink''s metallic sheen held a majesty all its own.


    Igone trailed a hand along the band of ink that decorated the top of her bare collarbone, smiling when she caught Lyssia''s eye.


    ¡°You see, Thisska and I can never be separated. For even when we are apart, I bear the likeness of her and she perches upon the likeness of me. So we are never alone.¡±


    Igone blew a kiss in Thisska and Linea¡¯s direction and pushed Ansev before her as she made her way to the tent where Lyssia¡¯s father and his sat conversing.


    All three girls watched her go as an awkward shyness descended back over their group. Lyssia took a deep breath and hugged the dark wood box closer. You are the hostess, she reminded herself. You are in charge.


    She cleared her throat, and the twins'' eyes jumped up from the ground, shining with mirrored gratitude.


    "My father has graciously set aside a tent for us. Shall we see if they¡¯ve left us any food?¡±


    Lyssia waited for the twins to step forward and held them in the corner of her eye as she directed her feet toward the open tent that Carryn had indicated earlier. She tried to pick a path that would avoid the patches of mud that dotted the field between them and their destination. It was hard work that warranted her full attention. Linea and Murel glided along beside her on silent slippered feet.


    They had to pause when Azerian rushed in front of them, followed closely by Roakev and his band of Jarlsons. He waved at her and the twins over his shoulder and called an insult back at Roakev before putting on a burst of speed and charging headlong into the line of trees that marked the field''s end.


    ¡°Who is that?¡± Linea threw a hand over her eyes as they tracked Azerian¡¯s progress.


    ¡°My cousin, Azerian. And that other one in front with the long hair...also my cousin. Roakev. I don¡¯t know why they bother to play together." Lyssia''s heavy sigh was no exaggeration in her mind. "They always end up in a fight.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t live with all of them, right? That¡¯s...a lot of boys.¡± Murel sounded truly concerned by the prospect.


    Lyssia shuddered at the thought. ¡°No. Usually just the two boys. And I don¡¯t spend a lot of time with them.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s too bad," Linea said, twirling hair absently around her finger while she stared at the trees. "He¡¯s cute. You said his name was Azerian?¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s eyes bugged out. ¡°Right. Okay, so¡­¡±


    ¡°The tent?¡± Murel jumped in, locking arms with her sister and dragging her forward.


    ¡°The tent.¡± Lyssia gestured toward the shade that awaited them.


    The area under the tent had been divided into two sections. A table set with half a dozen chairs and a feast that could feed ten full grown men had been set up at one end of the tent. The second half was taken up by a long fur rug and a collection of circular pillows of differing sizes.


    Murel made a beeline for the bowl of round orange fruit on the table. "Oh good. I hoped Sundric left some for us. Here, try one!"


    Murel tossed one fruit to Lyssia. It smacked the top of the box. Lyssia hastily tilted the box so the fruit rolled toward her chest while Murel took the rest of the fruit in the bowl and a jug of milk and deposited them between two of the larger, bead-lined pillows. She threw herself down on her stomach with a happy sigh and popped two fruits into her mouth at once.


    Lyssia eyed the wrinkled orange ball she''d been given.


    ¡°Careful,¡± Linea said, grabbing a towel from the table and dipping it in the bowl of water set aside for the purpose. ¡°It¡¯s sour.¡± She started attacking her face with the wet towel as if she was trying to wipe away her eyes and nose.


    Lyssia was glad for the warning. It kept her from spitting out the fruit as soon as she bit into its thin skin. Murel held the jug of milk out to her, and Lyssia hurried over with two mugs.


    Linea joined them shortly, claiming the large pillow on Lyssia¡¯s other side. She balanced a tray of sweet buns on her knees. She picked one up, took a bite, and set it back down, dusting her fingers on the edge of the pillow.


    Thisska eased herself down into Linea¡¯s lap. The Drakun sniffed at the berry-studded pastries, her tongue flicking out to taste the edge of one like a snake might, before settling her head on Linea¡¯s arm where she had a good view of the tent and the surrounding area.


    Linea smiled at her, stroking a hand down her side and reaching for her pastry. ¡°''K. So we have our orders.¡±


    "Hmmm? I can''t understand you with your mouth full like that," Murel said. She had flopped over onto her back and placed an arm over her eyes. If her jaw hadn¡¯t been working on her fifth sour fruit, Lyssia would have thought she had fallen asleep.


    Linea swallowed and stuck her tongue out at her sister. "We have to get to know each other. You know we¡¯re going to be asked about our conversation later, Murel.¡±


    Linea picked up a small brown pillow lying near her feet and tossed it at her. Murel flung her arm out, knocking the pillow off course, but she sat up anyway and raised her hands in surrender.


    ¡°Okay. Okay.¡± She looked over at Lyssia and frowned. ¡°You should probably get comfortable. Linea¡¯s right. We have some work to do.¡±


    Lyssia was sitting on her legs, her skirt smoothed in a circle around her, her back as straight as she could keep it without support, and her hands folded before her. She glanced down as she stretched her legs out, bouncing her bottom on the cushion. Her fingers took some more work. They''d been clenched for so long.


    She picked up her mug and took a sip of warm milk, wetting her dry lips. Then she looked over at Murel and shrugged. Murel threw the brown pillow at her, catching Lyssia¡¯s arm and nearly knocking over the jug of milk onto her box of gifts.


    Lyssia plucked the pillow off the box and clasped it to her chest, leaning her chin against it.


    She had a good reason for not wanting to let her guard down and take her eyes off the twins. At least, she thought it was good, but no one and nothing could have forced her to say it out loud.


    They looked so similar, and though the words coming from their mouths were at odds, their voices matched perfectly in pitch. If she turned her back for one moment, what was to stop the Listorian twins from switching places and making a fool out of her. They seemed friendly, not at all the type to pull such a mean joke on her. But what did she know of other girls? She would not risk the possibility of such embarrassment.


    Linea leaned closer to Lyssia and pointed at the pillow. ¡°That means it¡¯s your turn to answer a questi---"


    ¡°Is it true that you never take your mask off, and that anyone who sees your face is tied up in ropes and thrown in a river to drown?¡±


    ¡°Murel!¡± Linea exclaimed. ¡°Why? Why would you ask that?¡±


    ¡°I want to know. Because I think it''s a silly untruth, but I don''t know...It could be true, and wouldn''t that be good to know.¡±


    ¡°It is an inappropriate question.¡±


    ¡°Alright. What¡¯s your question?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± She rested one elbow on her reclining pillow and gazed up at Lyssia imploringly. ¡°I would love to learn more about Azerian.¡±


    ¡°Oh, here we go,¡± Murel groaned. ¡°That¡¯s not even a question about her.¡±


    ¡°Fine then. Lyssia, what''s your favorite way to pass a rainy day?¡±


    Lyssia, who had been content to hug the brown pillow and listen to the twin¡¯s bickering, blinked in momentary confusion. Murel¡¯s question about drowning worried her but not enough for her to disrupt the sister''s argument.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    She sat up straighter and gave the question some thought. It wasn''t a hard question, and yet all she could think about was how they would want her to answer. She could tell them that she liked to spend her time looking at herself in a mirror and reading books all day. It was half true at least. She did spend a lot of time reading, though she didn''t usually get to choose what she read.


    She opened her mouth hoping that an acceptable answer would just pop out, but a bird¡¯s trill interrupted her before she could say one word. Lyssia smiled at the look of confusion on the twin''s faces as she stood to retrieve the cage that sat hidden under the table.


    Thisska''s snout shot straight up in the air. She slid off Linea''s lap and closer to where Lyssia had been sitting.


    "I like to sing with my duet partner, Diyana."


    "Diyana...Songbird?" Linea asked.


    "I didn''t name her. She belonged to my mother, so she''s old. But she''s still really pretty. I thought my father said I couldn''t bring her, but he must have changed his mind and put him on a cart."


    She shrugged and turned her attention to the cage, drawing back the covering slightly to peek inside. "Diyana dearest, are you awake?" she sang in a soft voice and was answered by a sleepy titter from the bird.


    With one more glance at both girls, she sank onto her pillow, placed the cage before her, and threw the covering off. Diyana fluffed up her yellow feathers, peering cautiously around her.


    Humming to put the bird at ease, Lyssia opened the cage door and held out a finger. Diyana hoped onto her hand and let Lyssia draw her out of the cage.


    "Oh! What a pretty little thing!" Linea exclaimed before her attention soon diverged by a boy''s cry over by the trees. "Is that chicken?" she asked, hurrying over to the table, but her eyes were on Azerian as he ran by and not on the food.


    ¡°She¡¯s wonderful,¡± Murel murmured, ignoring the Drakun that had climbed into her lap. She reached out a gentle finger to stroke Diyana¡¯s feathers.


    Lyssia was busy watching Thisska¡¯s eyes light up as she gazed at the songbird, and she missed the shift in features that might have heralded Murel¡¯s change in topic. ¡°You must miss your mam very much. I can¡¯t imagine not having mine around.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t...I don¡¯t really remember her. She died when I was a baby, so...But I have my father and my nurse. Or, I had a nurse named Seaka. She just left. And...and I have my aunts¡­¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good. But it¡¯s not the same as having a mam.¡±


    ¡°No. No, it¡¯s not,¡± Lyssia sighed and slumped back in her seat. She slid Diyana onto her palm and drew her close to her heart.


    ¡°Murel!¡± Linea hissed, dropping back onto her pillow. "Inappropriate."


    "Oh...um...sorry. I...I didn''t¡­"


    "It''s okay," Lyssia murmured, her eyes returning to Thisska. The creature''s gaze was stuck fast to Diyana, but they lacked the predatory glint that she half expected from the little Drakun. Instead, her gaze was full to the brim with what Lyssia could have only described as joyful wonder. "Do you have birds in Listoria?"


    "Oh no. We have birds. But none so pretty or prettily spoken as yours."


    Lyssia smiled at Murel''s assessment of her feathery friend. "I like your honesty," Lyssia blurted and then hurriedly looked away when Murel blushed.


    "You said something about a duet?" Linea asked, taking her turn at rescuing the group from awkward silence.


    "Oh, yes. Listen. Hmmmm," Lyssia hummed a low note that made her teeth tickle as they vibrated. Diyana drew herself up, fluffing out her feathers more and lifting her head to the tent ceiling, preparing for a concert. She returned Lyssia''s low note before releasing a simple three note warble.


    Lyssia repeated it back to her, adding two more notes, and the game started. Lyssia eventually broke away from the bird¡¯s straightforward melody and begun to sing a fast-paced Ridineig tune, absconding words for ¡°aaahs¡± and ¡°ooohs¡±. Diyana kept pace easily, her sweet avian voice weaving around Lyssia¡¯s in harmony.


    It felt good to exercise her mind and voice in a familiar way, and Lyssia stretched the song out searching for the perfect ending. As she reached the end of her third repetition, her voice near cracking as she chased Diyana''s high soprano trill, Lyssia stood and, holding Diyana aloft, turned a slow circle.


    Thisska jumped up on Murel''s knee and took wing, twirling fast circles around her. Lyssia fell back on her reclining pillow and watched, breathless, as Thisska landed at her feet and took up her half of the duet. She led Diyana through the last stanza, but the final note was hers alone.


    The little Drakun hit a note that not even the songbird could have reached. It hurt Lyssia''s ears, but she did not want to offend the creature by covering them. Thisska dropped her snout to the ground, nuzzling aside the rug to dig into the wet soil beneath. The ground beneath her shook as something green broke free of the soil and began to grow.


    Lyssia felt the oddest urge to feel the Drakun''s warm side. Thisska''s eyes snapped open as if she could hear Lyssia''s thoughts, but she did not cease her work. Lyssia lowered her gaze to the flower blooming to life at her feet.


    Thisska stood back when she was done and cocked her head at Lyssia. Lyssia felt a whisper of a question enter her mind. She recognized the Drakun¡¯s voice in the timbre of the wild thought.


    Lyssia held out a finger to brush the flower''s furry stem and gently rubbed one of the silken petals between her fingers. They matched the red-brown color of her hair, and towards the center, they were spotted with purple spots - lavender like her eyes - that shimmered as if already covered in dew. Lyssia smiled at the watchful Drakun.


    ¡°Yes. Thank you. It¡¯s gorgeous.¡±


    Thisska ducked her head, tapping her snout against Lyssia¡¯s boot, and then she sauntered up to Diyana¡¯s cage and curled around it, resting her head on Lyssia¡¯s pillow. Slowly, so as not to startle either creature, Lyssia lifted Diyana over Thisska¡¯s head and slid the bird back onto her perch.


    Only once she had secured the cage door and turned back to smile at Linea did she become aware of the crowd that had gathered outside the tent. The twins broke the silence first, slapping their hands on their knees and exclaiming enthusiastic approval.


    ¡°Wonderful! Wonderful, my dear!¡± Kongr Andev crowed, joining the rest of the Listorian party in applauding with hands on their legs. Lyssia¡¯s legs shook under the attention of so many unfamiliar faces. She prayed they would hold her weight as she stood and acknowledged the Listorian Kongr''s praise.


    Igone stepped forward and separated herself from the crowd. "You have a pure voice. Pure and lovely; a voice fit to harmonize with a Drakun''s."


    Lyssia lowered herself into a deep curtsy, her eyes locked on Igone''s slippers. "You honor me with your praise, Drottingr Igone."


    Igone waved away her thanks, turning and making her way to the table. Sinking into a chair that faced the circle of pillows, she held out her arms in entreaty. "Girls, I think it''s your turn. Why don¡¯t you perform a section of Laikari for our guests.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I know the perfect one."


    Linea brushed her hair back and batted her long eyelashes at Azerian, who had snuck up beside Igone to reach the plate of fruit that sat at her elbow. He recovered from his puzzlement quickly and flashed her a cheeky grin.


    She leaned in toward Lyssia and her sister, holding Azerian''s eyes for as long as she could before turning to Murel. "We have to perform the Laikari of Rowa and Jakem."


    "The lovers? No. No!"


    Linea tried to draw Murel in with her eyes as she had Azerian, but Murel only shook her head harder. "No, Linea, and I''ll tell you why. You do not need to make a fool out of yourself over another boy."


    Linea''s lips puckered in a pout that almost had Lyssia feeling sorry for her. "This isn''t about a boy. We''re trying to make peace. That Laikari is all about peace and friendship and---"


    "And I don''t know that one well enough to play orator, so I would be stuck prancing around playing lovestruck. Do you think that would look good?"


    "I...I think you could do it," Lyssia interjected. "I''m very intrigued with the story or Rowa and J...Ja¡­"


    "Jakem. But no, she''s right." Linea glanced over at Thisska, her gaze softening. "The Laikari of the Ancient Ones then. If I can''t be the beguiling Rowa, at least I can be a beautiful and majestic Drakun."


    "Beautiful and majestic. Sure. I''ll try to work that in."


    Murel and Linea clasped hands and stood together, curtsying first to Igone, second to the crowd standing expectantly to the side of the tent, and last to Lyssia. Or perhaps to Thisska, who sat up to watch their retreat to the grassy area before the tent. She settled back down as Murel called the observers to witness the history of the Ancient Ones and the creation of Listoria''s kongdomr.


    Lyssia crossed her legs beneath her skirt and leaned forward on her knees. If she wasn''t careful, her excitement would get the better of her, and she''d end up jumping up and down in her seat.


    Linea played Listoria, the Drakun heroine of the story. Murel was her sister''s narrator, but as there was no one else to dance alongside Linea, she had a few additional parts to play.


    She stood in place as Linea danced around her, only shifting her stance the smallest amount when Linea required assistance. She was the humble Drottingr praising the Drakun at work; the river rushing wild; the greenery sprouting to life along the riverbanks; the great winds smoothing out the fertile plain; the mountains rising up to mark the kongdomr''s border.


    The mountains they shared with Ilvana. But there was no mention of Ilvana or any of the other kongdomren. The Laikari ended with Listoria taking wing to fly to the tallest peak of the dividing mountains to pluck a trio of crystalline flowers that had absorbed the sun''s life. From the flowers, she crafted a circlet made of sunshine and, returning to the humans who had come to reside in the palatial shelter the Drakun had built for them, she crowned the first Drottingr.


    Murel knelt before her sister so Linea could place the flower chain she had quickly created from the tiny white flowers that dotted the grassy floor of their stage on her head. Murel stood, then with palms pressed together before them and heads bent, the two sisters delivered the Laikari''s final proclamation together.


    "Hear the mighty thunder


    That''s the heartbeat of


    The Ancient Ones


    Who time had no hold


    And the earthquake is their dance


    And the rain is their tears


    Watering the ground


    The Ancient Ones


    Who space has no hold!"


    Lyssia was surprised to feel tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. She bent her head and quickly wiped them away, covering the move by pretending to applaud in Listorian fashion.


    Linea and Murel, cheeks glowing with the crowd¡¯s praise, sank gracefully back onto their reclining pillows. They had swapped seats, but Lyssia had no trouble recognizing Linea, who reached for her hand.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t see your face during our performance. What did you think?¡±


    Lyssia squeezed Linea¡¯s hand. She tried to think of a way to describe how she felt about their performance, but her mind came up blank.


    ¡°She¡¯s speechless. She can¡¯t say one word,¡± Murel said, poking Lyssia in the side.


    Lyssia giggled and pushed her away. ¡°Stupendous. There¡¯s your word. Stupendous!¡±


    ¡°Same to you.¡± Murel lifted her mug to Lyssia and drained it in one gulp. The crowd had dispersed, and out from under their eyes, Murel flopped back onto her back. Linea followed suit, hand reaching blindly for her plate of sweet buns.


    Lyssia dropped Linea¡¯s hand and leaned back, smiling down at them both. How could she have been so worried about mistaking them earlier?


    Linea was slightly taller. Murel¡¯s hair was a shade lighter. Linea¡¯s smile was sweeter. They lacked the sarcastic tilt that Murel¡¯s lips seemed to fall into naturally, but though Murel was slower to speak, she was more apt to hold Lyssia¡¯s eyes. Murel held her mug in her right hand, and Linea reached for her food with her left.


    They were mirror images of each other; similar, but not exact, and Lyssia needed to learn more about them. Her new friends. A warm wash of happiness settled into her limbs. She stretched out on her back, letting her head hit the soft pillow and her fingers brush against the cage and Thisska''s side.


    She had a tune in mind for the Laikari they had performed. It had a steady beat, but it wasn¡¯t complicated. It wouldn¡¯t be too different from Murel¡¯s spoken oration. She didn¡¯t want to interrupt the twins¡¯ rest, but she wondered what they would think of it.


    ¡°Linea, Murel, I---¡±


    ¡°Well done, girls,¡± Igone called as she walked past with Sundric on her hip again. ¡°I assume they¡¯ll be packing up the tents soon. Kongr Dizean has offered to continue the peace talk under his own roof, and your father has agreed. We¡¯ll be staying at his stead tonight, and probably tomorrow as well. Make sure to sample the food our hosts have set out for you before we leave.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mam!¡± Linea waved a sweet bun at her. Igone cocked an eyebrow but said nothing as she turned away. ¡°Yeah, a real bed!¡±


    ¡°And a fire.¡±


    Lyssia turned her head to see Murel rubbing at the goosebumps on her arms. ¡°Are you cold? I could ask someone to fetch you a cloak.¡±


    ¡°We brought cloaks, but we weren¡¯t allowed to wear them today.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Because they might have messed up our dresses. We¡¯re going for a classic above-it-all look, you know.¡± Murel struck an upside down pose, one hand on her hip and the other behind her head.


    If Linea had made the comment, Lyssia would have thought her half serious, but Murel did not seem happy at all.


    ¡°Wow, your parents are strict aren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°You have no idea,¡± Linea moaned.


    ¡°Oh, I think I do.¡± Lyssia tapped the side of her mask and watched as the twins rolled over and sat up, their expressions turning dark.


    ¡°We have a lot to talk about.¡± Linea reached for Lyssia¡¯s hand again, and Murel slid over onto Lyssia¡¯s pillow, pressing her chilled arm against Lyssia¡¯s sleeve.


    ¡°Perhaps we could talk some more tonight...if you slept in my room. We could tell stories all night.¡±


    ¡°And sing duets with Diyana! Oh, yes please!¡± Murel exclaimed.


    ¡°Am I invited too?¡± Linea asked with a laugh, tugging Lyssia closer.


    ¡°Of course! I have a fireplace and a big bed with a mountain of blankets and...and we could sneak up some sweets from the kitchen.¡± Lyssia stopped to take a breath and found herself once again caught between their discussion as they raced ahead of her thoughts. She couldn''t keep the grin from spreading across her face and settled further into the pillow, trying to give them space for their animated discussion.


    She felt near giddy herself with happiness. This morning she felt like she was being tossed into uncharted waters with no map. By her estimation, she had kept her head above water and she was coming home with two friends.


    She felt as light as a feather. Like if her new friends weren''t weighing her down, there would be nothing to keep her from floating right off the ground.


    "Girls!" Carryn bustled into the tent. "Your parents are asking for you. You, too, Lyssia." Ignoring the twins'' whining, she offered them her hand one at a time and pulled them to their feet.


    "Oh, I''m sorry," Murel said as her fingers tugged at Carryn''s hand binding. She stared at it quizzically. "Are you injured?"


    Carryn thrust her disfigured hand behind her back. "I''m fine. Come on n---"


    "Riders! Armed riders!" A shout rang out from the direction of the crossroads.


    Lyssia spun around to watch a brown cloaked messenger run into her father''s tent. The shout had not come from him but one of the lookouts at the top of the hill.


    Lyssia''s uncle stormed out of the tent and made his way over to them. "Drottine!" He sounded relieved to find her there. "Stay here. Roakev!"


    Roakev broke away from his group and trotted over, Azerian on his heels. "Stand watch. If anyone approaches the tent, call for me."


    "But father---"


    "I''m going to find your mother."


    "But what is it?"


    Eindre stopped mid-turn and stared around the group, his eyes finally resting on Carryn. "Dunival riders. Blighted Dunival"---he spat over his shoulder---"come to ruin our treaty day celebrations."


    Carryn''s eyes tightened, but she let nothing else give away her thoughts.


    "Blighted Dunival," Roakev echoed and spat to the side. He looked over at Azerian, who shrugged, and frowned down at his feet.


    ¡°Stay!" Eindre punctuated the order by pointing toward the back of the tent and left in search of Nimeah.


    **********


    Carryn urged Lyssia and the twins to return to their seats and brought over a plate of food that no one ate. Lyssia took Diyana...

 Chapter 7

    Carryn urged Lyssia and the twins to return to their seats and brought over a plate of food that no one ate. Lyssia took Diyana out of her cage again, drawing comfort from the bird''s warm weight in her hand.


    ¡°We just have to show a little patience,¡± she told them, but Lyssia saw her eyeing the shadows cast by the boundary trees as the minutes flew by.


    ¡°Lyssia!¡±


    Lyssia sat bolt upright from her slouched position at her father''s call.


    ¡°Lyssia, come!¡±


    Carryn stood and waited for Lyssia to tuck Diyana back into her cage before pulling her to her feet and placing Lyssia¡¯s hand in the crook of her elbow. ¡°We best all go.¡±


    She took the lead, Lyssia walking with her but a step behind. Linea and Murel rushed to follow them, and Lyssia expected to feel their shoes on the back of her boots any moment. Thisska had taken perch on Linea''s shoulder, wings extended halfway to keep balance as she held her upper body over Linea''s head, vigilant eyes scanning the field. Azerian migrated toward Lyssa¡¯s other side, walking close so Lyssia was security nestled between him and his mother, and Roakev took up the rear position as their adolescent guard.


    Lyssia¡¯s father was standing at attention outside his tent. He pulled Lyssia away from Carryn and Azerian without sparing a glance for either and pushed her in front of him as he advanced to the spot where he had first greeted Kongr Andev.


    Andev and his family followed them. Thisska left Linea to rejoin Igone. The twins stood pressed up against one another between their mother and father; they threw worried glances at Lyssia every few seconds until she could manage to flash them a shaky smile. Ansev stood on their father''s other side, and their youngest clung to Igone''s skirts.


    ¡°This is foolhardy, Dizean,¡± Andev hissed as a trio of black-clad riders appeared at the top of the hill. They had a short discussion with the two Ilvanian lookouts who waited for them. One lookout peeled off and led the trio of newcomers toward Lyssia.


    "Can we not listen to the man? It is the last day of Aon-Yute. Treaty day. He says he wants only to talk. And look, my man said he rode with guards. He''s brought his sons, but he''s left his men behind."


    Andev was silent a moment, thinking over Dizean''s words. "I do not like it. Dunival is not to be trusted!"


    "When have you encountered men from Dunival before? We knew naught of each other before we started conversing this past year, and now we are allies. You know naught this man''s true nature."


    "I know enough. Traitors." Andev turned and spat over his shoulder as Lyssia''s uncle had done.


    Lyssia shrank back against her father. He didn''t push her to stand tall again, which made her even more nervous.


    Blighted Dunival. Traitors.


    Lyssia knew what history they were alluding to. She had learned about Ilvana and Dunival''s shared past at the same time she studied Skald Bjarke''s treatise on Listoria. The Lay of Rilken spoke in depth of the day that the Kongr of Dunival betrayed the treaty and broke covenant with the other four Drakun kongdomren.


    She had no hopes of ever memorizing the one hundred stanza song, no matter how determined her father was that she do so. Her eyes always started to jump and skip around as soon as they reached the first bloody description of a wound. But she knew this much.


    Over a hundred years had passed since Dunival''s Kongr had broken the Drakun treaty and attacked their allies, betraying Lyssia''s great-great-grandfather and barring Dunival and Ilvana from the treaty. Over one hundred years...and still their betrayals had not been forgiven or forgotten.


    "My Kongr!" The Ilvanian lookout approached and bowed from his saddle. He made no move to dismount, and his hand did not stray from the hilt of the bare blade that lay atop his lap. "Kongr Rijek of Dunival and his sons beg an audience with you. Will you grant them your protection and a place at your table?"


    Lyssia''s eyes fixed on the symbol carved into the metal pin that was fastened to one of the Dunival rider''s cloaks. It looked like a swirling dust devil, or what she imagined one would look like. Who would choose a dust devil as a crest? Her eyes jumped up to meet the curious gaze of the freckled, pale-skinned boy who rode to the right before darting across to the poleaxe that hung from the man¡¯s belt and returning to the Ilvanian man''s sword.


    Lyssia could feel her father clenching and unclenching his arm muscles. Out of the corner of her eye and half-hidden by the edge of her mask, she saw Andev''s face turn a deep red. He shot daggers at her father, shouting his disapproval without uttering a word.


    She pictured the discussion taking place behind her back. Andev could not speak for her father, but he must not wish to risk the chance of angering his new ally before the formal treaty had been signed.


    Finally, he spoke, his words heavy and hesitant. "You are not welcome at my table or beneath my roof...at present. But I will converse with you. You have my word that no harm will befall you and yours so long as you do no harm to me or mine."


    Rijek dismounted and approached cautiously. The Ilvanian rider pulled his horse to the side and eyed the two who remained mounted.


    "Kongr Dizean, it is such an honor." Rijek clapped his hands together and lowered his head just enough to touch his forehead to the tips of his fingers. "And Drottine Lyssia. I am overjoyed to meet you at last. If I may present my sons."


    He gestured to the two boys to dismount. The boy who had caught Lyssia''s attention before was the first on the ground. He accepted his father''s arm around his shoulders with a tight-lipped smile. His eyes locked onto Lyssia and they did not leave her even when her father pulled her to his side. Lyssia''s eyes jumped to the ground, her hand moving on its own accord to smooth the side of her braid and the end that lay over her shoulder.


    The second boy was younger, closer to her and Azerian''s age, and seemed almost apologetic in the way he shuffled forward. His cloak hung far on one side like he was hiding something bulky beneath it. He kept a step apart and behind his father and brother, fading into their shadows in his dark cloak.


    "My sons. Magnor, Kongre-Fyr of Dunival, and Tirne, Kongre-Slad."


    Lyssia''s eyes darted back to Tirne. Prince None, his father named him. His brother was Prince Heir, and he was...None. His position made sense to her now. It was a cruel title, but one he must have been used to because he did not flinch to hear it.


    He caught her gaze and bowed courteously to her. Lyssia, caught still in the shock of hearing his title, frowned. His eyes turned cold, and he stared her down until she looked away. Between his icy glare and his brother''s smoldering gaze, she felt the only safe place to look was to Rijek. He smiled at her, a normal, warm sort of smile that immediately soothed her ruffled nerves.


    "Magnor, now." He patted his son''s shoulder twice and then gave him a little nudge forward.


    The Kongre-Fyr''s gaze never wavered as he stepped forward. "Drottine, we thank you for welcoming us. I offer this small token as a hostess gift. I hope that it pleases you."


    "You are not welcome here."


    Lyssia felt it again. A moment where time stopped. Just one blink, and then everyone gathered to witness the Dunival party''s arrival turned as one to stare at Andev. Lyssia did not need to see his face to understand the depth of his anger. It was present in the way he rolled the word here.


    There was an order hidden behind his words, but it was not one he had the right to give. Igone clutched his arm, staring at him with a hard-clenched jaw.


    "Andev¡­" Lyssia''s father warned, stepping forward so that he stood two paces in front of the visiting Kongr and his family. He was no longer holding onto Lyssia''s arm, but they were standing close, and she was forced to step closer to the watchful Dunival Kongre-Fyr or falter.


    For one tense moment, Lyssia worried that Andev was going to challenge her father, but he reigned in his anger and bowed his head. His voice when he spoke was full of contempt, but it was clear who it was directed toward.


    "I was not aware that you had invited snakes to sit at our table."


    "Our table? Have I arrived too late to witness the momentous occasion of a treaty signing between the mighty mountain and the daffodil?" Rijek''s surprise was too pointed to be genuine, and it lent a sharp sting to his words.


    But between the space of one heartbeat to the next, Rijek''s stern expression softened. "Peace, Andev. I have come today searching for the same thing as you."


    "Do not address me so informally. I doubt very much that we have the same goal in mind, harbinger of shadows."


    "I will strive not to address you until my heir and I have been formally invited to sit beside yours at the table of our host." He nodded to Dizean.


    "Yes, and I am still waiting for a reason to extend such an invitation," Dizean said, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand.


    "You are lucky to have received an invitation to meet on the historical day of treaty with such a prosperous and...small kongdomr as Listoria."


    Dizean stood taller as he answered. "It was my decision to contact Andev. We have been a lonely people. We shall be lonely no more."


    "Surely Listoria is not the only visitor you expected today. Did Andev not bring his friends to meet you?"


    "No..." The look Dizean threw toward Andev was all the evidence needed to prove that Rijek had hit a sore nerve.


    "These things take time," Andev said, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "You know that, Dizean. The other kongdomren will come later. Ilvana is not alone."


    "No, you are not alone. Because Dunival understands."


    Rijek patted his older son on the back. For the first time since setting foot on the ground, the Kongre-Fyr''s eyes left Lyssia''s. He glanced up at his father before reaching into his cloak and pulling out a cloth bag tied shut with bright red string.


    He took two steps forward, hesitant like he was afraid of spooking her. Lyssia felt trapped like a butterfly caught beneath a jar, but she did not feel the urge to back away and maintain distance between them when his eyes pleaded with her to stay.


    "My lady¡­" He held the bag out. It sat cradled in the divet of one of his palms. "A gift for you. A token of friendship."


    Lyssia wrenched her gaze away from his and looked to her father. She had never wished harder that she could see his face and know without any doubt what he wanted her to do. But he did not offer even a nod or shake of the head as he gazed down at her, waiting with everyone else to see how she would respond.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Mirroring Magnor''s slow, careful movements, Lyssia took one step forward away from her father - finally closing the gap between the two groups - and held her palm out beside his.


    His smile caught her by surprise and took her breath away. He loosened the string that held the bag closed and turned it over her palm. The necklace hit her hand at the same time this thumb brushed hers, and the jolt that was sent up her arm forced her lungs to fill again.


    She locked eyes on the necklace before her gasp could be construed as anything but surprise over the gift. The chain was thin and a pale silver that was very nearly white. Someone had twisted and tied it all along its length into numerous sweetheart knots, and in the center of the necklace hung an alabaster stone the same size and shape as the nail on her middle finger.


    "What is it? A necklace? See!" Andev exclaimed. "I told you! He is a snake. It''s a bridal gift."


    Lyssia''s father snatched the necklace from her grasp and held it up to inspect it. His fingers tugged at one of the sweetheart knots, and he turned on Rijek.


    "What is the meaning of this?" He shook the necklace so hard, Lyssia feared the stone would fly off.


    "Father, I don''t...I don''t think¡­" She glanced with wide eyes at Magnor, who had retreated to stand beside his father again. He shook his head and mouthed something she couldn''t understand.


    "It is not what you think it is," Andev said, speaking low so everyone had to stop talking to hear him. "It belongs to my wife. She suggested it would be the right gift to bring, because according to her family history, it is an old gift from an Ilvanian friend. It was made in Ilvana, with your resources and by your hands. The name of the crafter and gifter has been lost, but we are returning it to you. That is all."


    Dizean lowered the necklace slowly back into Lyssia''s waiting hand. She held it to her heart, protecting it against anyone else who might try to snatch it away.


    "And for your nephew, your heir¡­"


    Lyssia noted that Rijek slung an arm around his younger son''s shoulder with as much affection as he had his older son. She scrambled to remember his name as his father pulled him forward, but it had flown from her mind when his brother smiled at her. His cloak fell open to reveal the bow that he had been hiding.


    "...we also have a gift."


    Rijek turned to scrutinize Azerian and Roakev, who stood behind Lyssia and her father. "Which nephew have you chosen?"


    "My...nephew...?" Dizean hesitated, and Lyssia stared up at him with round eyes. No one had ever spoken to her of what role she was to play in the future, but she had had no reason to doubt that she would have an important role to play - some reason to use her hours spent studying - until now.


    "Dizean, you didn''t tell me you planned to overlook your daughter in this manner!" Andev clutched Murel''s shoulder, who stood closer to him. She eyed his hand with a pained look.


    "Well, I...I..I don''t¡­ "


    "I didn''t mean to cause trouble by my assumption. I only thought since you have a nephew of your bloodline that you might prefer to train him up to take your place. But I have nothing against a female heir," Rijek quickly added, silencing Andev''s next statement. "Perhaps a gift for our young Listorian friends..."


    Rijek nodded to his son, who stepped forward with the bow held sideways before him. Andev stopped him with a raised hand before he could take another step.


    "My daughters, my heirs, will accept no gift from Dunival." He shifted Igone aside so that he could take both of the twins by the shoulder, holding them in place as if there was any possibility of them stepping forward on their own when they looked nervous enough to faint.


    The boy turned to Lyssia, a challenge in his eyes.


    "My daughter---" Dizean began, but Lyssia was already moving.


    She slid forward to meet Rijek''s second son in the empty space between their fathers. Her hand closed around the bow and her lips lifted slightly in a grim smile. His answering smile did not tug at her as this brother''s had, but it encouraged her to keep the bow raised as he let go and she felt the gift''s true weight. It was a sturdy hunting bow. One meant for a boy who would someday soon turn into a man, not a ten-year-old girl with no muscles to count. But she had claimed it.


    "---is my heir, as she was always intended to be. She is Drottine-Fyr." Lyssia''s father stumbled over the last word, his voice lifting in surprise as he saw Lyssia acting without him.


    "Then the bow is yours. Lyssia, Drottine-Fyr of Ilvana, daughter of peace, may your strength and wisdom grow each day, and may your aim always remain true." Rijek¡¯s blessing was spoken with a ring of finality. He bowed his head to her, and Magnor and his brother dropped into low bows, hands clasped behind their backs.


    Lyssia stretched up on her toes, reveling in the feeling of winning her father¡¯s respect and theirs.


    ¡°Rijek¡­¡± Lyssia¡¯s father extended his hand slowly, but when Rijek reached for him, he did not hesitate to clasp the Dunival Kongr¡¯s arm. ¡°Let us speak of peace then.¡±


    Rijek¡¯s smile of triumph was shaken by Andev¡¯s roar of disapproval.


    ¡°No! No! I forbid this! I will not share a negotiation table with Dunival.¡±


    ¡°You forbid another to sit at my table? Andev, be reasonable!¡± Dizean shifted so that he stood closer to Rijek, and it appeared that they stood together to confront the Listorian man.


    Rijek smiled at Dizean''s turned back. ¡°You should have brought allies to join you if you were afraid of being outnumbered by those you have deemed outcasts, Andev. It is not my fault if you find threat in my words when I have not threatened you.¡±


    ¡°Andev, my love, we speak peace. We speak life." Igone leaned close to whisper in her husband¡¯s ear. Lyssia¡¯s eyes were fixed on him, so she saw the moment when his hands relaxed and fell from Linea and Murel¡¯s shoulders. She saw when the fight drained out of his features and the way his whole body leaned in toward his wife, his feet turned toward her and her murmurs of peace.


    Perhaps her father saw the same change on Andev¡¯s face, because his stance relaxed as well and he leaned forward expectantly. But Rijek and his sons were not focused on Andev. Thisska had been lying still since their arrival, content to watch the confrontation with eyes that rarely blinked. When Igone leaned into Andev, the Drakun shifted, rising up on the Drottingr''s shoulder and showing herself to be more than ornamentation.


    Rijek drew his sons behind him, touched his fingertips together, and flicked his hands toward Igone and Thisska as if brushing evil out his window. ¡°Worm!¡±


    Lyssia had lent them a sympathetic smile when she saw their fear, but she recoiled at the hate in Kongr Rijek¡¯s voice. Thisska hissed, and the hand Igone laid on her neck shook with anger.


    It took Igone a long moment to answer. Lyssia would not have judged her if she had been unable to follow her own words of caution, but the Drottingr spoke with a surprisingly even tone.


    ¡°You can not call yourselves outcasts when you have made no move before today to seek us out. You call yourselves abandoned when you are the ones that abandoned the way of life that led your ancestors and ours to peace. If you are to move forward in your pursuits you must concede that Dunival is not a victim.¡±


    ¡°No, we are not. I am willing to make sure that my people are not dragged under again. I am willing to make the first offer toward peace. Worm or not...¡± Rijek visibly collected himself before extending his hand toward Igone and Andev. ¡°...I would sit with you at the negotiation table.¡±


    The Listorian couple glanced down at his hand and then at each other. Igone shook her head, the smallest of movements, and Andev¡¯s hands tightened back into fists.


    ¡°You will not get that chance today. My family and I are leaving.¡±


    ¡°Andev, my friend, what about our celebration? We have not yet signed the treaty papers. You do not mean¡­"


    "Not today, Dizean. I shall send my messenger to you when the time is right." Andev extended his arms and started herding his children back toward their carts. "But not today."


    "Wait!" Lyssia cried.


    Linea and Murel glanced back at her with forlorn faces and raised their hands in farewell. Tears streamed invisible down her cheeks and pooled at the edge of her shirt collar. Lyssia spared only a cautionary glance at her father before she swung the bow over her shoulder and took off running.


    ¡°Lyssia!"


    He called after her, but she didn''t slow or look back. She rushed to the tent where she had left Diyana. The Listorian and Ilvanian attendants had already started to pack in preparation for returning to the stead, but the tent was still standing. Lyssia dropped the bow on a pillow, crammed the necklace into her pocket, scooped up Diyana¡¯s cage, and sprinted toward the Listorian carts. She heard frenzied footsteps chasing her, but whoever followed her did not try to overtake her.


    ¡°Drottine.¡± Igone pressed a hand to Thisska¡¯s side and reached for Lyssia¡¯s hand with the other. "Soon, we will call for you and your father to visit us, and you shall see Listoria. Someday soon." She squeezed Lyssia''s hand once more, and then turned away and ushered her sons up the steps into the passenger cart.


    Under the cover of Sundric''s crying and Ansev''s whining protest, Lyssia and the twins had a tearful goodbye. They clung to her neck, repeating over and over their promise to write her letters as soon as they arrived home.


    "Yes. Send them with your father''s missive, and take Diyana with you."


    Murel pulled away first, rubbing her red eyes dry. "You don''t owe us a gift. You are the host," she said, but her fingers wrapped around the cage¡¯s handle when Lyssia held it out to her.


    Linea shook her head against Lyssia''s shoulder. "And she''s your mother''s. We can''t take her."


    "I''m not giving her to you as a gift. She''s a friend that you can borrow for your journey home. I will come get her...someday soon. Thisska loves her, so you can¡¯t say no."


    Lyssia trailed off and all three girls straightened from their huddle and glanced over at their father, who was marching among his men and yelling at them to hurry and just throw everything in the second cart.


    "...and then I will bring proper gifts for my hostesses." Lyssia curtsied, eliciting giggles from both twins. They pulled her close for another double hug, and as Lyssia leaned into their embrace, she saw Azerian standing off to the side watching them.


    "I suppose it¡¯s time to---"


    "Girls¡­" Igone approached them and drew all three in for a hug. "We must say our last goodbye now."


    Igone released them, and the twins fell into step beside her, Diyana¡¯s cage held aloft between them.


    ¡°Thank you for Ilvana¡¯s hospitality, Drottine. Until we meet again, may the land nourish you and keep you strong.¡±


    ¡°And may the stars always guide you home,¡± Lyssia added, remembering her father¡¯s blessing from earlier. It would make a good line in the poem she planned to write for the twins. If she wrote it down fancifully enough, it might make a good present for the next time they met.


    Igone inclined her head. Lyssia hurried to follow suit and looked up just in time to see Thisska dip her wings in a wide circle to the side. It looked too fanciful to be an accidental motion, and Lyssia lowered her gaze in acknowledgement of the Drakun¡¯s farewell. Linea and Murel dipped into low curtsies, holding themselves formally stiff. Diyana¡¯s cage hung between them. It brushed the ground, and she gave a cry of protest before Murel wrapped the cage up in her arms. Lyssia was afforded one last view of her brilliant yellow feathers


    Lyssia wished to rush forward to give her one last stroke along her wing feathers. She wanted one last hug, one last squeeze of the hand, one last laugh. But she was bound to the spot with the understanding that this was meant to be a formal goodbye between dignitaries. She was not a girl saying goodbye to her new friends who were being torn from her arms. She was not.


    She was a Drottine bidding goodbye to a Drottingr and her daughters, potential allies whom she had just met and whom would see again. She would.


    Lyssia lifted her hand one last time as Linea and Murel climbed up to sit beside their mother on the wooden cart seat and the horses had turned the cart back toward the east, toward Listoria and the mountain passage. She felt a presence at her back but did not turn to look until the twins shifted to face the rising hill.


    ¡°Lyssia... ¡° Azerian murmured, placing a warm hand on her back.


    Lyssia looked up at him with a blank gaze that took a long moment to solidify. ¡°What?¡± she asked in a breathless voice. It felt like a hand was squeezing her throat shut, making it impossible to draw a full breath.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    Lyssia thought about lying. She thought about telling him the truth. But in the end, she couldn¡¯t think of anything to say. His arm fell heavy against hers as he gripped it and turned her back toward the Kongr¡¯s tent. He led her straight into her father¡¯s waiting embrace.


    Dizean gripped Lyssia hard as he turned her away from the tent. ¡°Do not cry.¡±


    ¡°Father?¡±


    ¡°Do you know what I have done today by officially naming you my heir? I have painted a target on your back that was not there before. Few people will gaze at you now and not think, ¡®What can she do for me?¡¯ The answer is nothing and will be nothing if you do not start learning.¡±


    Lyssia swallowed against the burning in her throat. ¡°Learn what?¡±


    He dropped his hold on both arms and forced her right arm to twist into his left, pinning her against his side. ¡°Everything,¡± he hissed through clenched teeth. ¡°Start by learning to listen. Keep your head up, your mouth shut, and your ears open. Play your part well, and we may get through Rijek¡¯s visit with him thinking that we trust him.¡±


    Lyssia pulled against her father¡¯s hold, stopping their slow march toward the tent where Kongr Rijek and his sons waited beside Lyssia¡¯s uncle and Roakev. She blinked up at him in confusion, her tired mind trying to grasp the truth of his implications. ¡°You don¡¯t trust him?¡±


    ¡°Not by half.¡± Dizean followed her gaze, the skin around his eyes tightening them into thin lines. ¡°Maybe by a quarter. Hmmm.¡± He snorted, a smile catching the corners of his lips at his own joke. ¡°Now come on.¡± He reached for her arm again, his fingers drawing white lines onto her tanned skin. ¡°Rijek! I apologize for the delay. Let us continue our discussion with full glasses of mead in our hands.¡±


    ¡°Sounds refreshing, my friend. Lead on.¡± Rijek slapped him on the back as he passed, but his eyes were fixed on Lyssia. Everyone¡¯s eyes were fixed on her.


    Breathe. In-out-in.


    Lyssia met and held Magnor¡¯s questioning gaze as she took her seat beside her father. He smiled at her, but she did not respond in kind. Her eyes lowered to the map on the table, her eyes traveling across the length of Ilvana, across the gray waters to Dunival¡¯s shore, and then back. Dunival - Blighted Dunival - and Ilvana - allies.


    Could it be?

 Chapter 8A

    GOLDEN STRANGER


    First recorded by Drottingr Lyssia in the eighth year of her life


    Golden snout.


    Gray eyes -


    with just a hint


    of the lavender


    of morning skies.


    Small hands.


    Brown hair -


    with just a hint


    Of the red


    Of fire, alive.


    Scaled cheek.


    Tanned arms.


    A smile seen


    through pointed teeth,


    sunlight adorned.


    She of my dawn hour.


    She of memories dreamed.


    She whom I do not know -


    who looked a lot like me -


    but beautiful and strong,


    as a Drakun


    ought to be.


    Good morning,


    beautiful woman.


    Good morning,


    stranger-ami.


    Good morning,


    Erina.


    **********


    CHAPTER 7


    Lyssia had left her father¡¯s stead that morning under a gray cloud, and she returned in the midst of a full downpour.


    She felt Magnor¡¯s gaze on her the entire ride back along the road and across the green hills. She recognized the weight of his eyes; she could not count the number of times she had glanced up during one of Dunival¡¯s Aon-Yute visits and found herself trapped by his stare.


    But the Kongre-Fyr of Dunival did not speak. He had uttered not one word to either her or his men after securing her promise to safely escort them to her father. It was the honorable thing to do, being formally escorted into her father¡¯s presence, but his party numbered twenty men including himself. Twenty armed men on horseback.


    She fought the urge to glare at him as his silence stretched on. She was an excellent Hefat player; she knew when she was being pushed across the board like a pawn. He¡¯s weeks early, he¡¯s clearly not in the mood for a cordial visit, and his group is large and---She eyed the half-circle of men that surrounded her---suspiciously even-numbered.


    Her amused snort was muffled by her mask, but she swallowed back a dramatic sigh. But he has every right to be here.


    As the son of her father¡¯s only ally, he had the right to call on her father. Lyssia and her group rode within the Dunival party¡¯s ranks, which afforded her the position of taking the lead while still feeling protected from all sides. Surely, this sight would please her father. She was returning with a respectably sized escort.


    And a masked one as well. Kongr Rijek had started a tradition of his own during his visits. One where the Dunival party arrived under the guise of masks as a physical sign of respect to their royal ally, but their masks never stayed on long. Lyssia couldn¡¯t blame them. Who would want to walk around masked hour after hour, day after day?You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Lyssia gasped, and she dropped the length of hair that she had been twirling between her fingers. She twisted in her seat, her eyes burning holes into the foreheads of the masked strangers that surrounded her.


    Kongr Rijek was not among the Dunival riders. She would have recognized his bearing, even if he forsook his usual overly enthusiastic greeting. She did not expect Magnor¡¯s brother to travel with them. He had only attended the treaty day celebrations once since Dunival and Ilvana¡¯s first meeting. But Rijek had not missed a peace meeting once.


    Perhaps he had stayed behind on the ship that had brought them to Ilvana, and Magnor would send for him as soon as he had gained her father¡¯s blessing to remain. Or perhaps he had trusted Magnor enough to travel on his own. The Kongre would have turned twenty-five this past year; he was of an age to assume responsibility for some of his father¡¯s duties.


    She turned her head slowly to meet his troubling gaze. She willed him with her eyes, to offer an explanation for his presence that she could tell her father. But his expression gave her more questions and no answers.


    Lyssia steered the group away from the gate and the men set to guard it and instead led them to jump across the hip-height wall. She wanted to complete her job without any chance of encountering a question she couldn¡¯t answer. Still, they were spotted. She saw a messenger sent out from the gate and slowed her mare to a fast walk.


    She was glad for the silent bubble that surrounded her now; there was nothing to distract her from clearing her thoughts of anything but her current task. Her fingers resumed their thoughtful twirling, her left hand wrapped up in her hair, her right hand clutching the mare¡¯s reins in a tight fist. She seemed uncharacteristically resentful of their slow pace, tossing her head every few seconds and kicking her back feet higher, but Lyssia wanted to give the messenger ample time to warn her father of their approach.


    Unfortunately but not unexpectedly, that meant there was time for a crowd to gather in the performer¡¯s area before the open audience hall doors. Lyssia hesitated only a moment before driving her mare through the center of them, dismounting, and handing the reins to the nearest person with a free hand.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she murmured, taking a moment to adjust her skirt as she waited for Carryn, Azerian, Roakev - her initial escort - and Lach Seaka - who had accompanied them back - to dismount as well. ¡°Come, let us greet my father and tell him our good news,¡± she said, waving her cousins forward and stepping into the space left between the two women.


    Seaka had spent the entire trip in whispered consultation with Carryn, and she ignored Lyssia now, leaning toward the horses that were being led away by reluctant aides and the bags that were packed full of the supplies that Lyssia had promised her.


    ¡°Later,¡± she whispered, no resentment for the snub in her voice.


    Azerian and Roakev started forward, and Lyssia moved to follow them, but a hand on her arm made her pause. In front of everyone gathered, Magnor grabbed her arm and pulled her back.


    Lyssia stood in stunned silence for a moment, staring up at him. His grip wasn¡¯t tight; there was a hesitancy in the way the pads of his fingers lightly brushed her skin. She chanced a small smile that he did not return, pried his hand loose, and pushed him back away from the doors.


    ¡°Allow me to announce your presence. I will make haste.¡±


    Lyssia brushed past her aunt and Seaka and hurried to overtake her cousins. They were not even halfway across the hall, and she was able to turn her shoulders to fit through the gap left between them. Their disjointed footsteps paused, sounding like a stuttered heartbeat against the quiet background noise that filled the hall.


    They started up again a step or two behind her. Her eyes closed for a moment as she listened to their bootfalls, now blessedly in tune with one another. She was the center of the circle they constantly paced around, trying to avoid stepping on each other¡¯s toes. The brief thought made her feel a feather lighter and carried her like a wave rushing toward the cliffs to crash against the step before her father¡¯s chair.


    ¡°Father,¡± Lyssia murmured, holding her curtsy for a count of ten as his eyes swept over her. No mark of sun or dirt, not one scratch, would have escaped his attention. But he would find nothing.


    She stood again and met his gaze, relaxing her posture just enough to lean to the side and take Azerian''s arm. ¡°As you can see, father, we have returned safe and sound bearing gifts.¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s father cocked his head. ¡°Safe and sound?¡± His gaze shifted to Azerian and then to Roakev, who nodded silently to the question.


    ¡°Bearing gifts?¡±


    ¡°Fresh honey and jam."


    Dizean clasped his hands before him and Lyssia imagined his eyebrow jumping at her tone. There was no hint in his voice of any impatience. Rather he sounded almost bored when he asked, ¡°Fresh honey and jam and...anything else?¡±


    Lyssia released her cousin and turned to gesture to the entrance where she had left Magnor, extending one hand as if intending to reach across the distance and pull him to her side.


    ¡°My Kongr, I present to you Magnor, son of Rijek, Kongre of Dunival, and trusted ally of Ilvana. I met him and his escort on the road back to you. He approached me with peace in his heart and asked for safe passage into your presence. He was under my protection on the road. Now I transfer him into yours.¡±


    The hush of whispered voices finally ceased, respect for the newcomers a thin veil for the gathered Jarls and stead residents to hold their breaths, lean their heads forward, and not miss a word.


    Magnor did not pause until he reached her side. "Gracious Drottine, you kept your promise, and you have my gratitude."


    He offered her his arm, and she used him as a steadying block as she stepped up and took the seat beside her father. His gaze lingered on her for another long moment. Let the onlookers take from their staring contest what they would, but she refused to look away first. Here, at last, she would get her answers for Magnor¡¯s strange behavior.


    It was like they were children once again, and she had been wrangled into a game of chicken foot. Magnor was the rooster, Lyssia the hen, and Azerian and Roakev were the chicks that cleared the stage for the two to battle. But this was not her stage.


    Her cousins had escorted Carryn and Seaka to the edge of the crowd. Magnor¡¯s men stood at attention in tight formations several lengths back. Magnor and her father occupied opposite ends of an empty stage.


    The Kongr made no move to stand in greeting; the Kongre made no move to show respect to his host. It would not be Lyssia¡¯s father who spoke first. She had sat through many a lecture from him on the skills of victorious oration. In all conversations that mattered, she had been taught that the person who speaks first in argument forfeits the upper hand, and her father would never do that.


    Lyssia wanted to scream. She wanted to kick Magnor''s boots out from under him and force him to bend a knee to her father. She wanted to stand up, yank free the knife that had stayed hidden out of sight all day in her boot, and declare that they would end this standoff or she would jump into the arena.


    But none of those options were available to her. All she could do was wait, and watch, and notice for the first time how pale the skin beneath Magnor''s mask appeared and the tired, unschooled droop of his shoulders. His men seemed no better. More than one was starting to list to the side like they were about to lose their feet.


    The Dunival delegate gave a start, and his eyes blinked rapidly as if he had truly drifted off and did not know where he was. Taking a half step back, he offered Lyssia''s father a shallow bow that was little more than a quarter hand incline of his spine. Then hands dropping to his belt, he spoke.


    ¡°Vas Eda-Yute, Kongr Dizean, Ilvana''s strength and friend of my father. I carry my father¡¯s greetings and all the well wishes of my people, and I humbly apologize for arriving in such a state.¡±


    ¡°Magnor¡­¡± Lyssia¡¯s father did not say anything more for a moment, his dark eyes clouded without thoughts. ¡°Do you?¡±


    ¡°Kongr...I¡¯m no-not sure what it is you a-ask me,¡± Magnor said, his voice shaking just the right amount to bring Lyssia''s father to his feet.


    "Do you carry your father''s greetings?"


    Magnor''s eyes fell to the ground. "I wished to speak with you privately."


    "Lyssia, you should not pledge your protection to a stranger."


    "A stranger, father? No. The Kongre is your ally. I did not think---"


    "You had thought but not sight. This man is not the Kongre of Dunival¡­"


    **********


    Lyssia kept a tight hold on her surprise as her attention returned to Magnor. There was something about her father''s tone...

 Chapter 8B

    Lyssia kept a tight hold on her surprise as her attention returned to Magnor. There was something about her father''s tone, equal parts cautious and cautioning, that quickened her need to seek out the answers to her questions herself.


    Her eyes had not stayed further than his shoulders since first encountering him. She felt silly now, sending her eyes on a goose chase to find a clue as to her father''s odd statement. But she had to look no further than his belt.


    Peeking out from beneath the fingers of Magnor¡¯s right hand was the round dulled edge and piked top of his father¡¯s poleaxe. The one with the dust devil etched into the side with a gold-tipped chisel.


    "It is clear to me that the Kongr of Dunival now stands before us.¡±


    Magnor¡¯s whole demeanor changed. He pulled together whatever melancholic strength he had left and drew himself up straight and tall, lifting his chin proudly. ¡°You are.¡±


    ¡°You are newly gilded by this title. Tell me quickly how it came to pass to you and whether you intend to sign the peace treaty that your father had a hand in crafting. And do not lie to me, boy."


    ¡°A week has gone by since my father¡¯s body was cast to sea. It was a hunting accident. A stray spear that was not meant for him, or so I was told. I was not present when he fell...¡± Magnor cast his glance out the window, leaving the crowd of listeners to ponder the edge of new anger in his voice.


    Lyssia¡¯s father fell back into his seat. His hand reached out to grasp the arm of Lyssia¡¯s seat. ¡°I am sorry to hear of this tragedy. Your mother - how does she bear this loss?¡±


    ¡°My mother...you do not know? My father never wrote to you?¡±


    A cold dart of pain pierced Lyssia¡¯s heart.


    ¡°She was taken from us by lung fever last winter. The pain of it...my father...please forgive his lapse in judgement in not confiding in you with his grief. You would have understood what he faced better than I.¡±


    ¡°Oh...oh no¡­¡± Lyssia sighed. The change she had noticed in his demeanor during their ride, his sullen silence and nervousness made sense now. How could she not have seen that something was very, very wrong.


    The Kongr¡¯s fingers bumped against Lyssia¡¯s as he clenched the wooden chair arm tighter. She dug her nails into the wood beside his, refusing to give ground. Her other hand jumped to her heart.


    ¡°Your own pain must be immense, and you must bear it on your own.¡±


    ¡°My brother has been a great comfort to me. Together we realized that what Dunival needs most in its time of mourning is friendship.¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s father leaned forward once more as Magnor¡¯s voice took on a more measured tone.


    ¡°Tirne set course the same day I did. He is bound for Listoria in hopes that their stubborn Kongr might finally grant him an audience. And I have left my people to come to you, Dizean. To tell you of our loss and of my intention to continue the legacy of peace my father set before me. To strengthen it, better it, if I am able.¡±


    ¡°But why show up now?" Lyssia''s father asked. "Aon-Yute is the time of treaties. In but one month¡¯s time, we will come together to remember the treaty day---¡±


    ¡°I have never understood my father¡¯s need to celebrate the Drakun¡¯s treaty day when there are no Drakun Kongren present. Why not honor our own treaty day? Why not---my apologies, Kongr Dizean.¡±


    Magnor bowed his head, fighting to regain even breathe.


    ¡°Dunival is in a precarious position at present. I feared we could not wait to solidify our friendship with our only ally, but my new duties will not allow me to dally through the Yute season. I must have peace with you now, for my people¡¯s safety, and for mine.¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s father stepped down from his seat. He stood almost toe to toe with Magnor, his arms by his sides, mirroring Magnor¡¯s open posture. Lyssia had only a moment to feel envious of Magnor¡¯s unflinching stance.


    ¡°I wish to honor the peace I enjoyed with Dunival under your father¡¯s rule.¡± Dizean reached across to clasp Magnor¡¯s shoulder, and after only a moment¡¯s pause, Magnor returned the gesture. ¡°Kongr Magnor¡­¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s father swung Magnor around to stand beside him and raised his voice. ¡°If it is agreeable to you, I will declare one more night of Urd-Yute. We will honor my friend, Rijek, tonight, and his Drottingr. Tomorrow I will send for my Jarls to witness your name added to the treaty papers. But for tonight, let us remember one who devoted his life to peace.¡±


    ¡°Only if the Drottine would bless such a celebration with her melodious voice.¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°So it shall be.¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s father flicked his fingers toward Carryn. She gritted her teeth as she stepped forward but offered no comment beyond a curtsy and a demurely murmured, "My Kongr.¡±


    ¡°Carryn, I need you to take charge of our guests¡¯ arrangements. Eindre has told me that Nimeah has taken to bed with dizziness and fatigue. He does not want her to exert herself in such a condition, and I agree. You have the keys. It is time for you to step up and take charge of the steads¡¯ running during our guests¡¯ visit.¡±


    ¡°Eindre has told you this?¡± Seaka had followed Carryn, and upon hearing this news, she dissolved into angry muttering. ¡°Bed rest...Nimeah...not likely...I think¡­¡±


    ¡°Seaka.¡± Lyssia hurriedly stood and took her arm. She directed Seaka to give courtesy to her father and then hauled her back to where she had left the boys. ¡°Roakev is going to visit my aunt. Perhaps you should go with him to check on her. And then afterward, he might find someone to assist you in carrying the supplies we gathered at the Mart to the village. ¡±


    ¡°It would be my honor to be your escort, Mistress Lach.¡±


    Roakev grabbed Seaka¡¯s arm and, directing a bow toward his father who stood on the other side of the room, oblivious to his son¡¯s presence, he guided her toward the door that stood propped open at the back of the hall. Lyssia watched them go with a relieved sigh.


    Roakev would care for the disgruntled Lach with patience. He had almost as much experience dealing with Seaka as she did.Seaka had been a determined nurse through every one of his mother¡¯s eight pregnancies and miscarriages. Surely she wasn¡¯t with child again. It must be something else that affected her now. Though it wasn¡¯t Lyssia''s place to comment on such things.


    Lyssia was not close to Roakev¡¯s mother by any means. She did not seem a very pleasant woman to be around. The woman was always complaining of fatigue or headaches. Always frowning and sighing. Still, Lyssia did not like to think of her suffering. She whispered a hopeful blessing for health at Roakev¡¯s retreating back.


    She returned her attention to the room, her eyes seeking out the newly christened Dunival Kongr. She wished to offer him private words of condolence for his loss.


    And an apology, she thought. I must apologize for the way I acted toward him on the road. I must have seemed so cold. I made things worse, and it is my job to make amends.


    The Kongr¡¯s audience had dispersed into groups all intent on their own conversations, and Magnor had disappeared into a sea of travel-stained cloaks. Her chance to speak with him was gone, but the way had been made clear for her to gather her skirts in hand and rush to Carryn¡¯s side.


    There was much to be done before the supper hour. The Dunival guests would all need clean sleeping quarters. There would be plenty of room for them and the soon-to-be arriving Jarls in the second lodging facility and ample space for their animals to be quartered in the stables, but Carryn would have to move swiftly to have the rooms ready in time to give their guests a chance to rest and bathe. Supper plans would have to be made for tonight - a grand feast fit for a Kongr and Drottingr¡¯s remembrance celebration - and for the rest of their stay as well.


    Not to mention that arrangements that had been made for Eda-Yute would have to be altered or canceled to make way for this change in the treaty schedule. They had not been expecting a party from Dunival for another fortnight at least. Carryn would likely not have a moment to spare until Magnor¡¯s boat left port again with the Dunival men in tow.


    ¡°Aunt! Tell me how I may assist you. I wish to be of use.¡±


    ¡°No, Lyssia.¡± Her father beckoned her to return to his side. She glanced back over her shoulder to see Azerian take her place. Let others say what they would of her outspoken cousin. He was a dutiful son and a stalwart friend.


    ¡°Lyssia, leave Carryn to her work. You must work on making yourself presentable for your performance. You will need Bjark¡¯s help to choose a song, of course, but first, you need to take care to wash away the dirt from the road and find something respectable to wear.¡±


    ¡°Yes, father.¡± Lyssia clenched her hands in her skirts. He spoke to her as if she was a child, but she recognized his next words as a peace offering.


    ¡°I asked that the fires in the bathhouse be stocked for use today, but no one else should have need of it while they are busy with preparations for tonight. I will instruct Carryn to have water sent to our visitors¡¯ rooms so they will not accidentally disturb you. You may take the key to the bathhouse and enjoy the steaming pool if you like. It would surely be relaxing after your long day. So long as you are alone¡­¡±


    Lyssia glanced up with a small smile before lowering herself into a curtsy. ¡°That would be pleasing, father. Thank you.¡±


    He nodded to her in dismissal and turned to motion Eindre forward. Bjarke materialized out of the crowd behind her uncle, and the look he gave Lyssia sent her tripping on her heels in the opposite direction. She left before she would be pulled into conversation with the Skald and, key in hand, retreated for the solace of the bathhouse and its scalding hot water.


    **********


    ¡°Twelve.¡±


    Lyssia added the last hot stone to the bathing pool, dropping it carefully into place along the line marked around the pool¡¯s outer edge. She spared only a moment¡¯s regret for using all of the stones that had been left to heat over the fire¡¯s warming shelf. The steam rising from the pool combined with the pleasant hiss and crackle of the fire and the gentle light that filtered through the hatch in the roof that she had left partially cracked were already working together to put her at ease and made it difficult to care about such things.


    ¡°I¡¯ll put them back in the fire,¡± she promised herself, throwing the gloves she¡¯d used to handle the hot stone beside the pile of clothes she¡¯d already discarded. They knocked against the key she had borrowed from Carryn and sent it skittering a few inches across the ground. She kicked it idly back toward her boots, shimmied out of her shift, and slid into the shallow end of the pool.


    A long sigh escaped her as the warmth worked its way past her sore muscles and into her bones. Lyssia had brought along a comb to use on her hair once it was free of its confines. She dunked her head beneath the surface of the pool twice, shaking her braid out, and then lifting up on her toes, she stretched out her arms and kicked up. Suddenly, she was weightless, and her worries drifted to the bottom of the pool alongside the warming stones.


    She closed her eyes only for a moment.But that moment stretched and settled heavy upon her brow, and before she knew it, she was walking the maze of her dreams again. Dreams of a young Dunival Kongre who offered her a necklace and a troublesome Ilvanian boy who offered her everything.

 Chapter 9

    The scritch-scratching sound wiggled its way into Lyssia¡¯s sleep-muddled mind.


    ¡°Diyana¡­¡± she groaned.


    The scratching ceased for a moment and then started up again, louder. Lyssia, eyes still closed, rolled over to grab a pillow and threw it toward the cage stand that stood beside her bed. The stand fell over with a clang.


    ¡°Diyana! Ah!¡±


    Lyssia sat bolt upright, reaching for the birdcage that...wasn''t there.


    She flopped back on her bed and pulled her blanket up to her chin as she remembered the scene from the previous day that she had re-lived over and over in her dreams. Her parting with Drottingr Igone and the Drakun Thisska. Diyana''s last goodbye. The twins¡¯ cart rolling away. Their sad expressions as they watched the distance between them grow, and the moment when they finally turned and she was blinded by their golden halos of hair and the tears in her eyes.


    The rest of that day was already beginning to blur and fade, but she wasn''t worried about losing it altogether. She had risked her father''s anger for arriving late at the formal supper he had planned and used up the last of the writing vellum she had begged from the Master Skald to record all the details she didn''t want to forget. The pages were folded and tucked safely away in the darkwood box beneath her book of Listorian Laikari. She would take them out and read them again when it was less painful to think about.


    The twins - gone.


    The peace treaty with Listoria - gone.


    Diyana, her beautiful songbird - gone.


    But if Diyana was gone, then what was making that noise?


    "Ahhh!" Lyssia yelled again, clutching her blanket to her chest. Her heart - switching so suddenly from panic to numbing pain to panic again - protested loudly.


    Someone - or something - thumped twice against the wooden door before resuming its scratching.


    Listening to the sharp claws of the thing standing outside her door brought to mind the claws of the Listorian Drakun she had met yesterday. She chastised herself for the thought. Of course, it wasn''t Thisska; she had left along with the rest of the Listorian party. But still, conjuring up an image in her mind of the little Drakun eased her fear, and it was curiosity that motivated her to slip out of bed and wrap a blanket around her shoulders.


    She rushed across to her desk first, searching for a mask she could comfortably hold up with one hand. If a wild beast had somehow gotten into the building and a group of men was racing up the stairs to defend her, she had to be prepared. She had been too tired to complete her face care routine after supper. Her cheeks stung as she pressed a mask against the tender skin and tiptoed over to the door.


    "Three...Two...One¡­"


    The lantern outside her door wasn''t lit anymore, but someone had already thrown open the set of windows further down the way, and weak morning light revealed the empty hall.


    "Hello?" Lyssia whispered, leaning around the door jamb to peer both ways. The hall appeared empty. Something cold and wet pressed up against her toes. She jumped back with a squeak, her eyes dropping five feet to the ground.


    Her cry of surprise startled the black puppy that had stretched up out of the crate that sat in front of her door. It fell back against a brown and white spotted puppy, who yipped loudly in protest. Lyssia glanced swiftly toward the door to her father''s rooms. Was he awake and gone already, or was he allowing his guests a late start after their late night?


    She had no way of knowing the answer. Either way, she couldn''t leave the tiny creatures out in the drafty hallway. She stepped over the crate and began maneuvering it into her room with her legs and feet.


    "Come here. It''s nice and warm in here. There we go."


    The black puppy jumped out of the crate as soon as she slid it into the room. Its fellow sat on its hind legs and cocked its head to the side as it glanced up at her. Lyssia knelt beside the crate and reached a tentative hand out to stroke its head.


    One of her father''s hunting hounds had spots that exact color. No one had told her that puppies were on the way, but where else would they have come from?


    ¡°Vas Morginnen,¡± she whispered, smiling when the puppy licked her hand.


    ¡°Hello! Don¡¯t yell. Haha.¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s first instinct when she heard the voice behind her and the door closing was to run for the dagger that had gone undisturbed since her father had instructed it hung it from the peg on the inside of her wardrobe door. She lunged in that direction before she had fully made up her mind. The blanket slipped from her shoulders. She tripped over it and landed back on her knees, the mask flying from her fingers.


    ¡°Lyssia, are you okay? Oh no! Are you hurt?¡± A hand pushed against her shoulder, gently guiding her to turn around.


    ¡°Az...Azerian? Why? Why are you¡­?¡±


    Lyssia looked up at him slowly. Every inch felt like a noose was being tightened around her throat until she met her cousin¡¯s gaze and she saw his expression fall.


    That¡¯s when the invisible rope around her throat yanked her back, and she fell onto her side and started gasping for air.


    ¡°Lyssia! Drottine!¡± Azerian grabbed hold of her shoulders again and shook her, trying to force her to take a breath. ¡°Please, Drottine! Breathe!¡±


    He gave her a hard thump on the back, and her lungs finally responded. The sensation of air rushing through them felt both like cool, sweet relief and a hot, burning brand, and it started a flood of tears down her cheeks.


    ¡°Oh, Lyssia! Yute et saedas!¡±


    Azerian sighed in relief and sat back, but as soon as his hands left Lyssia, she pulled herself another arm¡¯s length away, curled up into a ball, and began to wail.


    ¡°Nooooo!¡±


    ¡°Lyssia, what---?¡± Azerian¡¯s breath hitched as he reached for her again, but Lyssia held a hand up and threw an arm protectively around her head.


    "No, don¡¯t touch me! Leave me alone! Don¡¯t hurt me!¡±


    ¡°Hurt you? Lyssia, don¡¯t be silly! Look...Come here.¡± Azerian scooted forward and threw his arms around her.


    ¡°No! No! No!¡±


    Lyssia was not in control of herself anymore. She watched as if through a fog as her hands clawed at Azerian¡¯s and her nails left long scratches on his arms. He tried to be gentle at first, but when she didn''t respond to his words, he pinned her arms to her sides and hauled her up by force to sit beside him on the end of the bed.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you, you dunga! I¡¯m trying to make sure you don¡¯t hurt yourself!¡± He craned his neck, ignoring the scratches on his own arms as he searched for places that she might have scratched herself. He transferred his hold on her wrists to one hand and reached out to brush the hair out of her face.


    ¡°No! No!¡±


    Lyssia tried to free her hands to cover her face. When Azerian wouldn¡¯t let them go, she threw herself at him instead. She buried her face in his shoulder, her muddled mind grasping onto the one thought that remained crystal clear: hide.


    Azerian''s arms wrapped around her in something akin to a bjurn''s embrace. Lyssia didn''t protest. The pressure ground her and helped her fight against the scream that still threatened to break loose.


    In all the hours she had spent woolgathering as she sat hunched over her desk, she had never pictured what it would be like if someone barged into her room and she had to meet them face to face. Her daydreams were usually reserved for setting sail from the coast on a grand adventure or sneaking out for a twilight dance in a meadow full of glowing buttercups. Maskless, yes, but alone.


    Because if she had pictured someone else there, it would have been a nightmare.


    Even her father could not bear to see her deformed face. How could anyone else? They couldn¡¯t. They shouldn¡¯t. They wouldn¡¯t.


    He had explained to her the reason for the mask and the locks and the dagger as soon as she was old enough to understand his words. She couldn¡¯t show her face to anyone or tell her about the scars, because there was no way to tell how someone would react. Either they would pity her outright for her weakness, or they would fear her for the mark of illness she bore, or they would hate her for being so different and ugly.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    He had never used that word - ugly - but it wasn¡¯t hard to fill in the blanks.


    She could hear his hard voice echoing in her ear and his rough hands holding her head still so that she couldn¡¯t look away as he spun his cautionary tales. The ending was always the same.


    People hated the unknown. They feared the unknown. They would not want the unknown to walk among them. He didn¡¯t know exactly what the outcome would be if her secret ever came out.


    Ostracization. Banishment. Death.


    ¡°But if even one person finds out, then the whole stead will know, and the Jarls will know, and the whole village, and¡±---his voice would dip into a whisper and his hands would shake---¡±I would not be able to protect you against so many.¡±


    Which was why he had made his choice to protect her savagely now. It was her shame, her secret, but he would help her keep it.


    Her father acted out of love. She had never heard him utter the word, but she held onto that truth. He would protect her because he loved her. The least she could do was obey him. Wear the masks, lock herself in her room, attend private lessons. Learn how to not appear weak, improve her mind, learn to protect herself. And above all, keep the secret.


    She couldn¡¯t even do that. Azerian had seen her damaged face, and she had recognized the look of horror on his. It was only a matter of seconds before he would cast her aside and run to find someone to help drag her out to the courtyard to be judged.


    What was he waiting for?


    Lyssia gathered all her strength and pushed away from Azerian. She turned to crawl up the bed until she reached her pillow and thrust her head under it.


    ¡°Lyssia?¡±


    ¡°Go! Just go!¡±


    ¡°Lyssia!¡± Azerian followed her and tried to push the pillow aside.


    ¡°No! Don¡¯t look at me! I¡¯m hideous!¡±


    ¡°Hey! Don¡¯t you talk about my best friend like that!¡±


    He gave one more tug and fell onto his back, the pillow clutched in his hands. He tossed it over his head. It smacked against the wardrobe. The puppies, who had been investigating the wardrobe¡¯s legs, turned tail and ran for the cover of Lyssia¡¯s bed.


    It wasn¡¯t their yips of protest that made Lyssia glance up but Azerian¡¯s words.


    ¡°Your best friend? Really?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Azerian sat up and looked down at her with a lopsided grin. ¡°I know you don¡¯t have one, and I don¡¯t have one. I don¡¯t have any friends here. And I saw how upset you were about those Listorian girls and your bird. You loved your bird. I don''t know why you gave her away. So I thought maybe we could be friends. And...and then I thought what do you do when your friend is sad? You cheer her up. So...the puppies.¡±


    ¡°You brought me puppies?¡±


    ¡°I overheard the houndsman talking about a dog that gave birth a week ago and---¡±


    ¡°You stole them?¡±


    ¡°I borrowed them.¡±


    ¡°You stole them!¡±


    ¡°For you!¡±


    Lyssia couldn¡¯t think of anything to say to that, so she laughed. It felt so good she didn¡¯t stop for a full two minutes. Azerian crossed his legs before him and continued to smile down at her. His expression held a touch of pride as if he was mentally patting himself on the back for single- handedly turning her tears into laughter. Most of her face was covered by hair and her arm, but she still had to turn away from his scrutiny.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know,¡± he whispered into the heavy silence that followed Lyssia¡¯s laughter.


    ¡°No one does.¡±


    ¡°Who did it?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Lyssia peeked up, surprised by the new vehemence in his voice.


    ¡°Who hurt you? Was it...was it your father? I heard him yelling at you the other day, but I didn¡¯t think...Hviss, Lyssia! Does my mother know?¡±


    Lyssia sat up inch by inch, her eyes fixed on Azerian¡¯s bare feet. ¡°No¡­¡±


    ¡°Well, we have to tell someone! Come on!¡± He jumped up and reached for her hand, shooting her a pained expression when she shied away.


    ¡°No, my father didn¡¯t hurt me. Why would you even ask that?¡±


    ¡°If he didn¡¯t do this to you, who did?¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s propped her hands on her knees and started down at them as if searching for the answers in the lines on her palm. Azerian waited patiently for her to speak.


    ¡°The same thing that killed my mother did...this...to me.¡± She waved a hand in front of her face and let it flop back to the bed, glancing at Azerian to see his reaction. He looked confused. ¡°She got sick. She died when I was a baby. I was sick too. I got better, but the scars never went away¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Azerian said.


    He sank onto his knees and placed his head on the bed facing her. She stretched out until her head lay opposite his. ¡°No one can know, Azerian.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Because if anyone knew, they would kill me.¡±


    ¡°No, they wouldn¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°Shhh!¡± Lyssia hissed, her eyes flying to the door for the first time since Azerian had surprised her. ¡°Yes, they would.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and thank you for that.¡± She snorted to show that she was making a joke, but she did feel more than a little grateful for this turn of events. ¡°But if my father finds out I told you, he¡¯ll kill us both. Even if you are my best friend.¡±


    ¡°Really? I am?¡± Azerian¡¯s smile lit up his face. It was the brightest smile Lyssia had ever seen. She nodded and ducked her head, embarrassed by the sudden wave of shyness that overtook her.


    ¡°Then as your best friend, your best cousin---"


    "Hey!" Lyssia said, feeling a tad protective toward Roakev who, insufferable know-it-all that he might be, had been the only person at the stead even close to her age before Azerian''s arrival.


    "---and steadfast ally, I pledge myself to your service, Lyssia, future Drottingr of Ilvana.¡±


    Azerian held out his hand for hers, and this time Lyssia allowed him to pull her from the bed and lead her to the center of the room. He knelt and, with the utmost solemnity, bent his head over her right hand.


    ¡°I shall be your most loyal champion. My hands, my feet, and my voice are yours. Your fight is my fight. Your secret is my secret. Until the day I die...or the day you decide that you are ready to take your mask off. And on that day, I must insist that you call your best friend to stand by your side.¡±


    When Lyssia didn¡¯t respond, he looked up. She had known him for only a short while, but she was certain this was the most serious she had ever seen him.


    Carefully, so as not to offend him, she said, ¡°That day will never happen, Azerian.¡±


    "You becoming the Drottingr or you taking off your mask?"


    "I''ve been thinking¡­" Lyssia''a gaze blurred as her eyes turned inward to the quiet place she went to think things through. Azerian''s grip on her hand reminded her that she should try to speak her inner ruminations out loud, but she wasn''t sure how to find the right words.


    "I''ve been thinking that everyone wears a mask. Like...mhmmm...all the time. Or nearly all the time. Not a leather mask. We''re always...we...hide from each other. Even you. You''re not wearing a mask now, but you are."


    She looked out again and met his eyes. "Even me. You have no way of knowing what part of myself I''m hiding or how much. You just know that...I am."


    Lyssia gulped when she saw the frown in his eyes. "That''s how it is with everyone is what I''ve been thinking," she finished in a rush and then bit her tongue to keep from continuing.


    Azerian was silent for a moment, still as stone frowning up at her, and then he shook his head and declared, ¡°You¡¯re real smart. You know that?¡±


    Lyssia shrugged.


    ¡°But despite all that, I trust you. I pledge my life to you, my lady.¡±


    Lyssia''s lips pursed like she had bitten into a sour cherry. "I don''t know if I should, but I trust you.¡± She squeezed his hand, her expression softening. "This is my first pledge of fealty. I think I''m supposed to have a token to bestow you or a gift, a piece of land or something."


    "Yeah?" Azerian''s lopsided smile was back, the one that hinted toward mischief.


    "But all I have to give you is my trust."


    "And it is more than enough, Drottine." He dropped her hand and stood, giving her a bow as he spoke her title. "Although, I have a boon to ask of you."


    Lyssia backed up until her legs hit the bed and sat down. Her hair fell into her face again. She raked it forward and let it hide her face for a moment before gathering the loose strands together and tying them back with the length of string tied around her wrist. She met Azerian''s gaze head-on. His eyes did not stray from hers, though her scars were on full display.


    ¡°A boon? So soon?¡±


    "Just one." He held up a finger and paused, waiting for her to nod to continue. ¡°Your first duty as my best friend should be...returning these little guys." He bent to scoop a puppy up with each hand. Lyssia held out her arms, and he deposited the brown and white puppy on her lap.


    "But...I didn''t steal them," she said, rubbing along the puppy''s back and scratching a finger behind its ear.


    "Yes, but it''s your duty to assist me."


    Azerian set the black puppy on the bed and sat beside it. Lyssia hid a yawn as she leaned her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes and smiled, allowing a few seconds for him to wonder what her answer would be.


    "Fine,¡± she sighed. ¡°I''ll help. But if my father or uncle sees us, we''re going to be dragged into a Dunival meeting."


    Azerian made a sound like the thought disgusted him. Lyssia wondered if he would react that way to any meeting or if he harbored hate for the Dunival party, and then she wondered if she should be shying away from her duties. Whatever those were. No one had told her what was expected from her today.


    She shoved both thoughts to the back of her mind where they wouldn''t bother her and held her puppy close. ¡°Could we sneak down to the kitchens first? I didn''t eat much at supper last night. I was too nervous."


    "Really? I eat more when I''m nervous. Oh, hey! I almost forgot."


    Azerian gave her head a gentle push with his shoulder so she sat up and dug into his pocket to retrieve a blue handkerchief. "This is for you. I might have sat on it, but it should still be good."


    He unfolded the handkerchief on the bed to reveal a mess of slightly squashed berries and a round breakfast pastry that looked sad and flat.


    "Oh...thank you," Lyssia murmured. Azerian gave her such a pitiful look that she could do nothing but pop a berry into her mouth. She took a bite of pastry, closing her eyes so she wouldn''t see its shape. Her stomach didn''t care that it had been Azerian''s pocket. "Mmmm." She finished the pastry in three bites.


    "We''ll stop by and relieve the cook of a tray of those on our way to the houndskeep.¡±


    ¡°Mmk,¡± Lyssia said, licking sticky juice from her fingers. ¡°But I need to get dressed first and...take care of my face.¡±


    Azerian gave her a sidelong look full of questions, but all he said was, ¡°I¡¯ll wait outside.¡±


    He plucked both of the puppies from the bed, placed them in the crate, and started for the door. Lyssia followed to close the door behind him, but he stuck a boot out to catch it and whispered through the crack, ¡°Don¡¯t take too long, best friend. I¡¯d rather not get caught before our adventure even begins.¡±


    ¡°Alright, best friend. Just keep them quiet.¡± Lyssia laughed and closed the door in his face.

 Chapter 10A

    Sunlight drifting through tree branches painted Lyssia''s closed lids. She tipped her head back, listening to the hustle and bustle of a stead alive with activity. Azerian was late for their session. Even though he had told her not two hours ago that he planned to be punctual and prepared.


    She was used to her cousin¡¯s tardiness. It wasn''t that he didn''t know where to find her. They always held their practice sessions in the performer''s courtyard that connected the stead''s two lodging houses.


    Three trees grew around the perimeter of the stone courtyard. The two shorter trees grew blooms that gave off a sweet scent during the warm months. The white and gold blossoms when dissolved on the tongue tasted faintly of vanilla and sunshine. The third tree didn¡¯t bear any blooms, but it stood green and tall above the other two.


    Lyssia always chose to perch on the bench beneath this third tree. There was something beautiful about its unchanging nature. No matter the season, its leaves never withered or fell.


    ¡°Jarl Halvor! Sorev!¡±


    ¡°Jarl Fulrik! Well met, old friend!¡±


    "I''m pleased to see you and your son made it in time. When Kongr Dizean said he was only giving the rest of the council two days to gather, I was worried my western brethren would not be able to make it."


    "The messenger happened to come to our door the night before we intended to set out for the Yute meet. It was quite fortuitous."


    "Yes, I''m sure. You''ve heard the news then? The Dunival¡­"


    Lyssia bent forward and busied herself with the instrument that sat across her lap, trying to ignore Fulrik''s voice. She recognized Halvor''s name, but she had no interest in eavesdropping - however unintentionally - on his conversations.


    She had already tuned her lyra that morning to be played manually, but she began prepping the instrument for use with her club. She knew no one else at the stead who was as eager to practice the club¡¯s use as she was, but it was the reason she preferred the larger instrument to its smaller cousin. She could tickle the chords and strum them at the same time. The bowed lyra sang to her, so much emotion released by one fluid motion.


    Lyssia held the club an inch above the strings, pretending to draw the bowed stick across all four strings at an angle with her right hand while she ran two fingers along the first cord. The instrument was silent, but she heard music in her mind. She heard the club catch against the fourth string.


    Shifting her right foot forward slightly and allowing the lyra to settle more against her knee on that side, Lyssia laid the club to the strings and pulled it straight across. The low sound it produced vibrated first in her ears, wiggled its way down her throat, and settled in her chest. She leaned into the club and ran it up just the first string, testing the lay of the notes. Then she stopped to listen for a reaction from the nearby Jarls.


    Fulrik did not pause his account of the version of the last forty-eight hours that he was privy to. Lyssia reached out to tighten the pull of the lyra''s first string and moved on to test the next.


    ¡°Much has happened since your arrival," Halvor remarked. "Mark my words: change is coming, and we must be a part of it. We need support. Are there any other of our brethren in attendance?"


    "One - Jarl Gavin. He bears a black and blue raven as his mark. He''s brought his wife with him."


    ¡°Gavin?¡± Halvor¡¯s voice was bitter with disappointment. "I do not know him well. But he has no sons to pose competition, so he may be of use to us yet.¡±


    ¡°He has youthful strength, but he doesn''t seem very bright. He keeps his own counsel most of the time. It''s clear he was not educated in the power of the tongue.¡±


    ¡°Even a raven can be taught to speak a few words on its master''s behalf. I see no reason to delay our plans for---¡±


    Lyssia ceased in her ministrations, every muscle in her body going rigid.


    "Father!"


    Lyssia didn''t recognize this third voice, but she knew it must belong to Halvor''s son. She could feel all three pairs of eyes turning to her.


    She waited a moment and then glanced over her shoulder, holding her club out steady like a sword before her. The older man with grey in his hair would be Fulrik. Halvor and his son were tall figures in half masks, riding clocks bearing matching crests, and the ink-dark hair of their family. Lyssia noted that Halvor - whom she had been forced to remember due to all the grief he gave her father during the annual Jarlmeets - had sheared his hair short. A distinctive look that made him look unwell.


    Sorev''s hair hung long like Roakev''s, nearly tangling in the polished silver brooch he wore on his cloak. Lyssia''s eyes flicked down to the brooch and away quickly. Sorev''s family claimed a unique symbol for their crest - a bjurn with bloodied jaws opened wide and claws raised to strike. It was a far more violent and stylized symbol than Lyssia and her father bore. She did not like to stare at it.


    "Jarl Fulrik, Jarl Halvor, vas daginnen. Forgive me if I do not stand."


    "Of course, Drottine. Of course." Halvor''s reply came even before she could finish her greeting. The three could barely contain their haste as they offered her polite bows and quit the courtyard.


    Lyssia, chafing against the awkward silence of their retreat, quickly finished her work tuning her lyra and played a series of warmup chords. Without conscious thought, she leaned into the club and began to play the song that Bjarke had chosen for her to perform the night of Rijek¡¯s remembrance feast.


    She had woken up in time from her impromptu nap in the bathhouse with just enough time to return to her rooms and find the black dress that someone - probably Carryn - had laid out for her beside a note from the Skald indicating which song she was to sing.


    The song was short and easy to memorize, which was crucially important as she had all of ten minutes to learn it. But more than that - it was mournful and dignified and beautiful in a sad way, an appropriate choice for the remembrance feast of a Kongr. The entire celebration was appropriately planned.


    Magnor sat beside Lyssia¡¯s father, presiding over the feast and her performance in stoic silence. Azerian and Roakev had created their own form of tribute that involved flaming arrows and two bales of hay sculpted to resemble floating funeral barges. To them, Magnor offered sincere thanks and cups of the dark beer that he had brought from Dunival. To her, he offered nothing.


    Lyssia was forced to take a cup of beer out of politeness, but she could only pretend to drink it. Two sips of the strong, bitter brew was enough for her. Lyssia heard Magnor''s men call it volvstot and wulvstot, which she thought an appropriate name for a drink that had such a bitter bite. Azerian did not fare much better than her with his cup, but her father and uncle drank copiously to Rijek¡¯s memory.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    It had been a long night, and the next day, Lyssia found herself nursing a horrible headache that had little to do with anything she drank the night before and more to do with exhaustion. The feast stirred a mixture of emotions to life in her heart that she had never felt before.


    Sadness chiefly, but also fear so deep that she couldn''t lay still in bed until she poured her thoughts out on vellum and watched the words curl up and die in her fire grate. It had felt like a release at the time, but she knew the fear would return. She heard it now in her playing. It was wrong, all wrong. The notes weren¡¯t supposed to be sharp. She was rushing them.


    Lyssia paused to shake her hands out and started over again. Her mind cast about for something else to think about and landed on Fulrik and Halvor and the mass of Jarls that had descended upon the stead over the past two days.


    The count was up to fourteen Jarls in attendance. Twenty-four Listorian guests including the three Jarlswives and the pack of sons that had tagged along with their fathers to attend the Jarlsmeet. Lyssia groaned internally. Twenty-six, including Sorev and his father.


    And on top of that, the twenty guests from Dunival they now had to house and entertain. How had Carryn found room for so many guests? How was she going to feed them all?


    ¡°Lyssia...Lyssia...Lys!¡±


    Lyssia started and turned to find Azerian perched on the bench beside her. "Oh, hi."


    "Hi...You feeling alright?"


    "Yeah. Why?"


    He leaned back, crossed one leg on top of the other, and began to roll a bone flute up and down his leg. Lyssia was so caught up in the motion that she jumped again when he spoke.


    "You were staring at that tree and grimacing while you played. Did I miss something? Has the tree offended you in some way? Because I''ve never been fond of it. I could have it chopped down within the hour."


    "No. I was just thinking¡­"


    "Thinking about anyone in particular?" He gave her a meaningful look, and she swore he batted his deceptively long eyelashes at her. "Has one of our handsome young visitors finally managed to catch your eye?"


    "Nooo," Lyssia said, drawing out the word to make him pause. "I was actually thinking about the mortality of parents."


    "Oh well¡­" Azerian sat up straight and cleared his throat. Lyssia heard his clenched brow in his voice. "I''m prepared to weigh in on that topic if you want to catch me up."


    Lyssia leaned into his shoulder, hiding from the gaze of passerby, and shook her head.


    "Then maybe you''d prefer to hear my excuse for being late. And before you say anything¡­" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slightly squashed pastry wrapped in a blue handkerchief.


    Lyssia''s lips lifted at the sight.


    Same old, Az.


    She extended her hand to accept the pastry, but she recoiled in pain as soon as the treat touched her hand.


    Pain shot through her fingers, coursed up her arm, lodged deep in her throat. When she opened her eyes, it wasn¡¯t berry juice that stained her fingers but blood.


    She dropped the pastry on the ground and reached for the hem of her skirt. She had no idea what had injured her, but she had to staunch the flow. There was so much blood. So much...


    "Lyssia?¡±


    ¡°Hmmm? Sorry. It...slipped.¡± Lyssia clenched and clenched her left hand. It was whole, unblemished. There was a red mark on her palm, but it wasn''t blood. She rubbed the sticky berry juice off on the bottom of her skirt before glancing up to meet Azerian¡¯s eager gaze.


    ¡°Did you hear me? I have reason to beg your forgiveness, my lady. I was struck with sudden inspiration this morning, and I have been able to think of nothing else until my composition was complete."


    "Another song?"


    "Yes. The uh¡­" Azerian cleared his throat, his eyes dropping to the bone flute he twirled between his hands. "...the lyrics have yet to come to me."


    "They will. But we both know the notes are what''s important." She gave his knee a squeeze and slid down the bench to give him more room. "So go on! Play it for me."


    "I want to hear how it sounds as a duet¡­" he trailed off again. Lyssia leaned forward, intent on needling him about absent minds, but she paused when she saw him struggle to take a deep breath.


    He flung one leg over the bench so he straddled it and continued rolling his flute down, up, down. His nerves only seemed to come to the forefront in these moments before he debuted a new tune. Lyssia, who would have ordinarily tried to coax it out of him gently, had no patience today.


    She huffed at his silent fidgeting. "Should I go tell Bjarke to fetch a lur player?"


    "No, I wrote the piece for flute and bowed lyra. Oh look, you''ve got one! Vas adhuil!"


    Lyssia rolled her eyes but smiled at him.


    "Don''t tell Bjarke I have another half-finished song."


    His whispered request prompted Lyssia to lean forward and answer in kind. "Why not?"


    "Because he''s been trying to convince my mother that I should study history."


    "Study history...with Bjarke? Why...? Oh! He wants you to be his apprentice!"


    "Not officially."


    The dread in Azerian''s voice didn''t make sense to her. Being beholden to Bjarke didn''t sound like a sunset stroll to Lyssia, but Azerian studying to become a Skald...that was the first thing that had made sense to her in the last three days.


    "I think that''s great! That''s wonderful! Bjarke''s right. You''d make a fine Skald."


    "Bjarke''s right?" Azerian''s mouth fell open.


    "Will you not even consider it?" Lyssia asked.


    "I''m not meant to be a Skald. I''m sworn to your service, remember? I''m your champion. Your Drengr."


    "I''m not sure I need or want a Drengr, so¡­" Lyssia folded her hands primly before her, club still in hand. She lifted her chin high. "What I will need is a recorder of history, because I''m going to be making history."


    "I don''t doubt that,¡± Azerian laughed. ¡°But even your our Mighty Kongr Dizean has a proclaimed Drengr. Uncle Eindre¡­"


    "Then I''ll just have to give the job to Roakev. He can follow in his father''s footsteps. He''s much better at dealing with people anyway."


    "Hey now! That hurts!" Azerian pressed a hand to his heart, but Lyssia only laughed and tapped one finger lightly against his flute.


    "We''re not done with this conversation, but I do believe you had a song you wanted to teach me."


    "Right. Here goes. Just pick it up as you can. Keep two paces behind me; I want it to sound discordant. And don''t try to upstage me, my lady. I''m the Drakun."


    He swiveled his head to check who was nearby before placing the bone flute on the bench between them and producing a jorki from his belt. Lyssia stifled her surprise by readjusting her hold on her instrument, but she was secretly pleased to see Azerian showing his true colors.


    The jorki was called "pan flute" by some. Others referred to it as the "child''s flute" because of its deceptively small and simple design. But when Azerian played it, the wooden instrument became a master''s tool.


    And it was nearly indestructible. An acceptable choice for a young musician who gained a reputation as someone who throws instruments when frustrated. It was a good thing that phase was behind them all, or Bjarke wouldn''t be considering taking on Azerian as a skald-dreg.


    Azerian gave the flat flute a quick polish with his shirt. Then with a wink, he took a deep breath, brought the flute to his lips, and began to play a fast melody that made Lyssia nervous. She struggled to keep up at first, but before too long, she was caught up in the piece, blind and deaf to anything else.


    Azerian¡¯s song was constructed out of chaos, but it had moments of resolution as well. It possessed a beserk beauty.


    **********


    When the song came to an end and their instruments had finally found harmony together, Lyssia was surprised to find tears in her eyes.


    ¡°Well...what did...you...think?¡± Azerian asked in between gasps for air........

 Chapter 10B

    When the song came to an end and their instruments had finally found harmony together, Lyssia was surprised to find tears in her eyes.


    ¡°Well...what did...you...think?¡± Azerian asked in between gasps for air.


    ¡°It was good,¡± Lyssia answered honestly, and then realizing he was expecting more, she quickly added, ¡°It made me think of something.¡±


    Azerian opened his mouth wider as if to say something, but he was still catching his breath from his frantic flute playing. He waved at her to continue.


    Lyssia hadn¡¯t had anything prepared to say. She surprised herself by declaring, ¡°The fight we witnessed yesterday.¡±


    ¡°The fight we...participated...in yesterday.¡± He nodded.


    Lyssia glanced away from Azerian, allowing him another minute to catch his breath, and saw that they had amassed a small gathering of onlookers. They were facing toward the dusty exercise and stable yards, away from the courtyard and benches, but the crowd stood before them and whispered praise for Azerian¡¯s song.


    All eyes turned to her as Azerian raised his flute again and pointed to Lyssia.


    ¡°You sure you¡¯re ready?¡± Lyssia asked.


    In response, he set the jorki aside, retrieved his bone flute, and played the opening notes from the mourning drigneig she''d been practicing earlier. Lyssia cast her eyes out over the crowd one more time as she set her club to the strings. The fingers of her left hand - which rested delicately on the strings above the wooden club - jumped when they found Magnor¡¯s gaze.


    That was why she chose to start playing the Lay of Rilken. Surely, there was nothing behind it but a memory jogged free by surprise. It was the only song she knew that mentioned Dunival by name.


    She could not read Magnor¡¯s reaction, if he recognized the tune. He and his men still bore masks. Azerian paused in his playing, and he burned holes in the back of her head until she turned to him.


    She was not supposed to be the impulsive one. She could read the accusation in his eyes, but now that her hands had started the song, her voice could not be stopped. She jumped into the first stanza in the shortened version of the Lay of Rilken that she had penned years ago out of frustration for failing yet again to impress the Kongr with a recital of the original song. Azerian had been joyfully embraced the change in pace, and for a while, it had been all they had played together, much to the chagrin of Bjarke and her father.


    As the first verse of the Lay fell from her lips - ¡±Rilken the mighty, Rilken the bold¡± - he added his flute to her voice. Their version was not a long song, and seemingly before she could take a breath, the last note was escaping through her lips, and she was forced once more to sit up from her position crouched over her lyra and acknowledge the crowd. It had grown to include more of the regular stead residents as well as guests and what looked to be the entire Dunival party.


    Magnor had inched his way forward until he stood right at Lyssia¡¯s side. She had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. He reached out a hand, and she passed him her club. He turned it this way and that, appearing for all the world to be fascinated by the wooden tool. Lyssia passed awkward glances between Magnor¡¯s bent head and the Dunival man who stood at his shoulder.


    She couldn¡¯t tell if Magnor was angry. Surely, he must be. She had just serenaded him and his men with the memory of Dunival¡¯s great betrayal. How could he not be angry? The real question was what punishment the embarrassment she had just put the entire stead through would warrant.


    It felt like she sat there stuck in the sandpit of her mind for an hour, unable to even fidget as she sank slowly more and more into her thoughts. And then, finally, Magnor looked up and smiled at her. It was the first time she had seen him smile since his arrival, and his eyes lingered on the mountain peak that adorned her mask.


    ¡°I see no feathers sprouting from your throat or your instrument, and yet I could have sworn it was a lark''s song that graced my ears. Your voice reminds me of a song that my mother used to sing to me, a lovely lullaby. I wish that I was graced with such beauty of voice that I would be able to sing it for you."


    The crowd took in a collective breath and shifted a step backward. Lyssia was sure the breath was in place of a groan.


    "You''ll just have to take my word for it. A lovely song. A lovely voice."


    Lyssia was stunned speechless. The Lay of Rilken, the song of the great betrayal, reminded the Kongr of Dunival of a lullaby? Yet she couldn''t help but feel touched by the emotion she heard in his voice. She had to believe that his smile was for his mother and the memory of her lullaby, but it was nice that she was the one who had brought it forth.


    It seemed like everyone was waiting for her to speak, so she cleared her throat and attempted to add a bit of lightness to her voice.


    "I''m sure your mother had a beautiful voice. I''m sorry I never got to hear her sing, but a song is a good memory to keep. You ought to praise my cousin''s playing as well."


    "Ahh...of course. Well played, Azerian. I also envy your skill with the flute."


    "Oh no, I''m just the accompanist. Lyssia often reminds me I''m too prideful for my own good, but I thank you."


    "On the contrary, I think you an avid musician," Magnor said. "You should take pride where pride is due."


    Lyssia stole the flask from Azerian''s hand and used it to hide her smirk. Jealousy and pride...could boys talk of nothing else?


    The man shadowing Magnor shifted, to remind Magnor of his presence or simply step back, Lyssia didn''t know. It was possible he suffered the same malady that Azerian possessed - the inability to stand still.


    Most of the crowd had dispersed, stead workers hurrying back to their chores and guests seeking other entertainment. No doubt, they would return if she and Azerian took up their playing again, but she thought it time to vacate their seats and allow other performers to take their place.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    She wanted to suggest this to Azerian, but Magnor and his companion stayed rooted to the spot, and it would look rude for her to turn her back to them.


    Magnor gripped the strange man''s arm, took a step back from him, and gestured with a slight bow as if presenting him to her. "I don''t believe I have introduced my second, V---"


    "Azerian, you dunga!" Roakev stood on the edge of the exercise yard, a long spear held out before him. He brandished it at Azerian. "I''m trying to enjoy a practice bout, and you''ve stolen my audience!"


    Azerian jumped from his seat like a snake had bitten him. He handed both of his instruments to Lyssia and hopped up onto the bench to address Roakev.


    "I did not! Is it my fault they prefer my music to being pummeled by you? And by the way, was I invited to take a whack at your head, or is that honor only reserved for guests?"


    "You were invited. You were supposed to meet us a half hour ago."


    "I do apologize for throwing off your schedule, my lord." Azerian flung his arms wide and bowed so low Lyssia was afraid he was going to fall over. She scooted as far back as she could until half her bottom hung uncomfortably off the edge of the bench. Just in case.


    Azerian did not even falter as he straightened. "But as you can see - I had a previous engagement, and I forgot!"


    Roakev slammed the blunted end of his staff into the ground and proclaimed, "Excuses spoken by a coward!"


    Azerian responded to Roakev''s insult in the expected way. He grabbed the flask, took a long swig of cider, and stalked off without a backward glance.


    Lyssia sighed. ¡°I¡¯m invisible, as usual.¡±


    "Invisible? Never."


    Lyssia glanced up at Magnor, unsure what sort of response he was expecting.


    "Well, clearly I am. But only when bouts of honor are involved."


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you jump in there and steal a staff? Put them both to shame,¡± he said.


    ¡°Not today.¡±


    Magnor chuckled softly, and Lyssia took her chances in turning away and placing her club and Azerian''s flutes on the bench. She shifted her lyra from where it had settled between her legs, untangling the bottom from her skirt before leaning it against the bench beside the club.


    She bent to retrieve the pastry that had slipped from her fingers earlier, her breath held against the memory of dropping it.


    "Ooh¡­" The breath whooshed out her lungs, making room for blinding pain. "Ugh! Ahmmmmm¡­."


    Blood coursing down her hand. Pain coursing up her arm. A polished knife shimmering in dappled light, twisting, turning, landing...landing point down in the top of a muddy leather riding boot.


    "Aaaaaah!"


    "My father..."


    "Drottine!"


    The shout, echoed by four different voices, broke her trance.


    She was on the ground. Her hands were splayed before her, one palm squishing the pastry flat. It oozed dark juice from between her fingers. She blinked to clear her vision and found herself staring at a pair of boots.


    The sight sent her reeling, and she reached without thinking for the nearest hand before she could pitch forward. Magnor pulled Lyssia to her feet, and she stood there for a moment, both of her hands gripping his.


    She didn''t open her eyes again until she felt the dizziness recede, and then she quickly cast her gaze about to confirm her situation. She was surrounded by Jarlsons, Sorev, Halvor''s son, among them. It felt natural to lean toward Magnor and shift her grip to his arm. He cast an imperious look around the circle of boys, and they withdrew, casting dark glances over their shoulders.


    Lyssia''s grip on Magnor''s arm softened, but he didn''t insist that she release him, and so she stood there close beside him, half-hidden behind his shoulder, and focused on taking deep breaths.


    "Lyssia, are you alright?" he asked twice before she answered.


    ¡°Yes, it was just a...headache. I get strong headaches. They mess with my balance sometimes.¡±


    ¡°Shall I escort you to your room then?¡± Magnor started to lead her in the opposite direction from the exercise yard, but he stopped when she pulled back.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine now.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure? Because I don¡¯t mind---¡±


    ¡°I want to watch Roakev¡¯s bout. Besides, I¡¯m not sure you can be spared. Surely, they will expect you to participate. Unless it¡¯s unseemly for a Kongr to participate in such sport with Jarlsons. I wouldn¡¯t know.¡±


    Lyssia tipped her head back to survey the blank surface of his mask. She had hardly had reason to notice before, but he was tall. Nowhere near Bjarke¡¯s height, but certainly taller than Azerian. Perhaps even taller than Roakev.


    She cast back through her thoughts trying to remember if she had seen them standing together. What came to mind was an image of him standing chest to chest, eye to eye with her father. He had not stood so tall the last time she had seen him three years previous. She was sure of it. Did the responsibility of an entire kongdomr make one go through a growth spurt?


    Magnor bent under her scrutiny, bringing his shoulders and head closer to her. ¡°I¡¯m sure I could be persuaded to throw my glove into the ring.¡±


    ¡°Then I must stay and watch.¡±


    ¡°As you will, Drottine. Please allow this humble ally of yours to escort you to a viewing area. Um...Your instruments?¡±


    Lyssia cast an eye to her lyra but waved her hand dismissively. ¡°No one will harm them. If I¡¯m lucky, the lyra will show up in my room later as if by magic.¡±


    As she predicted, Roakev cried out for Magnor to join him as soon as they stepped forward to the wooden rail that circled the exercise yard. Lyssia spotted a raven-haired woman she didn¡¯t know holding onto her aunt¡¯s elbow as they made their way to the row of seats set along one edge of the railing.


    ¡°Aunt Nimeah!¡± she called out.


    Nimeah stopped and turned toward her.


    ¡°Please allow me to sit with you! Kongr Magnor.¡± Lyssia extricated herself from Magnor¡¯s hold and curtsied to him before stepping forward to meet Nimeah¡¯s young escort.


    ¡°Drottine Lyssia, it is an honor to meet you. My name is Sidne. I''m Jarl Gavin''s wife.¡± She winced as she attempted a curtsy. Between Nimeah leaning on her arm and her pregnant belly, she had a hard time of it.


    ¡°Stand, Sidne. Please. Don''t be discomfited on my behalf.¡± Lyssia¡¯s hand hovered over her arm as Sidne straightened and smiled sweetly at her. ¡°Jarl Gavin?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Gavin Brinson. Our hold is small and to the west. I am not surprised you don''t recognize---¡±


    ¡°I recognize his name, and I''m pleased to meet you. I''m eager to hear talk of Ilvana¡¯s western reaches. Perhaps you could help me organize an audience with your husband.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Drottine. I''m sure he would be pleased to gain an audience with you.¡±


    ¡°Well...yes¡­¡± Lyssia¡¯s eyes darted away from Sidne''s, which shone with scorching enthusiasm. ¡°Nimeah, I heard you were ill. Are you feeling better?¡±


    The older woman seemed to droop off Sidne¡¯s arm like a heavy coat sleeve. She pulled herself up at Lyssia¡¯s question and gave her a sad smile. ¡°Much better. Yes. Just¡­tired...a little. My husband gave me something to help me sleep, but I...I could not rest properly . I thought an afternoon walk would be...nice. And then dear Sidne found me.¡±


    ¡°It is my pleasure, lady Nimeah. I had need of exercise, and now I have need of a rest. I saw you fall, Drottine. I hope you are well?¡± Sidne asked, her voice full of genuine concern.


    ¡°Just a mild headache. I did not wish to miss Roakev¡¯s performance. If I may suggest...the chairs...¡±


    Nimeah nodded and Sidne reached out to place a hand on Lyssia¡¯s arm as they moved to claim three chairs. She wondered what it must look like - a woman of advanced pregnancy not being escorted but acting as escort to two other women. But Sidne smiled over at her as she settled Nimeah into her seat, and Lyssia was suddenly glad for the buffer between her and her aunt.


    Sidne seemed the type who was adept at keeping up a conversation to hold awkward silences at bay. For their sake, Lyssia hoped her gift for assumptions was correct again. Otherwise, they were in for an afternoon full of awkward silence.

 Chapter 11A

    One hour later, Lyssia was still suffering dizziness from her double vision, and her ears were exhausted.


    Sidne had wasted no time in proving Lyssia¡¯s assumptions correct. She kept up a soft, constant commentary as the boys brandished spears and staffs and chased each other back and forth across the yard. She directed most of her comments to Nimeah, but every once in a while, she would attempt to pull Lyssia into the conversation. Lyssia stuck to two word answers, her attention riveted by the display of brutality before her.


    Lyssia had to close her eyes at times to protect herself from her dizziness. She suspected that she would be better off if she''d gotten a chance to eat the pastry Azerian had brought her. She''d left it on the ground by the performer''s bench. Her stomach turned at the thought of sweet things. Some bread would be nice though, and water. She was parched.


    There was nothing to be done about it now unless she wished to call more attention to herself and risk disturbing the bout. She imagined her father standing above her and issuing a challenge to practice patience and fortitude. Even as a figment of her imagination, his look of disappointment was piercing. She dared not risk it.


    There was little finesse in the boys'' movements. Jarlsons were raised to protect their homes. They would have had need to use their skills for anything besides hunting and sport, but she knew that one and all had been educated and trained and likely had it in them to try to use their heads.


    They just seemed to prefer blunt hacking and muscle flexing. There was no shortage of glances thrown her way, but she tried to avoid locking eyes with a participant until they fell. She rewarded every boy who was forced out of the arena with five seconds of eye contact and a wide smile. Hopefully, some show of appreciation - heartfelt or not - would help soothe the young men''s bruised prides.


    In Lyssia''s opinion, Azerian alone displayed any power of the brain. That was why he kept in the game while being set against older opponents, equipped with more training and muscle.


    He was quick.


    He was nimble.


    He was devious.


    The rule set forth by Roakev - the organizer of the bout - was that a win be called if an opponent was disarmed or made contact with the yard''s railing. Lyssia only saw Azerian face an opponent in actual combat once. He avoided the direct approach, choosing instead to pick off those Jarlsons who ventured too near the edge. A well-placed boot and a low jab from the butt of a staff was all he needed.


    One by one, contenders were thrown to the ground until only three remained armed in the wooden circle - Roakev, Azerian, and...Magnor.


    Kongr Magnor.


    A look passed between Lyssia''s cousins. They had to be thinking the same thing Lyssia was thinking. If Kongre Magnor stood before them, they would not hesitate. But was it wise to attack a visiting Kongr, even in jest?


    Neither Roakev nor Azerian advanced, but neither did they lower their weapons. Magnor surveyed them, an odd tilt to his head, and then he turned and looked at Lyssia. A smile teasing the edges of her mouth up, she nodded. It was a small, inconspicuous movement, but she knew he saw it when he turned back to shake his staff at Roakev.


    ¡°Come on!¡±


    Roakev uttered a wordless cry and advanced. Azerian followed a step behind. They attacked Magnor together, Roakev from the right and Azerian from the left. Magnor held his own, refusing to allow either of them to get to his legs, and Azerian soon backed off.


    He circled around behind Magnor and left the fight to Roakev. Magnor tried to keep Azerian in his sights, but Roakev increased his attacks, and Magnor was stuck fending him off. Lyssia waited for Azerian to strike, but long minutes passed while Azerian watched from his crouched position across from her. He stretched his back, dropped his spear, and rubbed his calf muscles.


    He¡¯s letting them tire themselves out, Lyssia thought.


    When he finally chose to strike, it was fast. One moment he was rolling his spear in the dirt, his head tilted toward the ground and his hand kneading the back of his neck. The next moment he was springing forward and driving the butt of his spear into the back of Magnor¡¯s legs - left, right, left - dropping the Dunival Kongr to his knees.


    Magnor rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding the double strike that would have knocked him onto his back. But he was off balance now. It didn¡¯t take more than a few whacks from Roakev¡¯s staff to send him tumbling back to the ground. His weapon went flying.


    Roakev was still advancing, but he backed off quickly when Magnor raised his hands in surrender, turning, instead, to confront Azerian. Lyssia clenched the edge of her chair to keep herself from jumping up. Roakev¡¯s bared teeth made it look like he was growling, a bjurn staring down its nose at a wily little fovk.


    Azerian did not wait for Roakev to attack him. As soon as Magnor had indicated his defeat, Azerian threw his spear into the center of the yard. Hands raised, he walked forward until he stood in front of Roakev, bent his head, and eased himself to the ground.


    Roakev stared down at him, his lips twisted into a grim line. He stood there for a long moment, considering who knew what, before shifting his grip on the staff in his hand and rapping his younger cousin on the head. Azerian winced but took the beating without complaint.


    Roakev stepped back, his staff raised again in victory. The crowd erupted into cheers. Azerian stood and waved his arms around to get everyone¡¯s attention. Then he clasped Roakev by the shoulder and turned him to face Lyssia.


    ¡°Your champion, Drottine!"


    Lyssia quirked an eyebrow at his choice of words. Releasing her chair, she stood and raised a hand to her heart. The gesture allowed her a moment to compose herself as she pretended to be overcome with emotion.


    Awe would be appropriate given the circumstance, and some pride as well. Certainly a level of diplomatic hope was acceptable. A measure of reserved poise, but perhaps also a touch of youthful joy for the game.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    There couldn''t possibly be a facial expression that could convey all that. Given the chance, Lyssia would have had to give it her best shot. As it was, all she could do was will every appropriate emotion she could think of into her posture.


    "I am overcome with pride for both your foresight in organizing this entertainment and for your victory, Roakev. You were quite impressive. Although...I think your mother agrees that this outcome is not surprising."


    Lyssia smiled down at Nimeah who, despite her wide, startled eyes, managed to nod and turn a smile on her son.


    "You make me proud to call you cousin. I will enjoy a special drink to celebrate your skill at supper tonight. I call for us all to enjoy a special drink!"


    The men in the crowd shouted approval once again, and Lyssia paused to allow them their small celebration. The Dunival party, although they kept separate from the rest of the crowd, could be heard cheering above the rest.


    Roakev shifted uncomfortably, and his hands clenched tighter around his practice weapon. Lyssia was surprised at how quickly his display of bravado ebbed. She was taking up too much time and attention away from him.


    She threw him another smile before lifting a hand to wave for silence. It was so difficult not to reach out and steady herself on the rail before her. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing her troubled vision to settle at last.


    "Do not think I take pride in our champion alone. Well done, Jarlsons of Ilvana, one and all. Azerian, my cousin. Kongr Magnor."


    She inclined her head as she acknowledged the two left in the ring with Roakev. Azerian returned an enthusiastic bow. Magnor was still on the ground. He had shifted to a seated position, but he was either too tired or too distracted to stand.


    Roakev followed her gaze and started when he saw the Kongr of Dunival sitting where he had been unceremoniously dumped. He rushed to offer Magnor a hand up.


    Magnor clasped his shoulder once standing and began to praise his friend''s skill in a loud voice as the pack of Jarlsons descended upon them.


    Lyssia took that as her cue to slip away from the exercise yard. Walking as quickly as she dared, she returned to the bench where she had left her bowed lyra and Azerian''s flutes. The squashed pastry was still there - a blood-red stain on the ground - but the instruments were gone.


    "Drottine?"


    She jumped at the hand on her elbow, but it was only Sidne.


    "Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked.


    "No, I must return to my studies."


    "Of course." Sidne bobbed a quick curtsy, her hands clasped atop her belly.


    "Wait, could you..." Lyssia hesitated. It felt wrong to have a pregnant woman run her errand, but she had offered. "I would be very grateful if you could ask someone in the kitchens to bring a meal up to my room. Nothing heavy. Just tell them to bring whatever is on hand. Bread would be nice."


    "I could use a snack myself," Sidne said, her hand inching lower to give her round stomach a pat. "I''ll bring a tray to your room, and I''ll make sure not to disturb you."


    "Yes, thank you, but please do not overexert yourself on my behalf."


    Lyssia glanced one last time back at her cousins standing in the midst of their raucous group of friends. The pull to jump into the yard with them was undeniably strong. She turned her back on them before she did something that would embarrass them all. Throwing a parting smile toward Sidne and her aunt, she hurried off and didn''t stop until she had reached the safety of her room.


    **********


    Lyssia fully intended to spend the rest of her day in private study. Bjarke had taken the time to make her a copy of the official treatise of peace he had penned twelve years ago on the day kinship was first proclaimed between Dunival and Ilvana. The only way to repay such a gift was to read it.


    So with a heavy sigh, she retrieved the clay teapot she kept in her room for moments such as this, filled it with a measure of water, added a couple handfuls of Seaka''s calming tea blend, and set it over the fire.


    After the cacophony she had experienced outside, she wasn''t sure if the quiet of her room felt oppressing or relaxing. She shook the thought from her head as she released the tie that kept her hair secured.


    Relaxing.She stripped off her shoes and leggings, grabbed her copy of the treaty, and jumped onto her bed. She rolled over onto her front after tucking her feet under a blanket. Her hair hung half over the page, and she had to keep rolling her head from side to side to keep reading, but she couldn''t bring herself to sit upright.


    Definitely relaxing.


    She was only three pages in before a knock sounded at the door. It was quiet enough that if she hadn¡¯t been lying still with her head turned toward the door she might have missed it, but it startled her. Somehow between the exercise yard and the stairs, she had forgotten about her hunger.


    Her stomach constricted painfully as she rolled to the side and out of bed. She hurried to remove the teapot from the fire and placed it on the floor beside the grate before turning to the door.


    Sidne had managed to secure her a larger meal than she had asked for. It looked like a whole roasted chcken sat atop a plate surrounded by a hearty mash made out of potatoes, peas, and carrots. A small loaf of bread balanced on the edge of the plate, its end just touching the thick gravy that was served on the side of the chicken. She had included a drinking skin filled with what smelled like watered-down wine, and hidden underneath it was a small covered container of honeyed butter.


    Lyssia''s eyes locked onto the chicken, and her mouth began to water. She picked up the heavy tray and took it to her desk, moving carefully so as not to spill anything. She turned back to close the door, but the sound of footsteps shuffling along the hall between her room and her father¡¯s made her pause.Surely, it wasn''t Sidne returning with more food. One chicken was more than enough to feed one hungry girl.


    Steeling herself, Lyssia hurried back to the door and peeked out into the hall.


    ¡°Drottine.¡±


    Lyssia stared silently at the masked man who approached her. It took her a moment to place him. It was the man who had shadowed Magnor earlier. The man whom he had introduced as his second. She did not know his name, nor even what the position entailed, so all she could do was nod in reply to his brusque greeting.


    ¡°My Kongr has sent me on an errand to return these to you."


    He extended his arms, and Lyssia gasped in surprise.


    "My instruments!" She took the flutes first and tucked them carefully into the sash at her waist before accepting her lyra and club from the messenger. She cradled the large instrument to her chest. "Tha---"


    "He also sends this. Take care. The ink will not have dried yet.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Of...of course. Thank you.¡± Lyssia shifted the lyra to her hip and took hold of the edge of the page he held out, angling it to keep it as flat as possible. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said again, not sure what else to say.


    The man nodded in response and retreated down the hall toward her father¡¯s room. She stepped back inside her room and listened for the sound of his boots on the stairs before closing the door.


    The meal sat, forgotten for the moment, on the desk while she set the instruments aside, climbed back onto her bed, and laid Magnor¡¯s note beside the papers she had been studying. The words Handsome Little Songbird were scrawled across the top in large, blocky letters, but Handsome had been crossed out and replaced with Pretty. The rest of the page was filled with minuscule script written in a harried hand.........


    **********


    Lyssia¡¯s eyes skimmed the page, trying to find meaning in the phrases. It wasn¡¯t a note, it was a poem. No, not a poem. A lullaby.........

 Chapter 11B

    Lyssia¡¯s eyes skimmed the page, trying to find meaning in the phrases. It wasn¡¯t a note, it was a poem. No, not a poem. A lullaby.


    It was beautiful in a sad way. Her opinion of the song was tainted by the knowledge that Magnor¡¯s mother was the only woman she knew who had sung it, and she no longer could. But if she didn¡¯t think about that, she could imagine the gentle cadence of a mother¡¯s voice.


    She rolled onto her back as she read through the song a third time. It pleased her that Magnor had thought of her enough to send it, and she wondered again how her version of the Lay of Rilken had made him think of it.She sat up and started to gather the papers on her bed to make room for her tray, pausing when she saw the line of ink smudged across her thumb. She snatched Magnor¡¯s poem off the bed and flipped it over, staring at the smudged line of writing hidden in the bottom corner


    I would have sung it to you if I could, lady songbird, but my voice is not made for singing. This is the best I can manage.


    The page slipped out of Lyssia¡¯s hand as her fingers curled into fists.


    Lady songbird...My songbird¡­


    Lyssia had heard that nickname whispered in love before. It was not meant for her. But Magnor could not have known.


    She bent to retrieve the page and marched it across to her desk where she could stare at it while she ate her meal, or as much of it as she could stomach. But the poem followed her even when she left it behind to pour herself a cup of calming tea and return to her studies. No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on Bjarke''s slanted handwriting, it was Magnor''s words that swam before her eyes.


    They were still present when it was time for her to leave her room again. Her gaze had already swept the crowd pouring into the dining hall twice before she realized who she was looking for. Her eyes darted over to the nearest group and latched onto a familiar face.


    "Lady Sidne, I wish to thank you for the hearty snack you left for me this afternoon. It was quite delicious and...fortifying."


    Sidne pressed a hand to her lips as if to stifle a laugh and jumped as her fingers touched the surface of her mask. Lyssia took note of the reaction, but Sidne recovered quickly.


    "You are most welcome, Drottine Lyssia. I am afraid my eyes have outgrown my stomach. What once seemed like a snack is now but a mouthful, and a portion of supper a mere snack."


    "Don''t tell me you ate a whole chicken as well?"


    Sidne shook her head, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "Two chickens," she said, holding up two fingers. "They were quite small. I''m ready for three more."


    "Oh, well as long as that makes you happy...You better hurry to take your place inside."


    Sidne had been standing beside a group of three men. One of them broke off to place a hand on her arm and slid his other arm behind her back. Such a small gesture, but Lyssia sensed the strength of his protective spirit, and she knew at once that he would make an excellent ally.


    "Jarl Gavin, we meet at last."


    "Drottine." Gavin disentangled himself from his wife to offer her respect, but they did not stay apart for long. Sidne leaned into her husband, a weary look crossing her visible features.


    Lyssia nodded to her in understanding. "I won''t keep you long. I only wished to meet the young Jarl I have heard so much about."


    "You have heard of me?"


    "Yes. From Jarl Halvor."


    "Halvor? What did he say?" he asked in a cool voice.


    "Well...he said you were young, married, marked by a raven. All true.¡± She gestured toward the pin he wore on his cloak. ¡°He also said you were strong but not a threat. Not smart enough to speak up for yourself. Only useful if you could be taught to speak when told to."


    Lyssia paused, her eyes shifting to the two men with crossed arms and stiff backs who now flanked Gavin. Their stances faltered at her gaze and they dropped their arms in unison to offer respect. Lyssia chose to ignore them as she addressed Gavin again.


    ¡°You do not seem flattered by his assessment of you. To be clear, I don''t mean to insult you by repeating it. I only mean to warn you that there are unkind eyes watching you, and your wife.¡±


    "Thank you, Drottine. I will take note of your warning. You have been very direct with me, so perhaps you will allow me to ask you a question.¡±


    He turned and gestured for his friends to leave them. They retreated to stand beside the door to the dining hall, but as soon as Gavin turned his back, they set their curious stares on Lyssia.


    ¡°What do you know of the struggles between the members of the Jarlsclan?¡±


    ¡°I know that many of the western Jarls have chosen Halvor as their spokesman, but all he has talked about when you gather here for Jarlmeets is how no one listens to him. He promises solutions and delivers only complaints and idle threats. He speaks only of and for himself.¡±


    ¡°Yes, he does like to whine. My friends and I share my father¡¯s opinion on that matter.¡± Gavin took a breath as if to say more, but then he pinched his lips together and nodded for her to keep speaking.


    Lyssia narrowed her eyes, determined to hold his intense gaze. ¡°I also know that the traditional border between the western and the eastern steads is the Scyftan River, but it is not an equal divide. There is more land present on the eastern side. There are more Jarl-owned steads there, and the Jarls from these closer steads are more likely to frequent my father¡¯s table. I wish Halvor and his allies would take that into consideration and understand that my father does not try to ignore them.¡±


    She had to look down and blink or risk her eyes watering, but she made sure to look back up before she continued.


    ¡°I know the Kongr cares to hear your voice, as do I. I did not speak falsely when I told your wife that. I shall be preoccupied with these peace talks with Dunival for the next fortnight, or however long our foreign allies are with us. But I extend an offer to you, and to your wife, and your allies¡±---she nodded to Gavin¡¯s friends---¡±to stay after they are complete. Stay and speak with me and my father of the west and our family on the other side of Scyftan River. I don''t think it''s true that you have nothing of import to say, and I would learn from you.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°My lady...you speak so generously of one you do not know. I think I would be remiss not to accept your invitation for me and my wife. I cannot speak for my friends, but you have my respect. I will entreat them to listen to you..¡±


    ¡°As will I,¡± Sidne added, punctuating her statement with a flip of her hair.


    Gavin gave her a fond look and kissed the top of her head. ¡°Then it will be done. My wife has a way of making things happen."


    ¡°I just like being useful,¡± Sidne murmured, ducking her head.


    ¡°I think that''s wonderful. I---Father!"


    The Kongr did not utter even a one-word reply. He nodded once to acknowledge Lyssia and her companions and walked on.


    He had been that way since Magnor''s arrival. Except for his customary, "Be watchful. Keep your eyes and ears open, your mouth shut during meetings, and remember your place" speech, he had not spoken to her once.


    Granted, she had never thought of her father as chatty. At least, not around her. But she deserved more recognition than a passing glance.


    Lyssia waved Sidne and her husband forward before she had time to dwell on the cold greeting. ¡°Now that my father has arrived, supper will begin soon. Please, don''t let me stand in your way.¡±


    ¡°My lady.¡±


    ¡°Drottine.¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s eyes followed them as they joined those still finding their places in the dining hall. Her father¡¯s table was only half full. Eindre and Carryn were present, Nimeah sitting between them. They were all smiling as they chatted, an arm''s length between them. Her father, sitting at the center of the table, was already preoccupied with his cup, but he nodded along to their conversation.


    Even Bjarke looked relaxed slumped over a book at his place at the end of the table. Lyssia was fascinated by this view of her family, but her eyes kept slipping over the head table and back down to the table closest to the door where Sidne and Gavin sat close to each other. It reminded her of the ease she had felt walking into her cousins¡¯ tent and eating amongst her young cousins, bumping shoulders and laughing.


    Lyssia paused poised with the hem of her skirt raised above the doorstep and her right foot lifted to take that final step into the hall.


    Where are Az and Ro?


    She pulled back from the door and turned to peer down the path. It wasn¡¯t like either boy to be late for a meal, or to leave her without an escort. Not that she needed an escort, but she did not often find herself without one.


    "Waiting for someone?"


    Lyssia turned slowly to face the group advancing down the path.


    "Kongr Magnor." Lyssia dropped into a deep, formal curtsy, ignoring the startled goosebumps that popped up along her arms.


    "Drottine Lyssia. Surely they can''t start supper without you?"


    Lyssia waved the question aside as she glanced over his bowed back, her eyes searching for two familiar figures. "Did you happen to bring my cousins with you?"


    "No, no Ilvanian champions here. Only a horde of hungry foreigners."


    Lyssia clasped her hands before her. The sound of her palms slapping together echoed in the sudden quiet. "Hungry guests, you mean. You have been welcomed. Feast. Enjoy."


    Magnor''s men needed no further encouragement. The group split around her, eighteen men offering various degrees of respect as they carefully passed her without jostling. Only Magnor and his second remained, staring down at her over Magnor''s shoulder.


    Magnor gave him a hard look. A silent conversation took place between them, and then he turned around and headed back down the path that led to the Dunival''s sleeping quarters. It was unexpected, but Lyssia was too distracted to ask why he was not joining his friends.


    Lyssia glanced around uncertainly. "Do what?"


    "Say the wrong thing. Make you get that flight or fight look in your eyes." He leaned toward her, his gaze making her legs and her jaw lock. "I did. I apologize."


    "Kongr Magnor, you should have already learned that Kongren do not apologize."


    "In truth?"


    "In truth¡­" Lyssia shifted a step back, her eyes searching the path again even as she answered Magnor. "...yes. Kongren compromise, they obtain new information, or they change their minds. But they do not apolog---"


    "Did you get my note?"


    "Y-yes. Thank you."


    "You did? Good. It was my mother''s song."


    "Yes, you told me. Thank you, my lord."


    "My lord...Kongr...Drottine¡­" His mouth puckered as though he tasted something sour, but then he took a deep breath and smiled at her again. "Can we not drop formal speech, Lyssia? At least for tonight. The formal talks do not start until the morning, and I am already weary of hearing my own title."


    "I apologize, Kon...Magnor."


    His answering smile was immediate. "So you can apologize to me, but I am forbidden to apologize to you?"


    Lyssia tried to force a laugh to match his, but she found it came naturally. The weight in her chest lifted. She grasped onto the temporary relief. "I''m afraid so."


    "Actually...I was hoping you might allow me to sit beside you tonight. I noticed that you, like me, often spend supper in silence. It would be nice to enjoy conversation for a change."


    "And what would we talk about?"


    "I hadn''t prepared a topic. I''m sure there''s an old conversation we could continue."


    "No...there''s not. We''ve never really...talked."


    Magnor made a pained noise and clutched a hand to his heart. "Drottine, you have dealt me a harsh wound. I know we have not always gotten along, but I thought we had¡­earlier we...¡± He shook his head, letting his thought rest unfinished. ¡°I wish to do better. Dunival depends on my skills at diplomacy now, and it was my father¡¯s last wish that I make friends of his allies. Can¡¯t we try to be more than merely tolerant of each other?"


    He tucked his hand into his pocket and presented his arm to her.


    "Of course...Magnor." Lyssia placed her hand in the crook of his arm, falling in step with him as he started toward the dining hall.


    "Ask me a question. Anything you wish to know about me or Dunival."


    "Anything? And you will answer truthfully?"


    The timing of Lyssia''s question was odd as it coincided with a crowd of masked faces turning to watch them take the first step into the hall together. Lyssia smiled automatically, shooting an apologetic glance up at Magnor.


    He also had an overly polite smile plastered in place. "Anything. I will never lie to you."


    "How would you be celebrating Yute in Dunival if you were not here and your family...?"


    Magnor''s arm jumped, pulling her in closer and then releasing her. Luckily, they had already made it to the table and Lyssia was able to put a hand out to steady herself. She continued down the table to the chair she usually occupied beside her father, but she hesitated with her hand hovering over its back.


    It was Magnor¡¯s right as a visiting dignitary to take the seat beside her father. She stepped back as he reached for the chair, but he only slid it out a foot and gestured for her to sit.


    ¡°Did you know Yute was my mother¡¯s favorite time of the year,¡± he said, lowering himself into the empty chair beside her. ¡°Especially Urd-Yute and the cold months. I never understood that when I was younger, but I get it now. Giving thanks for what we don¡¯t have anymore can be just as important as giving thanks for what we do have.¡±


    ¡°Mmmhmmm,¡± Lyssia said in between sips of water.


    ¡°We have this Urd-Yute tradition in Dunival involving a cliff and buckets of dirt and¡­¡±

 Chapter 11C

    Roakev and Azerian never showed up for dinner. Lyssia didn''t think of them again until Magnor left her at the door to the first lodging house.


    He had been a perfect dinner companion - polite and conversational, eager to answer her questions though not too inquisitive. The pictures he painted of growing up in Dunival, where he could hear the ocean from his room when his window was open and where he and his brother would sneak down to the caverns at night to find gemstones that glowed in the dark, were vivid and distracting.


    She did not have time to miss her cousins until she was alone. Perhaps I should have awarded the title of champion to him instead of Roakev. He deserves it for his performance tonight.


    Lyssia glanced around for fear someone might be able to read her loud thoughts. Gathering her skirts in one hand, she hustled inside and up the stairs to her room. She had a treaty to read in addition to her nighttime routine, and her cheeks felt more chafed than normal. She had gotten used to not working her jaw so much in one day.


    I may have to get used to it, she thought with a smile.


    She should have taken the time to doctor her scars before dinner. They would need extra care tonight - a wash and a second layer of salve under her sleep mask - if she did not want them to come alive and keep her from getting any rest. She hadn''t even tried to sleep, and yet she felt it was a lost cause. Her dreams would be full tonight.


    **********This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    HANDSOME PRETTY LITTLE SONGBIRD ??


    thus titled and recorded by Magnor of Dunival


    Lullaby attributed to his mother, Anitra, wife of Rijek the Peaceable


    and Drottingr of Dunival in the years leading up to the Second Age of Aonta


    Pretty little vine climbing towards the sky


    Staring at the flowers by and by


    Don''t lose hope, Don''t you cry


    Your moment to shine will arise


    Strong and proud, Stand up tall


    Higher than the sun you will climb


    Pretty little bird with your wings tied down


    Afraid to sing your songs out loud


    Don''t back down, Don''t look around


    Spread your wings and leave the ground


    Strong and proud, Soaring high


    Higher than the sun you will fly


    Pretty little fawn with the awkward gait


    Never run fast so you''re always late


    Have you tried to jump, tried to break free


    Of the ground you were never meant to be


    Strong and proud, Lift your feet


    Higher than sun you will leap


    Pretty little one sitting at my feet


    Your eyes wide and your smile sweet


    Hush, my love, Soon you''ll see


    The wondrous thing you were meant to be


    Stand proud and tall, and never doubt


    My love for you, You''ll make me proud

 Chapter 12A

    Lyssia fidgeted with her long sleeves. She had been standing here all of five minutes, and she was already regretting her choice to wear such a heavy dress. Putting her hair up did not help as much as she had hoped to ease her discomfort. The air was still; there was no whisper of a breeze on this unseasonably warm morning.


    The Master Skald called his musicians and singers to attention, and they began to perform the song chosen for this auspicious morning. Lyssia closed her eyes as the familiar notes reached her ears, imagining them spinning around her like motes of dust shimmering in the morning light.


    Another familiar song, one she could easily have played on her bowed lyra or sung with the choir. But she had not been tasked with performing. Instead, she stood in a circle of men outfitted for battle. They all wore somber masks save her father, who had donned a stark white mask topped with a golden circlet.


    Every Ilvanian gathered outside the receiving hall bore the mark of Ilvana in one form or another - pinned to their sleeves, hanging from their necks and arms, stamped on their clothing. Each Jarl also bore the mark of their family proudly displayed on bared arms and shoulders and carried sharpened weapons in their belts. Not hunting weapons or practice staffs but swords and poleaxe.


    Their guests wore more modest clothing. There was no need for them to call attention to their bloodlines, but they each bore weapons and a small round shield stamped with Magnor''s family crest, the mark of Dunival.


    Lyssia had never felt more conspicuousness than she did standing outside in the mud in her long-sleeved, slipper-length dress. She tugged at its high collar and whispered soft hope for a breeze to find her.


    She had cooler dresses that would have been suitable for this morning''s ceremony, but she had another reason for choosing such concealing attire. She had a secret hidden from view in the chain hanging around her neck


    The black stone was concealed, but part of the silver chain was still visible. She ran her fingers up and down the short length of chain until she found a knot and gave the necklace a gentle tug to make sure it was still in place.


    She jumped as a cough - issued directly behind her ear - interrupted the musicians¡¯ greeting song. Lyssia, eyes burning with accusation, turned to glare at Azerian, but her gaze softened when she saw him rubbing his bruised chin.


    Her eyes sought out Roakev standing just outside the circle of men behind his father and then flew across the circle to Magnor. All she had gotten out of Azerian when she found him lurking in the darkest corner of the first floor of the lodging house was that he and Roakev had gotten into a tussle after she left them, that it had turned violent quickly, and that Magnor had been the one to pull Roakev off Azerian seconds before Roakev¡¯s father jumped into the ring and threw them out. They had been banned from the dining hall that night for starting a fight during a peacemeet.


    ¡°You were sent to your rooms without supper? Like children?¡± Lyssia had tried to laugh it off, but Azerian was not in his usual joking mood.


    Judging by the size of the bruise on his chin and the careful way that Roakev held his right arm, it had not been a pulled punches kind of fight. She could remember witnessing such a fight between the two only once, and she could not imagine what would have caused them to forget themselves now.


    Azerian was not willing to share the details of the fight or its cause. She doubted Roakev would be in a mood to talk any time soon, and she could not even begin to imagine how she would broach the subject with her uncle. She couldn¡¯t.


    So that left Magnor, who had failed to say anything about the fight while he kept her company at dinner. Not one mention of it, though he had not been sparing with his words. She could not bring herself to glare at him now when she thought of the ease with which he had rescued her from a night spent fixating on her cousins¡¯ empty seats. A champion indeed. Although a true champion might have warned her about the tension she wpas being forced to help bear in silence.


    Magnor chose then to glance across the circle at her, and Lyssia dropped her hand. There was no way he recognized the necklace, hidden as it was, but she still felt awkward calling attention to it.


    She had not worn Magnor''s gift for several years. It had sat abandoned but not forgotten in her jewelry box. Thinking about the ease of their conversation last night had made Lyssia want to see the necklace again.


    It had been an impulse decision, but once the chain was around her neck, she could not even think about taking it off. The rest of her outfit had flowed out of this one decision. Blue to compliment the starkness of the white-silver chain and black stone, a high neckline to hide the jewel, and a cloth-covered mask dyed to match the dress.


    The music came to an end with a final mournful call from a flute. There was a moment of silence where Lyssia swore she felt the rush of air as Azerian took a deep breath and held it, a contingency against another cough. Then she saw her father nod to Eindre, and her uncle, in turn, nodded to the lur player.


    After the second long blast from the deep-throated instrument, the bass drum started up again, a steady, insistent beat. Eighteen blasts of the lur preceded each of the Jarls as they stepped forward and drew their weapons.


    ¡°My hand belongs to my Kongr, for under his hand we have known peace. My weapon belongs to my Kongr, for I would follow him into battle. My heart belongs to my Kongr, for he upholds our traditions. My land belongs to my Kongr, for under his eye Ilvana has prospered. My stead belongs to my Kongr, for my respect he has earned. My trust belongs to my Kongr, for his counsel is sound. I declare my loyal heart and my strong arm to my Kongr, Dizean Inradson of Ilvana, and to his family.¡±


    The Jarls¡¯ recitation, spoken in the half-sung cadence required of all formal proclamations, was perfect. Guided by the beat of the drum and, for most of them, years of practice renewing their vows of fealty, not one voice faltered. The same could not be said for their steps as the Jarls surged forward in groups of four or five to place their weapons, hilts facing the man they had sworn allegiance to, in the center of the circle.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Nineteen swords laying in the sparse grass was not a particularly stirring sight, but the gesture was a powerful one. These were not the only men in Ilvana, but they were the most influential by right of the land and responsibilities they had inherited. To have all of them lay their swords down in honor of one man was reason for pride.


    But Lyssia''s father was not one to let such moments linger. No sooner had the last Jarl returned to his place in the circle than he stepped forward and reached back to place a hand on her shoulder. He grabbed hold of her sleeve, twisting the fabric tight as he put pressure on her shoulder. Lyssia gave him a tight-lipped smile and entered the circle.


    The drum started up again as he led her halfway into the circle. He left her standing there alone, stranded and on display, and continued on until he reached the first laid weapon.


    Stepping over it, he pivoted to face his men and released the buckle that held his scabbard in place. The blade he pulled free as the scabbard fell was old, though unstained by blood. None of the weapons laying at his feet were blood-stained. For as long as Lyssia''s father had held leadership, his Jarls had had no cause to gather together for any reason besides peace. Wasn''t that a cause for celebration?


    The Lur sounded twice, the drumbeat stuttered, and Lyssia''s father sang.


    "My name is Dizean Inradson, and my heart has ever belonged to Ilvana and her people. My hand belongs to you. Until my last breath, I shall not abandon my duties. My sword belongs to you. I will never abandon the battlefield..."


    He had an answer for each promise the Jarls bestowed upon him. When her father sang in his deep voice, Lyssia felt it on her chest. She felt his strength and sincerity humming through her bones.


    Daughter of the mountain, the woman from the Mart had called her. She had heard the name once or twice before, and she believed it to be true, because her father sang like the mountain.


    She wanted to examine the men her father sang to, but her back was to them, and she was hesitant to even shift her weight from her right to her left foot. Her eyes were the only thing she could move freely. She drew them along the length of the strangers standing before her. More than one was beginning to show signs of impatience.


    Dunival visitors were not usually present for the renewal of these oaths, but this was an important ceremony. Magnor might not have chosen the right men to accompany him to peace talks. If they could not act as dignified witnesses to this shortly conducted ceremony, how would they fare sitting at a table for hours at a time while the treaty was discussed?


    His final promise delivered, Lyssia¡¯s father laid his sword down with its hilt facing the Jarls and its blade facing back toward Magnor¡¯s men. Then straightening slowly, he gestured toward the Dunival party. One swift glance at the drummer, and the music ceased.


    ¡°By mine right as Kongr and by my own wisdom, I have welcomed this delegation from Dunival to discuss matters of peace. Does this seem wise to my Jarlsclan?¡±


    ¡°Yes, my Kongr,¡± nineteen voices answered. Although he was not a land-owning Jarl, Eindre answered with them, as he had participated in the ceremony.


    ¡°I value your counsel. Will you sit beside me at the table and lend me your voices to the discussion?¡±


    ¡°Yes, my Kongr.¡±


    ¡°That is good. Kongr¡­"


    Lyssia¡¯s father paused as he turned to face Magnor. Lyssia knew whose name was on the tip of his tongue, but he reined it in.


    ¡°Magnor, Kongr of Dunival, it is our wish to proceed with the peace talks. Are you and your men prepared to lay down your weapons in peace and join us?¡±


    ¡°We are.¡±


    That is all he said. His clipped words were jarring after Dizean¡¯s speech. But it was all the signal his men needed to step forward and drop down their weapons. They lay their shields down next, one by one, until the pattern was complete. The two Kongren now stood in the circle together.


    Magnor placed a hand on the poleaxe that hung from a sling hilt attached to his belt. His fingers slid along the weapons¡¯ top edge and down the hilt, but he did not move to pull it free. ¡°I¡­¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s father raised his hand, waving aside Magnor¡¯s explanation. ¡°I will not ask you to abandon your father¡¯s axe. If you will allow me¡­¡± Without waiting for Magnor¡¯s response, he stooped to grab his sword and scabbard.


    ¡°Actually, I have a gift for you, Dizean. A gift for you and mine hostess. I have been remiss not to speak of it until now, but I was waiting for a moment when I could command both of your attentions.¡±


    Magnor reached around behind his back and pulled free two daggers from his belt. ¡°For the Kongr and Drottine of Ilvana.¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s father took one dagger and examined it. ¡°Wonderful craftsmanship. Well balanced. An unexpected but appreciated gift. Drottine¡­¡± He waved her forward without looking at her.


    Lyssia gasped when she saw the dagger laying flat in Magnor¡¯s palm. The black stone set below the dagger¡¯s grip seemed a perfect match for the one she already wore.


    ¡°They are a pair?¡±


    ¡°So it would seem,¡± her father said, holding out his dagger for her to see. It was identical to the one in Magnor¡¯s hand. "A thoughtful offering, is it not?"


    ¡°Yes. It''s stunning,¡± Lyssia murmured. She gave Magnor a shallow curtsy and hesitated with her hand held over where his had been.


    He gave her full curtsy, his smile wide. "A matching pair."


    Lyssia thought his eyes jumped momentarily down to the silver chain around her neck, but she did not wait to see if he reacted to it. Suddenly, she felt like she was ten years old again standing before a teenage boy and praying that her blush did not extend to her ears. She was not surprised when her thumb became caught between the dagger''s jewel and his hands and she felt the same jolt of electricity pass between them.


    Her father had already returned his sword and stuck the dagger into an extra loop on his scabbard. She spent a couple of heartbeats pretending to admire the dagger as she tried to still the tremor in her hands. She ran a hand across the sash tied around her waist, checking its fit, before slipping the dagger into the fabric close to her left hip. Once her hand was no longer touching the dagger''s hilt, the tingling in her fingers subsided.


    She glanced accusatorially at Magnor, but his attention had shifted to the musicians, who had begun to play again.


    "Let the peace talks proceed. Lyssia, you and I must enter through the hall alongside our men. Magnor, you and your men must take the path around the building. When we meet at the negotiation table, we shall meet as equals."


    Lyssia''s father took her arm and began to lead her from the circle and toward the receiving hall. They were already several lengths away when Lyssia heard Magnor''s response. Goosebumps flowered to life along her arms.


    "That is my only wish."


    **********


    Hands are fascinating. Every little scar, every stain, every tremor tells a story. Fascinating.


    That¡¯s what Lyssia told herself, and she believed it. That¡¯s why she was trying to discover the differences between the hands of the men who sat...

 Chapter 12B

    Hands are fascinating. Every little scar, every stain, every tremor tells a story. Fascinating.


    That¡¯s what Lyssia told herself, and she believed it. That¡¯s why she was trying to discover the differences between the hands of the men who sat around the negotation table. It seemed necessary for each Jarl to speak up at least once an hour during such gatherings. Her mind should have been kept busy.


    But if she was being honest with herself, she would have to admit that she was bored. The Jarl¡¯s chatter could not fill all the empty spaces in her mind, and if she didn¡¯t fill them, she feared she would be in danger of falling asleep.


    ¡°I must agree with Halvor on this point. While I am not against sending wood to our allies across the waters, I agree that there is an imbalance in the amount of resources taken from the eastern and western forests. Should not more trees be taken from the largest resource available? Is not the forest to the east of the Scyftan the...the larger resource?¡±


    The man speaking threw a nervous glance toward Halvor, who sat with his pale hands folded before him.


    ¡°I fear that this imbalance might be the cause of the...the harm I have seen in the western forest. The compensation delivered to the households who rely most heavily on this forest life is generous, but it is not worth the forest¡¯s death. That being said, I...uh...I do not know if the harvesting of wood...if it really¡­ or how much...In the end, I recognize that we all stand together. We are one tree...tree trunk, and therefore...we should remain honored to honor our agreement with our allies. And...yes.¡±


    The man heaved a heavy sigh of relief as sank into his seat, but no sooner had his backside touched the chair than Halvor was back on his feet.


    ¡°Thank you, my friend. You bring up an interesting point of discussion.¡± He favored the last speaker with a nod before turning toward Lyssia and her father and extending a beseeching hand toward them. ¡°If I may be permitted to hold the floor for one more minute, I think I may be able to address this question that has been posed of the equality of the eastern and the western forests¡­¡±


    Lyssia squeezed her eyes shut to keep from rolling them. This was not what they were supposed to be discussing, but leave it to Halvor to twist even this foolish nonsense into a chance to promote his own agenda. Lyssia doubted there was a problem present in the western forest. He just needed an excuse to complain. If the dent that her father¡¯s thumb was currently working into the table was any indication of his patience level, he would not be able to last another outburst from the western Jarl. Halvor was wading into dangerous waters.


    ¡°...and I know I do not speak for myself when I remind my wise Kongr that these peace negotiations should be a benefit to all of us¡­¡±


    Oh! Lyss cocked her elbow back and prepared to tap Azerian¡¯s arm with it, but he beat her to the punch with a gentle kick to the ankle.


    He had started the game two arguments back. Every utterance of the word "peace" was a chance to shake themselves awake and engage in a private battle of nudges, jabs, and kicks. Lyssia could only imagine that the same need to stay awake had been what finally drove him from his sullen stupor.


    ¡°Yes, peace for all must be the force that drives our marching feet forward¡­¡±


    ¡°Ow!¡± Azerian tried to cover his exhalation with a low cough, but Lyssia heard it and the corner of her mouth twitched with a smile. The score didn¡¯t really matter, but she was pretty sure she was winning this game.


    ¡°Jarl Halvor, I am sorry for the interruption.¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s head shot up, her eyes flying to the end of the Ilvanian side of the table where Jarl Gavin was taking to his feet.


    ¡°Jarl Gavin¡­¡± It was apparent that Halvor was not pleased by his interference, but he could not deny the younger man¡¯s polite request. He sat and leaned forward against his clasped arms, his eyes fixed with dagger-like intent on Gavin.


    ¡°I mean no disrespect to you, Gavin, but this matter at hand is not one of Ilvanian policy. This is not a Jarlsmeet. We are here to discuss matters of peace between Dunival and Ilvana."


    Azerian was quick on the draw, and the pain in Lyssia¡¯s ankle was sharper this time.


    "We all agreed that when we sat down at this table, we sat as equals with one common goal. We are all part of one...forest..." Gavin gestured toward the man who had spoken about the export of lumber. Lyssia glanced over quickly enough to see his ears and neck turn a deep shade of pink. "One living, breathing forest with one common pursuit. The pursuit of a peaceful and prosperous life."


    Jab. Kick. Another point for me. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Lyssia''s father stirred, and she froze in horror at being found out. But he ignored her and addressed Gavin instead. "Do you have anything new to say, Jarl Gavin, or shall we proceed on to the next part of the treaty? We have much to get through today, and I''m afraid we have chased too many rabbits already.¡±


    "Yes, my Kongr. I studied the treaty between Ilvana and Dunival in preparation for the peacemeet this year, and I was shocked to find the paragraph baring the trade of animals between the two kongdomren. Silent goods are all well and good, but I see no reason for the exclusion of livestock that cannot be overcome. The positives could far outweigh the negatives as such an arrangement would only bring our people closer.¡±


    He paused, waiting for his Kongr¡¯s nod to continue.


    ¡°Transportation is not such a big problem if one focuses on smaller livestock. Or perhaps our hesitation lies in how well a chosen species would thrive in a new environment. I am adept at the raising and charming of bees. I have seen the way that honey is coveted by our friends who do not possess the golden liquor in their homeland. From what I have heard of Dunival¡¯s climate, I believe the hives would thrive there. It would be an easy matter to train a few selected volunteers in their care.¡±


    A low murmur arose amongst Magnor¡¯s men. One pressed his hands against the table and half rose. ¡°To learn the arm of charming the bees...what would we be expected to pay?¡±


    ¡°You would send a modest amount of livestock in return. Something we do not have here, small enough to transport, and easy enough to learn to raise. Something useful for food or labor. I have one thought, a suggestion only. I heard someone claim that the wulvken of Dunival are stunning creatures. If---¡±


    ¡°Who has been speaking of the wulvken of Dunival?¡± Magnor glanced around at his men. The man who had spoken to Gavin sunk slowly back into his seat, almost as though he was afraid of making any fast or sudden movements.


    Gavin did not give away his informant by glancing their way. "It was just a passing comment I overheard, my lord. I have a long memory for what I find curious, and I admit, with my limited knowledge of lands outside my own, I find myself often plagued with curiosity. It is a disease that''s hard to cure."


    "Indeed, and one I know well," Magnor replied, leaning back in his chair and staring at Gavin over his steepled fingers. "Even so, we do not eat the wulves, and we do not employ them. They are wild, strong, untameable, like your black bjurns but more...slegrl. Um...sly."


    "Interesting. Well if not the wulvken, perhaps we could discuss a different trade...if the alteration to the treaty is allowed."


    Magnor did not answer but gestured, almost lazily, to his second who sat close by his right side.


    "Yes, we will discuss this idea amongst ourselves. I''m sure a mutual agreement can be made."


    "Very well," Lyssia''s father growled, slamming his empty cup back down on the table and glaring at it. "We will discuss it later. I suggest we pause our discussions to see what the kitchen has prepared for our midday repast."


    Lyssia glanced at her father. She had not known the extent to which these long speeches and Halvor''s diatribes had soured his mood. She cleared her throat to gain his attention and reached for his mug.


    "Father, will you allow me to fill your cup for you?"


    "No, no. There''s nothing but watered wine here. I have a desire for something stronger from the kitchens."


    "Something stronger, you say?¡± Magnor asked, motioning to one of his men that sat closest to the door.¡± I hold the same desire. Allow me to send for more volvstot. So long as you are my host, you should never have an empty cup."


    "Well said, young Kongr. Well said." Lyssia''s father lifted his cup to Magnor. "Bring your beer. I have found it useful for soothing tensions."


    "Indeed," Lyssia sighed, her voice dripping with sarcasm.


    A consensus was reached, and two messengers were dispatched - one to the kitchens and another to the storehouse where Magnor''s beer had been stored. Lyssia was forgotten again, trapped between Azerian and the table.


    Her thoughts circled back to Jarl Gavin. What impressed her most wasn''t what he said, but how his even tone never wavered. She sent her elbow into Azerian''s side and slid her chair back an inch. "Move. I want to talk to¡­"


    She cast her gaze toward Gavin and his friends, pausing when she saw that he was already looking her away. Lyssia was used to having eyes follow her. She was sure that Gavin wasn''t the only one staring at her now, but the way he straightened when he felt her gaze and turned away only to look back a few seconds later gave away his eagerness at gaining her attention. How long had he been watching her? Since before he confronted Halvor? Was all that real, or merely a means to gain attention?


    She turned away suddenly, sliding her chair back into place.


    "Lys?"


    "It''s nothing. Nevermind."


    She had been so caught up by Sidne, by her forthrightness and cheer and how she seemed to put everyone around her at ease. But Gavin was not his wife. Of course, he was similar to every other young Jarl and Jarlson here. All hungry for power and attention. If not from her father then from her.


    You must give trust to get any in return, a quiet voice in the back of her mind reminded her.


    But she was too tired to play that game today.


    She turned her hands over on her lap, picked a line, and traced its path all the way across her palm and back. There were no scars, no dirt, no unseemly marks. Her hands were unnoteworthy save for the calluses on her fingers that revealed her practice at the bow and arrow. And even those were slight, not the marks of a hunter who used their bow every day.


    These were the hands of a Drottine. But what did they say about her?


    She was unremarkable.


    The scars she bore unwillingly, the name she was born with, the title she was awarded because of her station. These made her noteworthy, but they were unsubstantial. They meant nothing.


    If anyone tried to gain power through her, they would be in for a sore surprise. What little power she possessed was not for the taking.

 Chapter 13A

    Lyssia could describe every inch of this room with her eyes closed. She had spent many uncomfortable afternoons locked inside it.


    She could number the squared stones that had been used to build up the walls, and she could describe the height of the ceiling based on an average man or the length of the spotted caterpillars that liked to climb the cool walls in summer.


    Unlike the reception hall, there were no low windows in the Kongr¡¯s meeting room. Only a high rectangular opening near the ceiling that ran the length of one wall. She had learned to tell the passage of time from the shadows that it cast against the wall and the smells emitted from the nearby kitchens.


    The two woven tapestries that had been hung on the walls long before Lyssia was born were as familiar to her as the one that hung in her room. A map detailing the original location and territories of the five Drakun kongdomren had been placed in a prominent position behind the line of chairs on the Dunival side of the table. Each kongdomren was outlined in a different bright color, and the names had been added in the corners of the areas of land in matching thread: Ilvana in green, Dunival in orange, Listoria in yellow, Sinnet in blue, Nukrevn in red.


    A tapestry depicting a bloody hunting scene decorated the wall behind the Ilvanian side of the table. It might be called beautiful in a certain light. The weaver had used muted colors for the background so that the bright reds and oranges of the felled Elke¡¯s blood and spilled organs shone like they were caught in a shaft of bright sunlight. It was well crafted, but Lyssia had always wondered why such a gory scene had been chosen to hang in a room where peace was discussed. She could not spend more than a minute looking at it without having to turn away, but with all the hours she had sat in these chairs, she had memorized the graceful line of the Elke¡¯s neck and majestic antlers, the curve of the hunter¡¯s bow, and the flowing mane of dark hair that graced the man¡¯s head and chin.


    In those months when the stead was deserted of visitors, Lyssia¡¯s father often called her in to sit in one of the hard, straight-backed chairs and answer questions about her lessons. History, diplomacy, and discourse were subjects he deemed of the utmost importance to her education. Just as important or more so than music, riding, and defense - the lessons she shared with her cousins.


    When she was younger, he had sometimes taken her outside the confines of the stead for their lessons. They would leave in the early mornings when dew still clung to the grass and mist clung to the trees and venture beneath the shelter of the eastern forest. Hidden out of sight of any prying eyes, she was allowed to remove her mask for a few hours.


    She remembered those peaceful mornings and the joy she felt as she clung to her illusions of freedom with crystalline accuracy. But even more so, she remembered their last morning outing and the look of disappointment on her father¡¯s face when he told her that she was too easily distracted and they could not continue their forest excursions whilst she remained so. It had been years since her father had invited her to enjoy a morning lesson beneath the safe canopy of the forest, and she had long lost hope that he ever would again.


    She could not count the number of afternoons she had spent sitting at this table, listening to voices drone on in the background while she tried to stay alert. Yet it seemed to her that no afternoon spent in this room had dragged along as this one was. That¡¯s why her father¡¯s announcement that he was calling a halt to the discussion caught her off guard.


    His mood had increased significantly after he started drinking the volvstot that was served alongside the midday meal. Lyssia hadn¡¯t touched her cup or plate. She hated to waste food, but she didn¡¯t think her stomach could manage to keep hold of the sausage stew that the men greedily wolfed down. Full stomachs seemed to help the Jarls better organize their thoughts, and Lyssia had allowed her mind to wander more as the men fell back into their old patterns of discussion.


    The abrupt end to the day¡¯s discussions shocked her into alertness, but what her father said next was even more surprising.


    ¡°Thank you for your patience, my friends. At this pace, I do believe that we shall see a new signature added to the treaty tomorrow, and we shall have a new reason to feast tomorrow night.¡±


    Smiles and muted cheers from both sides of the table greeted this statement. Only Magnor did not appear pleased. His grave bearing was nothing like his father¡¯s, who had constantly seemed to search for some reason to celebrate.


    ¡°Dizean¡­¡± Magnor stood for the first time since sitting at the table. ¡°I have a request to ask of you.¡±


    ¡°A request?¡±


    ¡°I cannot sign the treaty as it is.¡±


    ¡°You cannot sign the treaty¡­¡± Lyssia¡¯s father repeated slowly, pausing after each word as if struggling to find meaning in them. ¡°Did you lie to me then when you told me that this was your purpose when I offered you hospitality?¡±This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°I have not lied to you. I wish to honor the treaty that my father helped craft and the peace that he established between Dunival and Ilvana. It was his last wish that I do so. I have not come here to undo my father¡¯s work. But I must be honest in this. My father proposed...how many amendments to the treaty over the years? My heart weeps when I think of not giving sound to his voice. I would be performing my duty as his son if I could hear these amendments included in the reading of the treaty. Or even, perhaps, seeing one of those amendments written into law. I would not detract from our treaty of peace. I would add to it, expand upon it, see it grow...¡±


    ¡°We have kept a record of every law Rijek proposed,¡± Lyssia¡¯s father said, nodding toward where Bjarke sat on the opposite side of Eindre. It had been his duty to read the treaty out loud today.


    "I have them in my study," Bjarke said in a voice that shook with fatigue. Lyssia winced just thinking about his raw throat. This would have been a good opportunity to avail himself of an apprentice¡¯s voice, but alas, he had none.


    "If it pleases you, Magnor Rijekson,¡± Lyssia¡¯s father continued, ¡°we will read through each amendment and discuss them anew after you sign the treaty that your father saw fit to sign twelve years ago.¡±


    Magnor started shaking his head before the compromise was even proposed.


    Lyssia¡¯s father half rose from his seat, and she steeled herself against the outburst that she was sure was coming. But he merely adjusted his position and leaned his elbow against the table, pressing two fingers against his tired eyes. ¡°A straightforward answer. I beg you. Does Dunival intend to sign the treaty or not?¡±


    ¡°We will. I will. Of course, I will.¡±


    A sigh of relief was passed around the room. Magnor continued to speak as though he had not heard it.


    ¡°But not yet. The treaty may be altered tomorrow, or the next day. If my father¡¯s amendments are given due consideration, I have every belief that it will be. My father was a wise man. I must honor him in this.¡±


    ¡°Kongr Magnor, a question.¡±


    The Jarl who spoke waited until he had everyone¡¯s attention to haul himself up into a half-standing position. Lyssia wracked her mind for his name, but it eluded her. The sight of the portly man in a yellow cloak secured to his shoulders by wooden clasps painted with green and yellow stripes struggling to remain in his crouched posture would be hard to forget.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure we¡¯re all wondering...is there a specific amendment you have in mind to add to our treaty?¡±


    Magnor nodded to acknowledge the speaker, and the brightly dressed man sank back into his chair. He leaned over to consult with the young man sitting behind him. So, Lyssia thought, one of the Jarlsons who had taken a sound beating in the practice yard the previous day belonged to him. She wouldn''t be surprised if the son had been the one to pose such an obvious but crucial question, but, of course, he would not be able to deliver it. He was here merely to observe and learn, as she was.


    But what was his name?


    Curse her memory. She could perfectly recall a moment in the forest from years before but her mind was a sieve for names.


    ¡°My father spoke at length of his desire to see an exchange of settlers between Dunival and Ilvana. I know his plans by heart. I am aware this has not been a popular idea amongst your council, Dizean, but there have been some developments in Dunival that I think may prove a temptation to the explorers hiding among you. Also¡­¡±


    He paused, his entire body held in tense restraint as he waited for the murmur of voices to die down. There he is, she thought, seeing the way Magnor ground his teeth together and the stark tilt of his head. Rijek, minus the mirth.


    But what did that leave?


    Pure stubbornness, she answered herself.


    ¡°Also, I know that talk of the exchange of support in the event of war has never been tolerated, but---¡±


    The reaction from the Ilvanian side of the table was immediate and volatile. While Magnor¡¯s men remained seated and calm, Jarls popped up all around the room, shouting their dissent.


    ¡°No! Never!¡±


    ¡°One day, and he is already talking about war!¡±


    ¡°---given the precarious position that Dunival finds itself after the death of my father---¡±


    ¡°We are not weapons suppliers!¡±


    ¡°---I am justified in asking for a discussion! Only a discussion!¡±


    ¡°Be silent!¡± Lyssia¡¯s father exclaimed. The Jarls melted back into their chairs under his glare, but Magnor did not fall back.


    ¡°Dizean, please. I know Dunival¡¯s reputation of old, but you know us. You knew my father---¡±


    ¡°Magnor, that is enough! This is a matter to be discussed in private first. You should have known that. Do not make me scold you as if you were a fool and not a Kongr.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right. It is enough! I have spent all day listening to your men go on and on, while I ask for only a moment of your time. You say that you will listen to me, and yet you do not. Lyssia¡­¡±


    It took a moment for Lyssia to recognize her name. She shifted uncertainly under the weight of the gazes that settled all at once on her.


    Magnor¡¯s voice softened as he entreated her. ¡°Drottine, you know the situation I am in. You know my intentions. What would you suggest I do? Would you have me sign this treaty today?¡±


    ¡°I...Magnor...my opinion does not¡­¡±...........


    **********


    Lyssia squeezed her lips shut. A warm feeling prickled at the base of her throat, urging her to speak. She swallowed it down, and the pendant resting against her skin beneath the collar of her dress jumped and pressed harder against her throat. Its touch...

 Chapter 13B

    Lyssia squeezed her lips shut. A warm feeling prickled at the base of her throat, urging her to speak. She swallowed it down, and the pendant resting against her skin beneath the collar of her dress jumped and pressed harder against her throat. Its touch burned her.


    She knew what she wanted to say, but she had no idea how her audience would react. The pendant at her throat fairly vibrated as she took a deep breath and stood. She did not attempt to stoop out of respect. Magnor was already smiling at her as if he already knew what she was going to say.


    ¡°No, I would not. It would be a lie, and it is right of you to want to avoid that trap. I can not say I understand the situation you are in, but I appreciate the fact that you are caught in the middle of a storm. You feel pressured from every direction, and you are trying so hard to avoid showing disrespect to anyone. As far as I can tell, you have succeeded. I feel I have not been disrespected. Father, do you? Why not honor Magnor¡¯s request? How could further discussion harm us?"


    Lyssia reached out to place her hand atop her father¡¯s arm. His hand snaked out to take hers, and his tight grip prompted her to return to her seat.


    Again, a collective sigh swept through the room. Soft approval of her words, she hoped.


    ¡°I hear your words, daughter, and I, too, recognize the great tension that our young ally is burdened with. I forgive the outbursts I have witnessed since his arrival, as I hope mine can be forgiven."


    "Without hesitation," Magnor said.


    Her father''s exaggerated pause made Lyssia think he had not meant to wait for an answer, but he continued without comment.


    "As it falls to me to take charge of these peace talks, I say let there be an end to our arguments for today. Let us all enjoy the rest of this fine Eda-Yute day in peace and leisure. We will return to our discussions tomorrow after we break our fast. And we will begin with...the reading of all of Rijek''s proposed changes to the treaty. As he showed trust in bringing them to us and patience when his ideas were cast aside, so we will extend trust and patience to his son now."


    Beneath the cacophony of chairs being pushed back and boots migrating towards the doors, Lyssia''s father leaned in closer to her. He shifted her arm from where it rested on top of his to the table and whispered, ¡°You will come to my room first thing tomorrow morning. There are important matters we must discuss.¡±


    He left, and Azerian soon followed suit. He tapped her on the shoulder and murmuried, "Be right back," before vanishing.


    She was alone at the table. But not for long. Bjarke, a tall stack of weathered writing vellum cradled in one arm and a wooden box full of writing implements tucked under his arm, cornered her before she could shove Azerian''s chair aside.


    "Drottine.¡± Bjarke greeted her with a cold smile. ¡°I wanted to be the first to congratulate you on your speech. You helped us avoid what might have been a nasty fight. You are becoming quite the orator. I am pleased to see you trying to use your skills for good. I know you meant well, but a warning...words carry power. You should speak only what you mean, or you may find yourself in a trap of your own construction."


    Bjarke''s voice had taken on the cadence he used when instructing her in their lessons. His flat tone did not convey a threat, but his words clearly did, and Lyssia drew back. She gathered a fist full of skirt in each hand and glanced around at the exit that led to the dining hall. It was the least crowded of the two and would also put her closer to the kitchens, where she might find Carryn and steal a moment of her time.


    Bjarke was still talking. "Peace for the sake of peace can have the opposite effect when you realize that promises once spoken in a public setting can not be easily broken. You must be careful with such promises made in the heat of debate. They may diffuse the argument at hand while leading you down a path of---"


    "Thank you for your kind words and your wisdom. I promise you that I only speak what I mean, and I meant what I said. But you have given me much to think about. I wish to meditate on your wisdom in a quiet setting. Excuse me.¡±


    Bjarke stopped and stared at her in cold silence for a moment. Then he set his papers and box on the table and took hold of the back of Azerian''s chair. "Forgive me for delaying your escape, Drottine. Let me---"


    ¡°Please. Allow me.¡±


    Two more hands appeared beside Bjarke''s. Magnor lifted the chair and turned to place it against the wall where it belonged.


    "Thank you, Magnor,¡± Lyssia murmured as she took a step away from the table. She tried to quickly come up with something more to say to Bjarke, but it was unnecessary. He had beat a hasty retreat while she was distracted. She caught sight of him forcing his way through the small crowd that had gathered around the door leading into the receiving hall.


    "You looked like you could use a rescue."


    "Oh, no! Well...yes¡­" Lyssia smiled peevishly up at Magnor. "But it''s not your job to rescue me. I''m sure you have more important matters to occupy your time."


    "I''m afraid I passed on the difficult job to your Skald. He has to find the records and make sure they¡¯re legible. I only have to lead the discussion tomorrow."


    Only, he said, as if he truly believed leading a discussion amongst this crowd would be easy. Lyssia plucked nervously at her sleeve. "Did you have something you wished to discuss with me? I was trying to escape outside for some fresh air."


    "We are of one mind. I was hoping to get your opinion on a few matters."


    "My opinion?" Lyssia felt it again, a warmth that crept up her throat and heated her cheeks. It wasn''t a painful sensation. In fact, now that she thought about it, it wasn¡¯t unpleasant.


    "Yes. And I thought...It''s a beautiful day for a ride. Although¡­" Lyssia''s silence seemed to make him nervous. His eyes flicked down to the blue and silver patterned slippers peeking out from under her skirts. "...I suppose you are not dressed for riding?"


    Lyssia shook free the sound of her father''s voice. This will be our last lesson on horseback. You are too easily distracted. You must learn self-control.


    "I would need to change, and we would need to visit the stables and prepare our own horses, but if you''re not in a hurry...I should inform you that I must remain within the stone boundary of my father¡¯s land. It¡¯s only a mile or so of field, but there will be room to stretch our horse''s legs and talk privately."


    All this Lyssia blurted out, and then stood there waiting for Magnor to laugh. How desperate for escape she must sound. But then again, a ride had been his idea. Lyssia examined him beneath half-closed lids. He looked as tired as she felt.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "I shall follow your lead, my lady," he said, holding out his arm for Lyssia to take.


    Azerian rushed them from behind and threw an arm around Lyssia. "Yes, we shall follow you. Uh...where are we going?"


    Lyssia shook him off and folded her arms before her. "What have you done?"


    "Why do you always assume---"


    "Because you''re too eager to run.¡±


    "Roakev is planning another exercise bout. I don''t want to be punished again for what I already paid for in blood." Azerian pointed to his swollen chin.


    "Oooh," Lyssia hissed. "Does it hurt?"


    "A little," he said, shrugging.


    "Well, Magnor and I were just making plans to go for a short ride."


    "Yes, I suppose if you---"


    Magnor''s second called from across the room where he stood hunched in discourse with four other men. ¡°My Kongr! May we have a moment of your time?"


    Magnor shot Lyssia an apologetic look as he left her and Azerian to return to his side of the table.


    "If you want to join us, Az, you may. I think that''s what he was going to say.¡±


    ¡°No, you two go. If you keep him out long enough, I¡¯ll finally be able to search his room.¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°Search his...you...Azerian, you little thief. This has got to stop!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not stealing anything! I¡¯m just poking around a little. Someone has to make sure there are no surprises with our guests. Who better than one who possesses my talents of stealth and...Tell you what. I¡¯ll write my argument down and deliver it to your room later. I¡¯ll do much better with a written debate.¡±


    Lyssia did not rise to Azerian¡¯s playful tone. ¡°Are you checking every guest room, or are you merely taking extra precautions with the man you were calling friend yesterday while you kicked him in the back with a staff?¡±


    ¡°Knowledge is power, sweet cousin. But you leave it up to me. The less you know about my actions, the better.¡± Azerian clasped his hands before him and leaned closer, lowering his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. ¡°I can tell you that Magnor¡¯s room is not the first I have searched, but I intend it to be the last. It¡¯s becoming quite a chore.¡±


    ¡°And have you found anything of note?¡±


    Azerian shook his head, but his eyes drifted over to where Magnor¡¯s second stood with his back turned to them. ¡°Do you know his name?¡±


    ¡°Magnor¡¯s shadow? No.¡±


    ¡°Shadow...Right. I think he¡¯s some sort of healer. He has equipment in his room similar to what I¡¯ve seen Lach Seaka use. I saw the daggers waiting in his room as well beside a polishing kit.¡± He gestured toward Lyssia¡¯s new dagger. ¡°I figured they were meant to be a gift. Careful, by the way. It''s sharp.¡±


    This last comment, delivered with a casually thrown sneer, slid between Lyssia''s ribs like a dagger made of ice. "That was a little uncalled for."


    "I¡¯m sorry, it¡¯s just, once again, you get the gift, Roakev gets the glory, and I get nothing. But that''s not your fault so..." He shrugged and started to back away, but Lyssia followed him.


    "Azerian, are you feeling alright?"


    "I''m fine."


    "What happened yesterday...does it have anything to do with you sneaking around? Did Roakev find out?"


    "No. It has nothing to do with that," Azerian said, pulling his arm away. "Some...things...were said and...Look, it doesn¡¯t matter. I said something. He said something. I swung; I missed. He swung; he didn¡¯t miss. We both missed dinner. That¡¯s it.¡±


    "Then why are you still running? Why is he still fighting? If you would just tell me, perhaps I could---"


    "Do what?"


    Lyssia sighed and turned away so her back almost touched the wall, copying Azerian''s drawn-in stance. "Nothing."


    Azerian looked almost apologetic when he glanced up. "It was stupid. It is stupid. It doesn''t matter."


    Lyssia felt Azerian settle against the wall beside her. His shoulder bumped hers. "I''m sorry. Peace?"


    "Peace." Lyssia bumped him back, a half-smile ghosting her lips. "I was wondering...I know things are busy right now but my letter¡­¡±


    Azerian took the missive Lyssia slipped out of her pocket and hid it in his cloak sleeve. ¡°It shall be done.¡±


    ¡°So...you found daggers and healing supplies and¡­¡±


    "And a whole bag of black gems like the one used to decorate your gift. It makes no sense to me. I wish I knew what he and his master have planned for them.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps they¡¯re common in Dunival. They could be used for barter. Or maybe he grinds them down for use in medicine. I don¡¯t see how it matters. You didn¡¯t...take any, did you?¡±


    ¡°Of course not! All I took was what I thought were a few pieces of water-damaged vellum. There wasn¡¯t much good space left on them, but I needed something to write down my song. I figured it wouldn¡¯t be missed...¡±


    Lyssia held up her hand. ¡°You thought it was damaged?¡±


    ¡°No, I thought it was discarded. But I¡¯m not so sure now. It¡¯s definitely old, but I could make out some writing. Some nonsense about the moon.¡±


    ¡°Well...I can¡¯t stand it when you two fight. Please, Az. We have to talk to him.¡±


    ¡°We?¡±


    Lyssia smiled at the light that flickered into life in Azerian¡¯s eyes. Placing a hand on his arm, she turned him toward the dining hall exit. ¡°I think I saw him go out that way. I could help you find him.¡±


    Azerian gripped her hand tight for a moment and then released it. ¡°No, I''ll go by myself, and I promise I won¡¯t leave him be until we¡¯ve both apologized. Enjoy your ride.¡±


    Lyssia watched him walk away without her with difficulty. She had almost made up her mind to follow him, but a hand on her shoulder kept her from moving. Magnor withdrew his hand when she jumped, but she felt his arm brush against hers as he tracked Azerian¡¯s progress across the room.


    "Will Azerian not be joining us?"


    "No. He has something important tend. Were you able to answer your men''s question?"


    "Yes. I think I''ve placated them for now. I''m free to roam."


    Lyssia smiled his odd choice of words, but she was only half focused on their conversation. "Shall I meet you at the stables after I change? That way you wouldn''t have to stand around waiting for me."


    If she was quick, perhaps she could find Azerian first and make sure he was following through on his promise.


    "I wouldn''t mind the wait. It would give us more time to talk."


    "Oh, yes. You wanted to ask my opinion on something? I admit, not many people do."


    Lyssia settled her arm back into the crook of Magnor''s elbow as he escorted her from the room. Her other hand was busy arranging her skirts, checking her sash, pushing her hair back from her ears. She pushed a smile onto her lips, nodding to those they passed on their journey to the door, while her eyes busily searched for a sign of her cousins.


    Magnor stilled her motions with a tug on her arm and a sigh in her ear. "For starters, I was wondering if you could tell me the extent of the damage that my slip of the tongue caused."


    Lyssia''s blank expression brought a sad frown to his lips.


    "Sly...slegrl. Our languages are so similar, sometimes I forget there are differences. I hate sounding stupid, but I can¡¯t seem to help it sometimes."


    "No, Magnor. It was fine. I had no trouble understanding you."


    "Truly?"


    Lyssia let Magnor swing her around so they were eye to eye. Her mind went blank, her cousins¡¯ plight forgotten.


    "That is a relief. My worries feel lighter already. Thank you, Lyssia."


    "If only all our worries were that easy to solve. You must have so much on your mind. I would be happy to listen to them."


    She took his arm without prompting this time and led him in the direction of the lodging facility. Azerian and Roakev could solve their own problems. She was needed elsewhere.


    Sidne was right. It felt good to be useful. And if the thought that her father might find a list of Magnor¡¯s worries intriguing crossed her mind, she pushed it aside

 Chapter 14A

    Lyssia rolled out of bed at the first bird¡¯s call that sounded outside her window. She couldn¡¯t have gotten more than an hour¡¯s good rest, but it had to be enough. She couldn''t lay trapped under her blankets this morning.


    A surprise greeted her ears as she skipped across the room to her privy area. The mystery songstress¡¯ welcome to the dawn drifted in from the hallway. Looks like she wasn¡¯t the only one who was up early.


    Lyssia''s eyes, heavy already from lack of sleep, began to drift closed as she leaned her head back against the wall. She missed the moment when the songstress moved on. The sudden absence of her voice shocked Lyssia back into motion.


    "Mmmmmm¡­" She groaned as she pushed herself up straight. Her eyes lit on the bowl of water she''d set out last night. Without stopping to consider if it was a good idea, Lyssia gripped the edges of the bowl and slammed her face into the water.


    "Aaah! Cold! Mask!"


    She fumbled with the ties on her sleep mask, flinging it over her shoulder before dunking her head under again.


    "Oohhh...kay¡­"


    Her chilled nose and cheeks tingled. Cold water dripped down her neck and tickled her spine. Well, she was awake now.


    Lyssia patted her face dry and approached her wardrobe, eyeing the contents with a critical eye. Her new dagger was hanging from the wardrobe''s door handle. She had discovered the leather ties affixed to the side of the decorated sheath that could be used to attach it to a belt.


    A belt, or a thick sash. She hesitated only a moment before grabbing the sash she had worn the day before and the black jeweled dagger.


    There were many spoken and unspoken rules to be followed when it came to appropriate dress, but the most important rule was one Lyssia had made for herself.


    No more long sleeves.


    She could have easily spent half the day staring at her wardrobe, second-guessing every choice. Better to make a quick decision and walk away.


    Decide quickly.


    She picked out a cream-colored undergown with elbow-length sleeves and a sleeveless russet dress that tied on the sides and would fit easily over the thin undergown. It wasn''t as formal as the fitted blue dress she had worn the day before, but it was cool and comfortable, and hopefully acceptable when paired with her second pair of calfskin slippers.


    And walk away!


    Chosen outfit in hand, she retreated to change by the glowing coals that winked at her from the fire grate. She slipped into a pair of warm stockings before reaching for her shoes, happily wiggling her cold toes.


    She was aware of every second that passed as she conducted her morning face care routine and swept her hair into three sections for braiding. She caught a brief flash of her face in the mirror before she strapped on a white mask with artificially rosy cheeks that would help disguise her pale face and the tired circles under her eyes. Yes, her face gave evidence to her exhaustion, and her nerves, her hope, her...anger.


    Anger? She stopped making her inventory of emotions and fixed her eyes back on her reflection. Why was she angry?


    She had hope that today¡¯s talks would not drag on as yesterday¡¯s had. Magnor had told her that, unlike her father, he planned to actively lead much of the discussion on his side of the table. He would keep a tight rein on the number of rabbit trails the conversation was allowed to wander down and instead focus on concise, rehearsed, well-reasoned facts that did not lead to no-nonsense arguments.


    It had taken all Lyssia''s strength not to laugh openly at Magnor¡¯s impassioned speech detailing how he planned to control today''s peace talks. But she had wished him luck and, when prompted, had offered him her best advice.


    "Don''t speak softly, but never shout. If you do, you may be looked down upon for displaying weakness or pride. Keep control of yourself, and keep them wondering where and when you might slip, and you will better control their attention."


    Lyssia had been nervous to find herself speaking so forthrightly around the young Kongr, but he had merely smiled and thanked her for her advice. His thanks somehow made her feel more nervous. She wished she understood the secret behind her glimpses of the future. If she could trigger a vision, she could prepare for what would come from Magnor''s planning. But all she had was a vague sense of hope.


    Today would be different. She might even get a chance to add her voice to the discussions again. Whether she ended up agreeing with Magnor''s arguments or not, she would insist that he have the chance to speak and be heard. Their allies had earned at least that much. That''s what her father had taught her, but he seemed less inclined to deal with Rijek¡¯s son than he had with the man.


    And then - once everyone had gotten a chance to speak, and the peace talks were over, and Magnor and his men set sail for Dunival again, and the Ilvanian guests left for their homes - maybe then she could return to celebrating Eda-Yute. If there were any days left to celebrate.


    Lyssia gave the braid she was working on a sharp tug. Anger. It was one of the hardest emotions to control. Yes, she was angry that she would be stuck inside for another day at the negotiations table. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    She had known that this would be required of her. This was the year appointed for the renewal of the Dunival treaty. A week lost to negotiations. Only a week, and a grand celebration when it was all over to mark the end of Yute and the beginning of another year of peace and friendship. Something wonderful to look forward to...but all she could think was, It should not have snuck up on me so soon, and anger overtook her again.


    All she had done for the past two months was still around and listen.


    She had listened without complaint to the wind whistling outside the window when she could stand the cold that pervaded her room. An endless howling, like some mad dog set loose to scratch at the shutters.


    She had listened without complaint to the snow being knocked off the boots of those strong enough to venture out during the coldest winter nights to gather fuel for the grand fire. An endless tramping of boots that drowned out the soft shush of voices that surrounded her.


    She had listened without complaint to her father and Bjarke¡¯s voice as they led those huddled together in the central room of the lodging facility in the endless remembrance ceremonies of Urd-Yute.


    ¡°Remember ye our foremothers, providers of life. Remember ye our forefathers, preservers of life. Remember ye Arvid of Ilvana¡­¡±


    An endless refrain. Name after name. Speech after speech. Hour after hour.


    But at least then she had little tasks to occupy her hands and happy thoughts of soon being able to escape outdoors to occupy her mind. Eda-Yute was the bright sun that led her out of the long dark night of winter and back into the land of the living.


    Her father always grew more generous with his allowance of her roaming when the spring was new. A trip to Steiner Mart was only meant to be the beginning. She should have had two full weeks to gain her fill of riding and exploring before she was locked in that room again.


    Now even that time had been stolen from her this year. She should be dressing for riding this morning, a real ride past the wall, past the gate, past the looks and the whispers and the...


    Lyssia bit back an exclamation. The metal pin she used to help secure the braids at the base of her neck had nicked her skin. She pressed a hand to the spot and wiped away a drop of blood. Such a perfect, tiny circle of red. She lost her train of thought, staring at it. Was she experiencing another vision, or was the room actually spinning?


    Stop!


    Her body responded to her mind''s command, her fingers just resting lightly in her temple. What use was panic to her? There was no reason. No vision. What use was anger with no one to be angry at? And what use was all the rest?


    Her fingers itched to dig into her braids, rip them apart, and start again. But it seemed binding her emotions to her scalp would not be enough to get her through even her first meeting of the day.


    Her father was an early riser. He would already be waiting for her.


    She reached for a rag to wipe the blood from her finger and fixed her eyes on the mirror. A pretend face. A blank canvas. It was simple enough to show them all what they wanted to see.


    Nothing.


    With her hair pinned back, her hands laid out on the desk before her, and her breath returned to normal, she was almost there. A blank canvas, serene and untouchable, but for the storm clouds in her eyes.


    Lyssia closed them and imagined dipping her fingers into the jar of salve sitting before her. Sparks swam before her eyes as she pressed the pads of her thumbs against them and inhaled. In-out-in.


    She didn¡¯t need to look in the mirror to know that it wasn¡¯t working. As her hand dropped out of view of the glass surface, her attention was caught by the reflection of the tattoo that had been burned into her right forearm.


    She dropped her eyes and brought her arm to rest on her lap, tracing the inner circle of the mark that marred her flesh. Hidden beneath the black band was a small raised bump of flesh, a remembrance of her first Elken hunt.


    Lyssia''s eyes jumped to the Drakun pendant that now hung on an empty peg above her desk. She slipped the necklace free and brought it near her forearm, comparing the two images. Whoever had crafted the necklace had melded the mark of the mountain out of a single piece of metal. It looked identical to the mark on her arm, down to the interwoven double circle and the capped edges on the mountains.


    The silver Drakun had been added later. She could see the ridges that marked where the creature and the high peak of Aturnel had been fixed together. She ran a finger over the Drakun¡¯s side, feeling the roughened texture the artist had given the creature, the sharp edges of its claws, its shimmering eyes.


    This gift was far more precious than she had first perceived.


    She had been too distracted the day she received the necklace to notice the tiny gemstones set into the Drakun¡¯s face. She had never experienced the feeling that she was being watched at night despite the masks that hung on her wall. They were soulless without her eyes looking through them.


    The Drakun, who never went to sleep but watched over her with eyes that flashed in the firelight, gave her a different impression. But the sight of them did not spook her. It felt oddly reassuring to have someone, or something, watching over her.


    For just a moment, she had allowed herself to believe that something had passed between herself and Magnor¡¯s necklace. The surge of strength she had felt when called to speak, the warmth that had coursed through her - she knew that was all in her mind. Such objects did not hold power or sway over people. Still, she had taken off the necklace as soon as she returned to her room, hiding it again in her jewelry box so she would not have to look at it for a while.


    She shouldn¡¯t even consider the possibility now, but she couldn''t help thinking...if only she could cast aside her nerves and anger and melancholy for a time. If she could somehow lock them away in this beautiful vessel, close at hand but contained, would this day be easier to bear?


    Who would suffer the ill effects of such an experiment? Only the one who wore the pendant.


    It was a silly, childish thought, and yet wholly distracting. As she slid the chain over her head and pulled her hair through, she felt as if the last piece of her armor was falling into place.


    She glanced up and caught sight of the Drakun''s flashing eyes in the mirror. "Take them," she sang, closing her eyes against the feeling of the necklace humming against her throat.


    It''s all in your head. Her gaze flitted up to catch one last look at her mask before she stood and made her way toward the door. But it''d better work.


    She paused only briefly to check the drape of the sash and the placement of the dagger before opening the door and slipping out into the hallway. She was as ready as she could be to face her father''s anger.


    He would be angry, and she could guess why. The only question would be how she would be made to pay for her latest transgression.


    **********

 Chapter 14B

    ¡°Enter!¡±


    Lyssia drew back. She had barely touched her knuckles to the hardwood surface of the door.


    Feeling as though she was about to enter an arena unarmed and severely outmatched, she tugged the door open. It was unlocked, of course. She held her breath in anticipation for the moment when the door would creak in protest, but it moved without a sound.


    Lyssia let out her breath in a small, disappointed huff. It had been quite a while since she had been invited to step foot inside her father''s private study. Had it become so foreign to her?


    She glanced into the room, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light. She looked to the desk first, expecting to find her father in his customary position bent over his desk by the single candle. It was such a familiar sight. He didn¡¯t look up, and her greeting stuck in her throat when she saw that he was absorbed in a book.


    Her gaze circled the sparsely furnished room and came to rest on the couch that was set against the wall beside the door that led to her father¡¯s bed chamber. A wooden bowl sat perched in the middle of the couch as if it had never been moved. She didn¡¯t have to look to know that it was full of freshly gathered pine needles and vanilla blossoms.


    She had hazy memories of standing in this same spot, taking deep breaths of the pleasing mixture of leather, pine, and vanilla that was always present, and peering on tiptoes around the corner to sneak glimpses of her father sitting at his desk. She couldn¡¯t tiptoe back into the hall now, so she might as well tiptoe the other way.


    Lyssia entered just far enough to close the door behind her and jumped as the door issued a long, mournful creak. Her father finally glanced up, but he didn¡¯t speak.


    ¡°Vas morginnen, Father,¡± Lyssia said, bowing her neck as she curtsied to avoid his hooded gaze.


    Even in his own chambers where he sat alone, Kongr Rijek wore a mask. Lyssia did not possess enough pride to assume it had anything to do with her presence. This was a proper mourning mask - black and heavy. The rest of the stead had cast aside their Urd-Jute mourning, but her father never would.


    A hunger to know her mother overcame Lyssia during the time of Urd-Jute. She more than fulfilled her duty as Erina¡¯s daughter. She always participated in the ceremonies where her mother¡¯s name was to be remembered. She encouraged the emotion in her voice when she sang of her mother¡¯s absence. She offered grateful thanks for the life of the previous Drottingr and promised to never let her memory fade.


    She did her duty to her aunt, as well, setting aside time every day to ask for stories about her mother and their family. Carryn had her favorites, but Lyssia tried to listen to them every year like they were new. She would close her eyes and try to visualize her mother¡¯s voice, her laugh, her smile. Carryn said she looked so much like her mother, but Lyssia could only think of the figure in the golden mask. That made her grief all the more sincere.


    She did not shirk her responsibilities to the dead, but neither did she cling to the days of Urd-Jute. Once the door to the stables was opened to her again, she ran for them. She found her release in the saddle. It hit her as a surprise every year when she remembered that the anniversary of her mother¡¯s death fell in those days. The days of Eda-Jute, which were now upon them.


    She had been allowed to remove herself from the crowded stead and the Aon-Jute celebrations. Every year, she ran away and refused to acknowledge that the day the Fever had taken her mother was upon them again. Her father could not escape either his role of chief mourner or host.


    Apparently, he found himself very busy during this time. Too busy to do more than wave her forward before returning his attention to his book.


    Lyssia rubbed the bottom edge of the Drakun pendant, quickly casting her mind over the count of days. It was only the sixth day of Eda-Jute. That day was approaching, but it was not here yet.


    The room wasn¡¯t large. Four steps took her to the center of the study. Another two brought her to the edge of the desk.


    ¡°Vas morginnen, Lyssia. Would you care for something to eat?¡±


    Lyssia looked away from the patch of bare scalp that crowned the top of her father¡¯s bent head and noticed for the first time the food laid out as if in preparation for a morning feast.


    ¡°No, thank you.¡± The answer was automatic, and she had to stop herself from reaching for the cup of fruit that sat beside a dish of boiled eggs.


    ¡°No?¡± He turned a page in his book, his tone light and airy. ¡°After the way I saw you eat last night, I figured you were half-starving. A good morning meal would fix that.¡±


    Lyssia felt her face grow flush with embarrassment. It was true. She hadn¡¯t shown much restraint at the supper table, but she had barely eaten that day. Maybe he had a point.


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± she said, reaching for the fruit. Her hand brushed two of the vanilla blossoms strewn amongst the plates and she snatched them up along with a shiny red apple.


    Her father marked his place and set his book down. He watched her closely as she squeezed the nectar from the flowers onto her tongue and returned the discarded petals to the table. ¡°Are you feeling well, Lyssia?¡±


    Lyssia hastily took a bite of apple, mulling over the seemingly benign question. ¡°I feel¡­.fine.¡±


    ¡°You slept well?¡±


    ¡°Umm...No.¡± Lyssia took another bite of apple. Her father¡¯s attention kept her locked in place. It was an effort to even lift her arm.


    ¡°Too many thoughts running through your mind? I understand. Do you know what helps me?¡± He pushed a cup of dark liquid across the desk toward her.


    ¡°More...volvstot?¡± She wrinkled her nose in distaste.


    ¡°No. Tea. I¡¯ve had enough of Magnor¡¯s brew. It doesn¡¯t leave me as much of my mind as I want with our guests here.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Lyssia murmured, taking a cautious sip of the hot drink. Its bitterness mingling with the sweet taste of vanilla and apple on her tongue was as good as ten handfuls of cold water thrown in her face.


    Lyssia¡¯s father nodded at her wide-eyed reaction. He poured himself a second cup from the pot sitting before him and leaned back in his seat, appraising her in full. His gaze settled on her arm.


    ¡°You¡¯ve left your mark uncovered today. I approve. We should not be ashamed of the marks we bear. Now, what I wanted to discuss with you...Please sit.¡±The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Lyssia glanced over at the hard couch. It looked as uncomfortable as the chair she would be sitting in all day. She would much rather kneel on the floor and save her back an hour of discomfort.


    ¡°Father, if this is about---¡±


    ¡°Sit, Lyssia. My feet are bothering me this morning, and I do not wish to talk to you while you stand above me.¡±


    Lyssia retreated quickly. It was awkward juggling her apple and cup while moving the bowl of pine needles aside, but she managed. As soon as she sat it became apparent that she had been right. She hadn¡¯t known it was possible, but she had found a seat that was less comfortable than the chairs in the meeting room. She shifted around, trying to find a section of the couch that would accept her weight without pushing back. Was it too much to ask for a cushion?


    ¡°Lyssia¡­¡± Her father¡¯s impatient tone brought her back to what was really important. Her apology. She had to take responsibility for her speech before he called her out on it.


    ¡°Father, if this is about my speech---¡±


    ¡°Your speech?¡±


    ¡°Yes, my speech yesterday in favor of Magnor. I am sorry if it displeased you. I said only what I believed to be the truth, though I didn''t mean to speak out of turn.¡±


    Her father frowned. Lyssia had been so sure she knew the reason behind his summons, but perhaps she was wrong.


    ¡°You did not speak out of turn. You were asked to give your opinion. I would be displeased if you had refused, or if you had spoken falsely. But I believe you when you say you did not. In that, you did what was right.¡±


    Lyssia ducked her head before her father saw her smile.


    ¡°Magnor was very appreciative of your support. Or so he told me. Perhaps now that you have received praise, you will speak up more. Though courage would dictate you speak whether your words are praised or not.¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s smile vanished. She shifted again, placing her cup on the couch beside her. ¡°You wish me to speak up more in council, Father? You have always urged me to be an observer and not a speech giver, and now you chastise me for not joining in the debates? I can be a silent observer or an honest debater. But I cannot be both. Which is it that you expect from me, Father? How can I please you?¡±


    Lyssia bit her tongue. There it was again. The anger that had overtaken her earlier. She was smart enough to know it was best to hold your tongue rather than speak without thinking, but this anger burned like the mouthful of volvstot that she had forced down her throat on the first night of Magnor¡¯s visit. As quickly as it had taken hold of her, it vanished, leaving her to face her father alone.


    The room was silent as her father absorbed her words, and Lyssia was forced to swallow back the acid that rose in her throat. She started to reach for her tea again, thinking it might calm her nausea, but her father¡¯s glower stopped her. Her hand hung in the air, useless and quivering for a moment, before falling back onto her knee.


    ¡°Now you speak out of turn. I expect my daughter to have learned by now that there should not be a contest between her ears and her mouth. She can control both. She will control both. You will¡­¡±


    His anger seemed as short-spent as her own. He turned away and grumbled into his tea. He sounded so much like Seaka that Lyssia almost looked around to see if the Lach was standing in the corner. In the time it took him to look back at her, Lyssia had fallen into a kind of stupor that had more to do with exhaustion than contrition.


    ¡°Lyssia, daughter, it is not enough anymore for you to ask what will please me. You are a Drottine of Ilvana, and that question---¡±


    ¡°Father¡­¡±


    ¡°A Drottine of Ilvana, and that question¡­¡± He paused as though waiting for her to speak over him again. As if she would dare. ¡°...is beneath you. Do not forget who you are.¡±


    Never.


    ¡°You will learn to control that tongue and use it to your advantage. But while our guests are here, I need you to play the part of the observer.¡±


    Of course.


    ¡°Tell me what information you have gathered during our guests¡¯ stay. Lyssia, are you listening to me? Speak.¡±


    Lyssia took a deep breath and allowed the words to flow out of her. She was prepared for this request. She glossed over the beginning of the peacemeet - all the pleasantries and the ceremony - and started with the discussion of the standardization of trade rates.


    She kept her opinions to a minimum and offered them in an even-paced monotone alongside her observations. There could be no denying that she had been attentive during the peace talks. She could summarize every main argument, of that she was certain, and she had kept only half her mind set on the discussion.


    She was allowed to get all the way to the argument surrounding the issue of limber before her father stopped her.


    ¡°Lyssia, stop! This is not what I meant. I enjoy our discussions on policy, but we don''t have time for that right now. What I need to know is your thoughts on the speakers.¡±


    Lyssia was so caught up in her monologue that her father¡¯s question did not make sense to her at first. ¡°The speakers?¡±


    ¡°Yes, the Jarlscan. What do you think of them?¡±


    ¡°Errr...um....¡±


    ¡°Who strikes you as smart? Who has a good head on their shoulders? Who would stand in agreement with us on terms of trade and war?¡±


    Lyssia sat up straight. The answer was obvious to her.


    ¡°I have not had much time to speak with him, but Jarl Gavin seems level-headed. He held his own against Halvor yesterday, and I thought what he said about the exchange of livestock was intriguing. Trading honey bees for...who knows what? I would be interested in learning more of his thoughts on trade.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes. Gavin is a good man, but he¡¯s young. This will be his first peacemeet without his father. He has no children, sons or otherwise.¡±


    ¡°No, but his wife is with child. He''ll be a father soon.¡±


    ¡°Oh, and you would have me align myself on the promise of a hale babe, would you?¡±


    "Of course not. What---?"


    "No, you would have us aligned with Dunival and their bairn ruler."


    "Magnor is not a baby."


    "He is a child. There is nothing wrong with it. Nothing. That is a fact. Keep your wits about you, Lyssia. Or do you have any left?"


    "I...I''m sorry. I don''t understand."


    ¡°The sons, Lyssia! I have need of a strong ally among the Jarlsclan. A fresh perspective. A strong, level-headed perspective. Someone who will stand with us instead of trying to undermine us. What do you think of the sons?¡±


    ¡°Well, I...I do not know any of them.¡±


    ¡°No, of course not. But this is your job. Learn more about them. Observe them. Listen to them. Perhaps even deign to speak with one or two of them. Bring me news of who may make a passable ally. Can you do this for me?¡±


    Lyssia could not muster enough breath to react to her father¡¯s sharp tone. Either the charm she had attempted to place on the pendant had finally gone into effect, or she had gone numb to this conversation.


    She had learned that her father never did anything without reason, and though she did not always understand those reasons, she respected him.


    ¡°Yes, Father. I will do as you ask.¡±


    ¡°Very good," he said, slapping the table for emphasis. He was already reaching for this bool again. "You may leave now. I am expecting Bjarke, and I need to speak with him in private. Think about your conversation and prepare yourself for the meeting today. Take the tea with you if you life.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Father.¡± Lyssia stood, cup of tea in hand, and shuffled out the door, down the hallway, and back to her room. It wasn¡¯t until then that she realized she had left her half-eaten apple behind for Bjarke to find.


    She had intended to throw herself down on her bed, pull the blankets over her head, and try to steal another hour of not-sleep. She wound up sitting at her desk instead. Bits and pieces of yesterday''s arguments kept replaying over and over in her mind. It would be useful to have her own account of the peacemeet. Perhaps going over what she remembered with her new role in mind would help her find something worth sharing with her father.


    Roakev found her an hour later, quill in one hand and empty cup in the other. He offered her no conversation beyond, ¡°Vas morginnen, Drottine. Wipe that ink off your fingers. We can¡¯t be late.¡±


    Apparently, he was still in a foul mood. The two of them made a perfect pair.


    **********

 Chapter 14C

    Magnor would not stop looking over at her. Lyssia had avoided contact with him so far, and she did not feel guilty about it. He was doing just fine on his own; he didn''t require her help. Honestly, she was surprised that she had thought he would.


    The Jarlsclan was in fine form today. They did not even bother to keep their complaints to whispers. No one wanted to prolong the talks with new discussions. They wanted something familiar to argue over. Lyssia had heard similar complaints lodged against Rijek. It had ever been his goal to bring forth new discussions and delay the end of the talks.


    Her father and uncle - who had just as much right to wrangle them - seemed disinclined to help. Their silence was the only support they gave Magnor. They did not try to cut him off or control the flow of conversation. This was Magnor¡¯s day to rule over the negotiations table, and he was holding his own.


    He did not need to keep looking to her. Lyssia didn''t know if he was trying to see if she was impressed or asking for a show of support. Once again, her mind was only half on the discussion as she turned her attention to the eight Jarlsons in attendance and the puzzle her father had handed her.


    She felt more awake - more alive, if that were possible - now that she had a task all her own to focus on. She would have to approach it like a puzzle to solve. Her father had never once tasked her with socializing with her peers or making friends, and to think of his assignment in such terms would likely drive her mad. She had little experience in the making of friends, and even less in the keeping of them.


    This was a stealth mission. It was a study on allies and human nature. It was a puzzle to be examined and put into place by her steady hands. Her father''s grand purpose could very well be her education in these matters. He had his reasons and expectations already in place, and she intended to exceed them.


    But how to begin? That was always the hard part. Once she had one foot out the door, it was easy enough to follow through. All she could do now was sit and observe the Jarlsons while trying to appear as though she was not.


    Answering the question of which Jarlson would make a strong ally very much depended on what she knew of their fathers. She did not want to rule anyone out as a potential ally, but Jarl Halvor''s son - Sorev - would most assuredly not be her pick. One down, seven to go.


    Her gaze circled the table to where Azerian sat behind Jarl Fulrik, which put him directly beside Halvor and Sorev. The older landowner had come alone to the peacemeet, so there was a vacant seat ready to be filled behind him. Azerian had taken one look at Roakev and Lyssia walking into the meeting room together, muttered something rude under his breath, and stalked off to find another seat.


    Lyssia was thankful she hadn''t been able to make out his words. The message was clear enough. He and Roakev had not called a ceasefire on their little spat. Roakev had placed Lyssia in her chair and taken Azerian''s empty seat behind her. Lyssia thought it a kind gesture but also a petty one, and Roakev did not offer her the same distraction that Azerian would have. All in all, she felt as though she was getting the short end of the stick.


    She wondered if she brought this puzzle to Azerian if he would laugh at her struggles or offer her advice.


    ¡°What does Dunival have to offer us in exchange for labor?¡±


    A hard voice broke through Lyssia''s thoughts. She glanced back toward the center of the table. Magnor¡¯s eyes tried to grab hers, but Lyssia hastily looked away. What advice would Magnor give her?


    ¡°If your countrymen come to Dunival to settle they will not be used for labor. They will be given land, homes, knowledge. They will be treated with the utmost respect, as I would expect pilgrims from Dunival would be treated. It would be an equal exchange.¡±


    ¡°But what assurance will be provided for us that they will remain safe? Or that they will be allowed to return when they wish?¡± Jarl Fulrik asked.


    ¡°And what knowledge could you, our poorer ally, offer us? The knowledge of the wulv-ken? Hahaha.¡±


    This came from the colorfully dressed Jarl that Lyssia had taken note of the day before. She let her attention waver from Magnor, her eyes searching for signs of reaction from the young man sitting behind the Jarl. He shifted his weight away from his father, fidgeting as though uncomfortable. Well, that was interesting.


    ¡°Angar, Fulrik, be silent.¡±


    The attention in the room shifted from Magnor and the Jarl who had just insulted him to her father. Magnor sat in one fluid motion, no hesitation in his bearing as he ceded the floor to his elder.


    ¡°My men are used to speaking their minds during these meets, Magnor, as you well know. They do not always speak for me. Rest assured, I don''t think my agreement with Dunival is merely symbolic. I expect an equal exchange in all our arrangements; Dunival has offered us much wealth over the years."


    Lyssia¡¯s father spoke in cajoling tones as though he expected Magnor to snap again at any moment. Keep them wondering where and when you might slip...


    But it was clear to Lyssia that Magnor had as much control over himself as he had over his men. She had never seen such a well-behaved pack of debaters.


    ¡°But on this matter...I¡¯m afraid my stance has not changed. I don¡¯t doubt that my people would be welcomed in your kongdomr, or that we might benefit from the exchange in ways yet unknown to us. My concern has always been and continues to be the resources in making such an unnecessary move. The law of necessity---¡±


    ¡°Medicine.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Among the numerous other resources we have to offer Ilvana, my father¡¯s healers have been developing new medicines for...previously incurable...ailments. I would gladly share these with any allies of mine, but they involve delicate processes and native materials. It would make sense that anyone wishing to learn about the wonders being performed by Dunival healers would travel to our shores to learn.¡±


    ¡°Wonders, you say?¡± Her father kept emotion from his voice, but his thoughts were present in his sharp intake of breath and the way he shifted his body to lean toward Lyssia. ¡°What sort of wonders? How long have you and your father kept this knowledge to yourself?¡±


    Magnor¡¯s gaze wavered to the side, just the tiniest bit, and Lyssia leaned away from her father. ¡°You would find the developments we have made hard to believe given the fact we are such a poor kongdomr. It would be easier for me to try to explain them in private council with you, Dizean. No disrespect to our friends gathered here.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    He smiled at the men gathered around the table who were all staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and yearning. ¡°My father, cautious man that he was, wanted to wait until all dangers had been eliminated, but that will never be achieved. He intended to bring forth the research at the meet this year. He wanted to be the one to place it in your hands. I have the notes written in his hand meant for you.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­¡± Lyssia¡¯s father sat back. It was clear the Magnor¡¯s words had sparked his imagination; his thoughts were a league away chasing down possibilities.


    After a long moment of wondering, he sat up straight again and declared, ¡°I will not be pushed into making a decision that I do not fully believe in, but I am open to more discussion. We should arrange a private meeting before your departure.¡±


    ¡°Dunival¡¯s borders have always been open to Ilvana. They will remain so.¡± Magnor offered Lyssia¡¯s father a half bow and turned to Bjarke, lifting his chin and speaking in a strong voice. ¡°Let us move on. There is one more matter that we set to discuss today. Master Skald, please continue reading.¡±


    Magnor had saved this discussion for last on purpose. It was a smart move. Let everyone tire themselves out with lesser arguments before making any mention of...


    ¡°On the topic of war,¡± Bjarke began, and immediately, angry protests sprang to life along the Ilvanian line. They held no life of their own. They were swift but weightless, like a fast-sprung gale. Bjarke did not falter.


    ¡°I ask that the leaders of Ilvana put aside their prejudice of old and consider Dunival a valuable partner in the preparation of defenses against those who would take advantage of our many and varied vulnerabilities. I have the authority and the strength of mind to promise you that I shall start no wars of my own. I have no desire to see the bloody history of Dunival repeated. But I have built ships, and I have sailed them. Though I have not been welcome in the world, I have set my sail against the wind to seek what peace I could find. I am a seeker of peace, as I know your own Kongr Dizean to be, but not everyone is. And where peace does not reside in the hearts of men, a spirit of war may flourish.


    ¡°I know not when. I know not how. I know not from where the attack will come. But I know this to be certain as if it had already come to pass. Men will seek to wage war against Dunival. If not in my lifetime then in the lifetimes of my sons, who will be unprepared to withstand battle. I can see it - the slaughter of my people - as if I am standing on the opposing shore of the great river of time glimpsing visions of the past. I have always known that Dunival would fall if I did not do all I could as a peace seeker to make allies.


    ¡°Glad was I the day I secured for Dunival such a strong ally as Ilvana. Knowing you refuse to pledge yourselves to a covenant of mutual protection wounds me deeply. I do not ask for weapons and men to wage war as if Dunival was a tidal wave set upon destruction for destruction¡¯s sake. No. I ask that you help me build a dam against the wave of destruction that is coming for us. I have offered you my complete trust, all my resources, all my heart. My friends, believe me when I say that I would stand for Ilvana in an instant if called to protect her. Pretty words, yes, but I am prepared to put them into writing and sign my name in blood to this oath. Forgive me if my trust in you falters but for a moment when you have denied Dunival the same.


    ¡°I leave this written plea behind not just for your Kongr, but for all who sit on his council. Please take these words into consideration and place my request upon your heart. The next time we meet, let us do so on equal footing and as true allies bent on the protection of all our brethren. Until my return for the celebration of our sixth year of peace, know that my spirit remains with you roaming the green foothills of Ilvana. In good faith and friendship, I bid you farewell and vas adhuil. Kongr Rijek of Dunival, son of Ritevok, Friend of Ilvana and Seeker of Peace."


    Peace. Lyssia kicked at an imaginary boot.


    She was oddly touched by Rijek¡¯s letter. She had not expected this record to read like a personal missive. None of the others had. She wracked her brain for a memory of the letter being read at the Jarlsmeet that year. She recalled being asked to sit through the gathering, but the letter was missing from her memory. An oversight on the part of Bjarke or her father, or a mistake? Somehow, she did not think it was the latter.


    ¡°Thank you, Master Skald,¡± Magnor said, and all eyes flew to him. ¡°I do not know that I could speak as eloquently as my father, but I would add my own words to his plea.¡±


    It was not a question, and no answer was provided. The gale of mutterings did not die down, but Magnor cut a path through the wind to the map that hung on the wall behind him. One of his men made a pass for his arm, the first Lyssia had seen of a dissenting attitude among the Dunival party. Magnor shook him away and spoke a short command that sent the man reeling back against his seat. Lyssia watched with mild concern as he clasped a hand over his face and hunched over the table.


    What was wrong with him?


    Magnor had reached the map, and no one seemed to be paying the nameless man any mind. He traced an outline of Dunival with one finger not quite touching the woven surface. Then he stood there for a moment, just staring at it. When he spoke, it was with his back turned.


    ¡°Yes, the old prejudices remain. Yes, trust is a hard boat to steer. Yes, war is coming to Dunival, and though I am prepared to put up a fight, I am afraid that I have not the manpower nor the experience to succeed. If war reaches foul Dunival, it will not hesitate to reach across the water and strike fair Ilvana.


    ¡°I am prepared to offer the same promises that my father did before me. I want to see Dunival made strong again, and Ilvana with her. Nothing else will please me. I do not have a love of swords. My love is reserved for my people, and I would see them reach past this mourning that my father¡¯s death has cast them into and look toward the dawning of a bright new morning. But I cannot promise to keep peace for them when I fear that peace will not keep me.


    ¡°My younger brother¡­¡± Magnor paused and a sigh escaped his lips. Lyssia spared him a glance, but her attention returned quickly to the man who appeared to be in distress.


    He fell sideways, his head hitting the arm of the man beside him. The second man tried to shake him off, but he seemed to have fallen unconscious. Lyssia almost cried out, but she caught herself at the last moment. Someone else would speak up. They must.


    ¡°My younger brother has more natural patience than I could ever hope to attain, and yet it will do him no good when Listoria turns him away again. And after they have news that my father has been felled and Dunival is weakened...what will we do then? What will you do then? What will you do when Listoria shows its true colors and takes from those it does not respect without fear of being called to give recompense? Will you stand to protect us? Will you exact recompense for us? And if your answer is yes, as I hope it will be, then why can you not promise this now? Please¡­¡±


    ¡°But it is not only a promise of future aid that you are asking for,¡± Lyssia¡¯s father spoke in the same low, placating tone he had used earlier. ¡°You risk the safety of your loved ones by leaving them when you seem so sure that war is on your doorstep. What are you truly asking for?¡±


    Magnor turned back to face the table, his arms extended wide, his head half bent and eyes lowered. ¡°You cut to the heart of the problem, Dizean. Now search yours. Then you will know that what my father and I have said is true. I cannot pledge my trust to a kongdomr who speaks friendship but would deny us this protection. And yet I would pledge my whole heart to a kongdomr that offered us aid - men, weapons, horses - anything that would help us withstand this wave of destruction that is coming for Dunival. We need aid now. Please, do not dismiss this---¡±


    A sound halfway between a moan and a bellow escaped the distressed man as he jumped awake. He broke free of his friend¡¯s shaking and leaped to his feet.


    Magnor turned, seeking the source of the disturbance. His gaze went naturally to Lyssia¡¯s side of the table, but his eyes grew wide when he saw that it was one of his own men who had interrupted him.


    The man took a shaky step toward him. ¡°My lord, I---I¡¯m sorry---¡±


    He collapsed there at Magnor¡¯s feet, his apology left hanging in the air.


    An unnatural stillness took hold of the room as thirty-two Ilvanian hearts stopped beating in unison. Then the gale of mutters broke loose and with it all sense of reason.


    **********

 Chapter 15

    Magnor¡¯s well-mannered group of men sprang from their chair and swarmed toward their Kongr like a hive of bees that had been kicked to the ground and set free. Most went to form a haphazard ring around Magnor and their fallen compatriot, their backs pressed up against the chairs and the map-covered wall. Their actions were disciplined, but their voices were not. Confusion and anger rang forth in their tirade.


    Five of them left the group to wave off the few Listorian witnesses who had jumped forward to help. Their hands opened and closed near their hips, as though looking for the swords that they had left behind in their rooms.


    Magnor¡¯s second stepped forward and took charge, sending the Listorians back to their seats and pushing the five back into the circle. They obeyed, but the tension in the room was unbearable. It didn¡¯t help that Magnor was yelling from within their ranks.


    ¡°Get up! What happened? Why didn¡¯t you tell me you weren¡¯t feeling well? Did anyone else know?¡±


    Lyssia recoiled from the anger in his voice and the mirrored threat in his men¡¯s stances.


    ¡°If it¡¯s poison, it wasn¡¯t me.¡±


    ¡°Poison?¡± Lyssia rounded on a Jarl who sat a few chairs down from her.


    He startled, clearly unaware of how loud he had been talking. ¡°Drottine, it...it was only a joke.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it was,¡± Lyssia said, shaking her head. ¡°But it was ill-timed.¡±


    ¡°Yes, my lady.¡±


    He spoke it like a question. Lyssia turned her back to him, glaring around the segregated table. Dunival separated from Ilvana. Jarls from the east separated from those from the west. Each group eyeing each other like they were a bug to be squashed beneath a boot. Was the peace they larked about so tenuous?


    Lyssia turned to her father, who had his head bent toward Eindre. Only their lips moved, their bodies held in rigidity so as not to give away any thoughts, as they observed the spectacle before them.


    ¡°How long has he been ill?¡± Magnor yelled to be heard above his quarreling men.


    There was fear beneath the anger in his voice. So much suffering. He was been a witness to so much suffering.


    Lyssia reached for Roakev¡¯s arm and pulled him forward, whispering urgently in his ear, ¡°Roakev, we have to help.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll decide what to do,¡± Roakev said, nodding to their fathers, who were working hard to portray an aura of calm.


    Calm. Calm. Calm. Lyssia¡¯s racing heart fought against her control, leaping erratically as the distressed man started moaning again.


    ¡°Enough! Enough!¡± Magnor pushed to the forefront of the group. He dragged two men from the circle and sent them running out of the room. ¡°Set your focus on caring for your comrade. Get him up. Get him outside.¡±


    ¡°Do you know what ails your man, Magnor?¡± Lyssia¡¯s uncle called out.


    Regardless of what emotions battled to take control of Magnor, he was attempting to contain them. Lyssia would do the same. She would not give in to her urge to bolt to Magnor¡¯s side and offer him whatever help he needed. She would lead with her mind, not her heart.


    ¡°It is likely fatigue from the trip,¡± Magnor was saying. ¡°He was overtaxed on the journey. His body is overstressed. We are all stressed.¡± Magnor voice shook a little, but he steadied it. ¡°This incident has caught my men off guard. I apologize for the disturbance, but he needs his bed, and I should accompany him to make sure that he is settled into it.¡±


    ¡°Oooh no¡­I...no...Ahhhh.¡±


    Magnor turned back and extended his hand toward the circle of men that grew tighter around the distressed man who was still hidden from view. That was just as well, because Lyssia was suddenly sure she did not want to see what state he was in to make such sounds.


    Magnor¡¯s voice rose as he strained to be heard above his man¡¯s cries. ¡°Yes, rest is the remedy. I should have traveled with a healer. Though I suppose a healer can not do much good against travel pains.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I understand," Dizean said, eagerness to be done with the situation coloring his voice. "You should go. We will reconvene our talks later. Or tomorrow, perhaps. The afternoon is already growing late.¡±


    ¡°Would it not be wise to send someone for the Lach?¡± Azerian stood, glancing between Magnor and Lyssia¡¯s father. ¡°Just in case she can do anything. It wouldn¡¯t take long for me to ride to the village and bring her back.¡±


    Bless you, Azerian.


    ¡°I can accompany him. I won¡¯t slow him down, and Seaka will come faster when she sees this is urgent enough for two riders.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± her father said, agreeing far quicker than Lyssia expected.


    ¡°In that case, I should stay. I can help make sure everything is ready for the Lach¡¯s arrival.¡±


    ¡°Azerian? What¡­Why...?"


    ¡°The Drottine cannot ride out alone,¡± Eindre said without looking her way.


    ¡°Uncle¡­¡±


    ¡°No, Lyssia. What he says is true.¡±


    ¡°But father...my Kongr, Azerian is right. Magnor¡¯s man needs a Lach.¡±


    "No."


    "I will escort her."


    Lyssia¡¯s closed her eyes, hiding from the person whose voice was the last she wanted to hear.


    "You think you can keep up with the Drottine, Halvorson? She can ride like the wind when asked to, and I would expect any party that left to fetch the Lach to return within two hours.¡±


    "Yes, my Kongr," Sorev said, lowering himself into a deep bow. "As you command."


    Seven more chairs scraped against the floor as the rest of the Jarlsons stood to proclaim their intent to join the Drottine¡¯s retinue.


    No. No. No. No! Lyssia shouted. She stared at her father¡¯s ear, willing him to hear her thoughts.


    "Very well. If two riders would have hurried Seaka along, let''s see what nine will do. It¡¯s not the luckiest of numbers, but so it must be. Do be gentle with her though, daughter. She is getting on in years."


    Lyssia could not stand until Roakev pushed his chair back. She glanced over her shoulder to signal him to move, but he was already standing.


    "If you would think better of an even count of ten, I shall add myself to the riding party, Uncle."


    "Yes. Good. Go," her father snapped impatiently, shooting Roakev''s father a telling look. Lyssia noticed a lot of looks passed around the room as she led the newly formed group toward the exit that led through the receiving hall. She made no effort to acknowledge the glances thrown her way.


    The Dunival party had made use of their distraction to carry the moaning man from the room. Azerian walked amongst them. Lyssia recognized his mop of brown hair. They had chosen the same exit as Lyssia and her escort. She saw them disappear through the front doors to the hall.


    The men set to guard and operate the doors when the hall was empty were absent, but Magnor, who trailed the group a short distance, noticed her approach and called for his men to hold the door.


    Lyssia paused when she reached him, allowing Roakev and the Jarlsons to go on ahead of her. "We will return with Lach Seaka as soon as we can. She¡¯s very skilled. I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll know a way to help."


    "I fear a fuss is being made over little, but at the same time, I am grateful for your aid.¡±


    Lyssia swallowed a lump in her throat.


    "I hope to see you ride as the wind one day, lady songbird. But for now, all I can say is thank you.¡±


    Again, that nickname...It sent an arrow straight through her heart.


    ¡°Magnor¡­¡±


    ¡°Take care with that lot of ruffians." He nodded to the Jarlsons.


    "I¡¯m not worried about them. Only that they won¡¯t be able to keep up.¡±


    Lyssia turned away reluctantly. Her gaze snagged on Bjarke''s form standing in the hall¡¯s shadowed doorway.


    "This cannot get any worse¡­" she muttered to herself before calling out to him. "Skald Bjarke, would you like to accompany us as a witness and make us an unlucky number again?"


    "I thank you for the invitation, Drottine, but I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s one I must decline. Even I don¡¯t have such fortitude. But I would appreciate the chance to visit with you after your return and hear tell of the trip.¡±


    Had it been anyone else who said those words, Lyssia would have thought he was making a jest of her discomfort. But she had never known the Skald to play the part of a jester.


    Fortitude. Fortitude. She took up the chant as she led the way to the stables. Haste made her stride long and her movements shaky. One of the Jarlsons offered to saddle her horse for her, but she declined as politely as she could.


    "Arvid does not care for strangers."


    He returned after she had outfitted her horse and bent to one knee before she could refuse his offer to help her into the saddle. It was a bit awkward due to his height. The Jarlsons ranged widely in size and shape and age from the youngest who couldn¡¯t be older than eighteen to the oldest, who knelt before her now. He could have easily celebrated his thirtieth birthday this year. And they all shared a common role: to make her feel like she had just stepped out of a cold river onto a thistle-covered bank barefoot and shivering.


    Lyssia quickly realized that although she could have swung herself up into the saddle and ridden just fine in her loose dress, mounting on her own while she was being watched would have been awkward. It was easy enough to balance one boot against the Jarlson''s knee and the other on his proffered hand and allow him to do the hard work of lifting her to saddle height.


    He waited with a hand pressed against her horse''s neck, holding him steady as she adjusted her seat. She looked up to offer him sincere thanks, but he spoke before she could.


    "No bridle?"


    He sounded impressed, but she did not rise to the opportunity to brag. It had been important to her that she learn to ride in the old style. It had more to do with her horse''s skills than hers.


    "Arvid does not care for many things," she said, leaning forward and clicking her tongue.


    Arvid stepped forward smoothly, slipping around the horses and riders in his path and out into the stable yard. Lyssia allowed him to approach the barrel of water set out for animal use and take a long drink. Then, without pausing to see who followed her, she directed him toward the path that circled the stead and led to the village and gave a sharp whistle. Arvid, her beautiful Dubkir charger, took off like an arrow set loose.


    They couldn¡¯t keep up such a pace the entire distance, but Lyssia did not slow until they were through the stead gate and well on their way down the steep road that connected her father''s stead to the village whose patronage they depended on. Here the rocks that had taken on a life of their own on the road to Steiner Field were more subdued.


    Still, it felt like they were climbing down a series of rocky stairs that would take them half an hour to traverse at least. Arvid handled them beautifully. She could have chosen a more direct road, but she had no fear of galloping full speed down the slope in broad daylight.


    The Kongr''s land held room for several animal barns and storage houses and a few rows of potatoes and barley, but the majority of their vegetables and grain came from the village and their outlying farms. Lyssia¡¯s father was always adamant in insisting that the villagers retain their rights to be called Karls, free farmers and workmen. They were partnered with the Kongr¡¯s stead, not owned by it. If one prospered, the other would as well.


    This arrangement had been a cause for several debates over the years. The Kongr could do what he wanted with his land. The debates should have ended there, but she often thought her father was overindulgent in the patience he showed his Jarls and their tendency to want to discuss everything.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Her puzzle concerning the Jarlsons sat unfinished at the back of her mind. Her thoughts were on her current task, but she couldn¡¯t help but take notice of the men riding with her as Arvid fell back into a sustainable pace. They all seemed to be excellent horsemen, but then they would have had time specifically devoted to training in the saddle. She took note of which ones tried to pull ahead of her, which ones seemed content enough to stay back behind Arvid, which ones led with hard hands.


    The Jarlson who had helped her mount rode without a bridle and reins, but she could tell that his horse was not trained to it. The pair kept veering off course to the right.


    Roakev kept to Arvid¡¯s right flank but did not try to outpace her. Halfway through the trip, Sorev attached himself to her left. His black steed was like a fly that Arvid could not flick off. She had a look prepared for him if he tried to talk to her as they rode. It would be the perfect combination between, ¡°I can¡¯t hear you!¡± and ¡°Are you really trying to talk to me right now?¡±


    But Sorev concentrated on maintaining his position and didn¡¯t try to engage her in fruitless dialogue. He sits his saddle well, she grumbled to herself. He could be the best rider of the lot.


    The first indication they had reached the outskirts of the village was the carefully tilled and tended fields, barren of crops for the moment save potatoes and turnips - hearty plants that grew beneath the surface of the hard ground - and a single long row of golden wheat Preparations were already being made for the time of planting, which would begin once the six-week Jute celebrations were complete. A few villagers were bent along the rows working the soil and repairing damaged structures used to support crops that liked to grow toward the sun, but not as many as she would have thought.


    The majority of the villager''s fields lay to the east of their homes, the animals to the north and west. Perhaps those areas were more populated.


    This would work in their favor. Lyssia was able to find an unoccupied path between two beds of raised earth that would allow them to continue at half their previous pace. Roakev took the next row over. A couple of Jarlsons followed him while the others fell into a single file line behind her.


    The villagers they passed glanced up to gawk at the riding party, but Lyssia did not stop to offer greetings or explanations. Seaka''s hut was located on the eastern edge of the village closest to the forest, which sat within view of her back garden. It would do them no good to turn that way now if Seaka was tending to a villager, or worse, if she was traveling.


    The Lach periodically visited other villages and homes to offer what help she could. Lyssia hadn''t considered the possibility that she would be away before they set out, and the thought soured her stomach.


    It soon became clear why the outer reaches of the village appeared empty. A festival was taking place in the village center, and paths that would normally have remained open were crowded with celebrants. Everything was decorated in the tiny white flowers that grew abundantly in the rocky soil - the ground, the doorways, the well, the little girls¡¯ hair. Every child in the village must be present twirling, jumping, and cavorting in the space before the high-stepped well.


    Girls dressed in their prettiest frocks trailed ribbons behind them, trying to coax the boys to grasp the other ends and dance with them. A few managed to snare a partner, but not many. There were pockets of girls with clasped hands dancing together in circles, all thoughts of the boys - who were staging some kind of swordplay act on the fountain steps - forgotten.


    Lyssia¡¯s eyes were naturally drawn to the musicians who hid just within sight down another path that led to the well. They were playing a dancing Ridineig that drove the dancers ever onward with its increasing pace. The steady drums beat like the heart Lyssia could feel pounding in her chest.


    So many people. There would be no way through the village center. They should have just ridden straight to Seaka''s hut.


    She turned to Roakev, prepared to explain her mistake and ask the Jarlsons to retreat, but the shout that went up from the other end of the dance floor drew her attention.


    "Drottine! Drottine!"


    An older man, a village representative that she had met before, rushed toward their group. Every adult he passed stopped what they were doing to bow their covered faces and bend their knees in Lyssia''s direction. The man stopped to grab hold of a young woman and pulled her along after him. Her right hand was bound up in a pink ribbon, and attached to the end of the ribbon was the left hand of her new husband.


    "My lady!" the man exclaimed, forcing the young couple into a deep bow before letting them go.


    "My lady," the young couple echoed in murmured tones. They clung to each other and drew back behind the older man.


    ¡°My lady, I did not know that you would be visiting us today. You honor my family. This is the brudpar - my niece, Hanne, and her husband. The ceremony is complete, but the feast has not been served. The winter was kind to us. There will be more than plenty for you and your party.¡±


    "You are most welcome, Drottine." The woman glanced up with a shy smile. ¡°We will prepare a seat of honor for you.¡±


    Lyssia panicked for a moment as she tried to remember the formal phrasing for a wedding blessing. In the end, it didn¡¯t matter. Before she could speak, Sorev Halvorson decided to speak for her.


    ¡°The Drottine is here on far more important matters than a wedding feast.¡±


    He attempted to sidle up to Arvid¡¯s left side again. The path would not allow for three horses to stand abreast, but he seemed intent on making either Roakev or Lyssia give up their positions at the front.


    Lyssia''s cousin tried to take charge of the situation. "Jarlson, do not overstep. Your opinion has not been called for."


    ¡°But I shall give it. They act disrespectfully toward the Kongr''s daughter. They should wait for her to speak before bombarding her with such low propositions." He forced his horse to press forward a step further, ignoring its anxious wicker. "The Drottine demands that you summon the Lach here immediately, and while we wait, I would advise you to curtail your tongues and show the Kongr¡¯s daughter respect.¡±


    Lyssia held onto her saddle pommel as Arvid''s head whipped around and his teeth grazed the leg of Sorev''s mount. The other horse drew back with a cry of fright, and Arvid immediately returned to his calm, watchful stance. He was a well-trained horse, but he did not like to be crowded. Lyssia released her grip on the saddle and threaded her fingers through Arvid¡¯s mane.


    Good boy.


    He flicked an ear back as though he heard her.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Sorev cried out.


    ¡°Move back, Halvorson! And get control of your horse," Roakev snapped. ¡°Please forgive the offense, Drottine. His outburst shall be dealt with swiftly. And Karlsman, please accept our apologies.¡± He bowed his head to the village representative.


    ¡°Yes, please forgive us.¡± Lyssia winced at the meek tone in her voice. She sounded so like the nervous woman who was practically cowering before their horses. But Sorev¡¯s actions had thrown her off guard, and it would take her more than a minute to find herself again.


    She knew without a doubt that Sorev and his father did not understand the partnership between noble stead and free Karlsmen. They owned their workers; they would expect nothing less from their Kongr.


    ¡°My lady, if...if this is about the la...lambing¡­¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s attention shifted from the young woman to her uncle. He was nervous, and he had every right to be. If Sorev¡¯s horse were to spook and bolt, he would not just be knocking aside Lyssia and Roakev. He would be running into a square full of oblivious partygoers, family members and well-wishers, children.


    Sorev was slowly gaining control of his mount. Lyssia could still hear its panicked breathing and the way it kept moving its feet, but the rhythm to its stamping was slowing down. She didn¡¯t think they were in any real danger, and she did her best to convey this by smiling reassuringly at the quivering brudpar.


    ¡°...I am afraid you may have wasted a visit. I reported the early births for record¡¯s sake, but we are not expecting the season of lambs for another moon at least. Then we will need all the help we can get tracking them down.¡±


    Ah yes, the lambing season, a season of good, hard labor to be shared by all. Even, to a limited degree, the Kongr and Drottine.


    Last year, the village had seen fifty-eight lambs found and brought to the barn for safekeeping. Fifty-eight in all, and she had carried four of them herself. She had walked half a mile into the forest to retrieve her last wayward lamb, guided only by a sharp feeling in her gut and a soft, inconsistent bleating for help.


    Hard, honest work and lamb cuddles - what better way could she ask to celebrate the change of seasons? Lost in her memories, it took her a moment to realize that the representative had stopped talking and was waiting for her to reply.


    "Yes, um...That is good news. I shall inform my father. However, I am here in search of the Lach, not lambs. Can you tell me if she is near or far?"


    ¡°She came to wish my niece well, but she left early. She is not one for social gatherings, our Lach."


    Lyssia tried to ignore the disapproving tone that crept into his voice.


    "As far as I am aware, she should be at home. I hope nothing is amiss at the stead. The Kongr...is he well?¡±


    She heard more than one Jarlson shifting impatiently behind her, eager to be moving again. She had not forgotten their reason for coming, but what did they expect her to do? They could not simply drive through the crowd without any explanation or thought for the people.


    Lowering her voice so that no eavesdroppers would overhear, she explained, ¡°My father is fit as an Elke, and as strong as one as well, but he bid me make hate and fetch the Lach to attend to a guest''s sudden illness."


    "Sudden illness? Oh no. I shall send someone to fetch her right away.¡±


    He glanced over his shoulder, already searching for his messenger, but Lyssia drew his attention away from the other celebrants by urging Arvid to step up beside him.


    ¡°No, I shall go. My father has given this task to me, and our horses are swifter than any running feet. I have told you of our purpose in coming here in confidence. Please do not repeat it.¡±


    ¡°Of course not, my lady.¡± The man shared a glance with the young couple, and they nodded silently, their lips pressed into thin white lines.


    ¡°Brudpar¡­¡± Lyssia waited until the couple turned back to her before having Arvid step forward again and reaching a hand out toward the woman. She laid her left palm on Lyssia''s, but Lyssia shook it away gently and pointed toward the couple''s bound hands.


    ¡°May the warmth of the sun fall upon your heads more than the rain. But on the days the rain falls, may you find shelter in each other¡¯s arms...and in the home you both shall build together.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, my lady. Such a fine blessing you bestow upon us. We shall remember it.¡±


    ¡°I wish I had more than words to give, but you are welcome. Now if you would permit us, we shall take the next path over and make our way to the Lach¡¯s hut.¡±


    ¡°Ride in strength, my lady. Vas heill!¡±


    ¡°And to you! Vas heill!¡± Lyssia called over her shoulder and lifted a hand in farewell as the cry of, "Vas heill, Dizeandaughter!" was taken up.


    She directed Arvid to head down the next deserted path that would take them in the direction of the forest, driving him as fast as she dared. The village was not all that large, and yet it took them many minutes to make their way through the rows of houses and small barns.


    Lyssia knew the paths well. Or at least, she knew how to keep Seaka¡¯s hut and the forest before her. She stopped short at the start of the row of houses that would end in Seaka¡¯s hut.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Roakev asked, pulling up beside her.


    ¡°I think perhaps we were too hasty to discount the Karlsman¡¯s offer to share a table.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure¡­¡±


    ¡°And we do not want to spook the Lach unnecessarily by showing up with ten riders.¡±


    ¡°Right¡­¡± Roakev glanced over his shoulder at the loose grouping of riders behind them. ¡°So what do you want to do?¡±


    Lyssia still felt embarrassed over her reaction to Sorev¡¯s earlier interruption. She had shown hesitation when she should have remained unyielding. What were these men - these boys - to expect from her now? She would show them.


    ¡°I have made a decision!¡± Lyssia proclaimed without preamble, turning halfway to glance over her shoulder at her escort.


    With five simple words, she had their full attention. They were hanging on her every breath. She could sense the tension humming in the air, taunt as a pulled lyra string. They wanted to impress each other. They wanted to impress her. Was there anything she could ask of them now that they would deny her?


    Lyssia almost hissed out loud at the thought. She never wanted to be in a position to ask herself that. It was too much power. And yet here she was.


    ¡°I do not need an escort of nine to collect one woman, and it is my wish to honor the villagers who have so generously given my father their loyalty. I am asking for volunteers to return to the celebration. Be my messengers, and spread my good wishes. Share a drink with the brudpar. Enjoy a dance. Appreciate their food and be loud with your compliments.¡±


    A look passed along the line. No one stepped forward.


    Lyssia would not beg. She would not look at Sorev.


    ¡°You need not fear the Kongr¡¯s anger. I will explain that your absence is my fault. You will not face repercussions for my decisions.¡±


    Lyssia glanced back at Roakev when it seemed that no one was still willing to volunteer. He shrugged and shook his head.


    ¡°Well, if no one will....¡±


    ¡°Drottine, we will go.¡±


    Lyssia looked to see that the two youngest Jarlsons had distanced themselves from the others.


    Beggars be not choosers.


    ¡°Thank you. Go, enjoy yourselves, but remember who you are¡­errr...who you represent. I will look to see you return before dinner.¡±


    Lyssia watched them go, barely hiding her smile as she saw how eagerly they fled the company. Even their horses kicked up their heels in joy at being able to let free. She hoped they would remember to calm them down before they returned to the crowded paths closer to the village center.


    Remember who you are¡­


    Lyssia hunched her shoulders and looked at the remaining riders. As it had so often today, her hand reached up to finger the necklace she wore.


    Of course, Sorev had not volunteered. But had she really wanted to send him straight back to people he had just insulted? No.


    "Drottine, if I may¡­"


    "Yes, cousin?"


    Roakev was not the scheming kind, but he wasn¡¯t dumb. There was something in his voice that told her he knew exactly what she was thinking, and he agreed.


    "It may be prudent to send out one more rider who can make all speed for the animal keeps on the western side of the village. Your father may be interested to know how many lambs have been born prematurely, and as long as we¡¯re here¡­"


    "Yes, I think you''re right. But he would have to be fast - faster than the wind - to make it back with the information and meet us on the main road. Are there any volunteers?"


    She turned to meet the gaze of the closest Jarlson. What use did she have for a pretty face to cause a distraction when simply holding back an eye roll was enough to cause the rider to sit up straighter and toss her a lazy grin?


    ¡°Drottine, I would gladly---"


    ¡°I shall go.¡±


    Lyssia did not even glance in Sorev¡¯s direction. If she did, she might not be able to keep from bouncing with glee in her saddle. She flicked her hand toward the road that led around the village and faced Arvid in the opposite direction, toward Seaka¡¯s hut.


    ¡°Yes, you shall go.¡±


    Sorev, thinking he had won a boon, had apparently been expecting more of a send-off, or perhaps even a thank you. He called after her in a voice meant to carry, "I shall obey your command, Drottine. As surely as my word can be trusted, I will bring you the information you seek. Do not worry for me or my horse. We shall be back at your side soon enough to see you safely returned home.¡±


    Lyssia raised her hand in acknowledgment before he could continue. Deep laughter sounded from behind as the Jarlsons spurred their mounts to follow her.


    If her father were to ask her for a report on this young generation of the Jarlsclan she would have to be honest with him. They seemed more trouble than they were worth. He would not accept the answer, but it would be an honest one, and if his speech to her this morning was to be believed, that still counted for something.

 Chapter 16A

    There was no jostling to help her down from her horse or rush to open the door for her. No one jumped ahead and insisted on calling upon the Lach themselves.


    ¡°Please wait here,¡± Lyssia said after pulling up beside the fence surrounding the hut and using the wooden planks to step down. ¡°I shall be but a moment.¡±


    A chorus of quiet agreement met her words.


    She did not know what made her look back as she stepped up onto the raised porch that ringed Seaka¡¯s hut. It put her more at ease to feel the rushes tickling the top of her head than it did to see the seven riders waiting for her. She felt again that she was stepping into a day from her childhood.


    A day stolen away from the stead before her studies took over her days and it had been Seaka¡¯s job to watch her. If she blinked, she imagined the Jarlsons would disappear, and she would catch sight of herself at seven running around the back of the porch to deposit another wrapped bundle of rushes in the pile to be hung, dried, and woven into mats.


    Goosebumps trailed up her arms as she laid a hand against the thin wooden door that was too small for its opening. The cracks at the top and bottom kept neither wind nor sound out. If Seaka was going to answer the door, she would have already.


    Lyssia knocked twice, paused, then knocked again.


    ¡°Mistress Lach!¡± she called, counting to ten before testing the door. She knew it would be unbarred. There was nothing worth stealing in the Lach¡¯s hut.


    The house contained only three rooms. The front door led directly into the largest room, which was about the size of Lyssia''s bed chamber. This was where Seaka prepared her ingredients for her famed salves and teas, her poultices and tinctures. It was also where she ate her meals, as evidenced by the single bowl and plate set out on the table between piles of dried flowers. Two bubbling cookpots sat on hooks over the fire.


    A single door set near the fireplace led to Seaka¡¯s bed chamber and a tiny closet just big enough to have housed Lyssia¡¯s wardrobe. She had peeked inside it during one of her first visits, but Seaka had been so upset when she found the closet door opened that Lyssia had vowed never to go near it again.


    "Memories." That was the Lach¡¯s answer when Lyssia gathered the nerve to ask her about the wooden box that sat in the bottom of the closet. "I cannot let them go, but I cannot leave them sitting out in the open."


    Lyssia had never forgotten those words. She looked now toward the direction of the Lach¡¯s bed and the closet of memories. Seaka wasn''t present in the main room, but Lyssia should be able to see her through the open door if she was resting.


    Quieter now, Lyssia called out, ¡°Mistress Lach?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I¡¯m coming. What is it?¡± Seaka grumbled, popping up from behind a cabinet with a basket in hand. ¡°Oh, Drottine. What a lovely surprise.¡±


    ¡°Not...not quite.¡± Lyssia stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.


    ¡°Fine. And you?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s eyes tracked Seaka as she deposited the basket atop a listing pile of empty containers and crossed to the fire. She took a soup ladle hanging by a peg behind the first pot and dipped it into the liquid, but paused with the ladle halfway to her nose.


    ¡°Did you not ask how I was? My mistake¡­¡± Seaka brought the ladle to her nose and took a deep whiff. ¡°Tonic needs more time. This, however¡­¡± She replaced the ladle and took down another one that looked suspiciously identical. Dunking it into the second pot, she gave the it¡¯s contents a stir and carefully took a sample of the steaming liquid. ¡°...is done. Rabbit stew. You¡¯re welcome to a bowl.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid there isn¡¯t time to eat a meal, Seaka. We need to---¡±


    ¡°Did you mean to ask me?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry...what?¡±


    Lyssia was beginning to get worried. Seaka seemed more scatterbrained than normal. Perhaps she had spent too long cooped up with whatever was boiling in the first pot. The stench was already beginning to make Lyssia feel dizzy. She reached out and grasped the edge of the table, sinking onto the worn bench.


    ¡°How I am. Did you mean to ask me? I thought I¡¯d taught you better manners than that. It¡¯s a simple question. Even I can remember to ask---¡±


    ¡°My apologies, Seaka. How are you?¡±


    ¡°Hmmm, oh yes. Fine. Thank you for asking. Hungry. Will you be wanting some stew?¡±


    ¡°No. I have been sent on an urgent errand to deliver you to the stead.¡±


    ¡°Oh, aye, and what urgent business has Dizean sent his daughter on this time? If it¡¯s a cough, I have a tonic ready...almost. I¡¯ve heard a lot of complaints about coughing fits in the village this week. Thought I ought to be prepared.¡±


    ¡°We are housing guests from Dunival.¡±


    ¡°Dunival? How unusual.¡±


    ¡°They arrived early for the peacemeet. One of them fell down screaming at the negotiations table. Kongr Magnor says it¡¯s travel exhaustion, but I¡¯ve never---¡±


    ¡°Kongr Magnor?¡±


    ¡°Rijek is dead. Kongr Magnor has refused to sign the peace treaty until we agree to promise aid in the event of a potentially imminent attack on Dunival. So, as you can imagine, things were going about as well as a bear trying to play the flute!¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡±


    ¡°Just horrible! And then one of his men passed out, and then he woke up and he just...just started screaming and¡­¡±


    It all came rushing back to Lyssia. The screaming. The fear. The urgency she had felt when setting out. Lyssia jumped up from the bench. When had she sat down? She felt more comfortable in this ramshackle little hut than she did anywhere on her father¡¯s land. She longed to slide closer to Seaka, share her lunch and work, and beg for a walk in the woods once the work was done.


    But no. She had left a man screaming in pain back at the stead. She had promised to ride like the wind, and here she was sitting like a log.


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have told you everything I just did, but that is the situation as it stands. We have to go. Now! Our escort is waiting outside!¡±


    ¡°Calm yourself, Drottine. You¡¯re no good to anyone if you have a panic fit. Here, have a bowl of stew. It¡¯s good for the nerves. And while we eat, you can tell me everything.¡±


    Seaka slid her bowl of stew over toward her and reached across the table to grab another one. She dumped the contents unceremoniously on the table surface and turned to ladle stew into it.


    ¡°I¡¯ve told you everything I know. We don¡¯t have time for this!¡±


    ¡°Road exhaustion, your guest said. If that¡¯s true, the situation isn¡¯t all that dire. You lot always come knocking as soon as I¡¯m about to sit down for a meal.¡±


    ¡°You are always welcome at my father¡¯s table. You will be chiefly compensated for your lost bowl of rabbit stew. There is a man in pain, Seaka. Does it matter why?¡±


    ¡°No. No, it doesn¡¯t. But that¡¯s no reason to get snippy with me. Hand me that, would you?¡±


    She pointed to a flask that sat half-hidden under the pile of tiny green and white petals she¡¯d emptied from the bowl in her hand. She tossed the bowl over her shoulder and took the flask, sniffing its opening suspiciously. Satisfied that the flask was not contaminated, she held it over the pot and attempted to ladle stew into it.


    This flask went into a long bag held upright by a hard frame along with a collection of other odd implements as Seaka began to pack up. ¡°At least it will do someone some good. It¡¯s my own fault. I should bar that door. She can¡¯t even tell me his symptoms. Passing out and screaming...could be anything.¡±


    ¡°Do you think it could be exhaustion? Some form of travel sickness? Or...¡±


    ¡°Hmm? What was that?¡±


    ¡°Nothing. Can I help with anything?¡±


    ¡°Bank the fire. Shutter the windows. Grab that stack of cloths.¡±


    Lyssia hurried to do as she was told. It was a relief when Seaka declared herself ready and she was able to lead the Lach outside. Roakev offered to ride with the Lach, but he required assistance in getting her into the saddle.


    A Jarlson stepped forward to take her bag and was rewarded with a scowl from the Lach. Roakev had to coax her into releasing it. ¡°It will slow us down, Mistress Lach, and we can¡¯t afford that. Your tools will be in good hands.¡±


    Sorev met them as they were approaching the fields they would have to ride through again. Lyssia spurred Arvid into a gallop before he could speak. She surged ahead of the group and down a wide middle path, the others following as close as they dared, and Sorev was forced to take up the rear position.


    Lyssia led them straight to the stable yard and jumped at the fence, hurrying to help the Lach dismount.


    ¡°I¡¯ll show you where the Dunival guests are quartered. Could someone bring her things please?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Drottine.¡±


    ¡°Over here!¡± Azerian came running around the back of the kennels that sat catty-corner to the stables.


    ¡°Azerian! I¡¯m taking her to the lodging house. You should run ahead and tell them we¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°No need. Our sick friend has been sequestered in the kennels.¡±


    ¡°The...kennels?¡± Lyssia tightened her hold on Seaka¡¯s arm. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°It was Magnor¡¯s idea. Just until we know what¡¯s wrong with him.¡±


    ¡°Alright then. To the kennels.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m¡­¡± Azerian licked his lips, nervously glancing over at Roakev. ¡°I¡¯m supposed to tell you to stay away. Your father doesn¡¯t want to risk your health.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± Roakev said, stepping forward to join Azerian in blocking her path. ¡°I¡¯ll take the Lach.¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°You¡¯re expected to report to the Kongr and your father. Just you.¡±


    ¡°Right then. I better not keep them waiting. Drottine.¡± Roakev nodded to her and turned on his heel, marching off in the direction of the receiving hall. She watched his bunched shoulders rise quickly, once, twice, before finally releasing in a long sigh.


    ¡°Roakev! Wait! Uh...Seaka?¡±


    ¡°I can take myself to the kennels. You, boy, bring my bags.¡±


    Azerian stepped forward to take them from the Jarlson who had them in hand and hurried to guide Seaka toward the door at the back of the long shed.


    ¡°Well, I¡­I see they don¡¯t need me. My aunts are probably busy in the kitchens. I wouldn¡¯t want to get underfoot there.¡±


    She felt odd speaking her thoughts out loud, but she didn¡¯t know what to do with the remaining Jarlsons standing silently before her. A quick look revealed they were just three in number. Sorev had slunk off right away, leaving his horse to be tended to by someone else.


    One other Jarlson - the only fair-haired rider among them - had disappeared while her back was turned. She couldn¡¯t guess his reasons, but Sorev had assuredly left to report to his father all he had seen and heard. Halvor would find some use for the information. Sorev was going to make her come to him for the lambing number, and oh, what a joy that meeting would be.


    ¡°But that¡¯s alright. I prefer tending to my own horse. I think he deserves a nice rub down after that run.¡±


    Lyssia held a hand against Arvid¡¯s neck, and he turned to sniff along her sleeve. ¡°And a snack, of course, you silly creature. Come along.¡±


    Roakev¡¯s horse had circled the group and was making its way after Roakev. Lyssia hurried to take hold of its lead. ¡°Easy, Sikurd. Easy. Why don¡¯t you come with us?¡±


    Arvid, used to Sikurd¡¯s presence, did not protest as Lyssia pushed them together and herded them back to their places in the stables. She waved aside the worker who came forward, and he left without protest. She was used to her caring for Arvid. The three Jarlsons followed her inside with the rest of the horses in tow.


    The silence didn¡¯t last long. She knew it wouldn¡¯t, but she found herself immediately questioning her decision to dismiss the only other person at work in the stables when one of the Jarlsons turned aside from his horse to lean into Arvid¡¯s stall.


    ¡°Drottine, you seat your horse very well.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Lyssia murmured and turned to busy herself with collecting the tools she needed - brush, comb, oilcloth - and laying them out on the hip-high wall that separated Arvid and Sikurd. She was having too many unscripted interactions lately for her own comfort level. It made her feel petty to admit it, but she was not made to endure small talk.


    The Jarlson - nameless, faceless, and yet somehow giving off the air of a charmer - was not deterred by her turned back.


    ¡°He is a Dubkir horse, is he not?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°And his name?¡±


    ¡°Arvid.¡±


    ¡°Arvid? Hmmm. Why does that name sound familiar?¡±


    ¡°Because Arvid was her great grandfather. Am I correct?¡±


    Lyssia glanced up at the tallest Jarlson, who smiled at her over the questioner¡¯s head. The shorter boy scowled and pushed him away, but he just took a step back and nodded to her. ¡°My grandfather saw him crowned. He was a great man.¡±


    ¡°Yes...thank you¡­¡± Lyssia picked up the comb and began to work it through Arvid¡¯s tangled main while he snuffled at the hay he¡¯d left behind in his stall, searching for his promised treat.


    The third Jarlson, who as far as she knew was busy with making his horse comfortable in the stall on the opposite side of Sikurd, surprised her by popping up behind her. ¡°Are you interested in horses, Drottine?¡±


    Lyssia jumped. She couldn¡¯t help it. She was alone in Arvid¡¯s stall, but she hadn¡¯t realized how thoroughly surrounded she was. She covered her reaction by reaching for the cloth and bending to rub the sweat from Arvid¡¯s legs. ¡°I suppose. I mean...yes. I am.¡±


    ¡°My house is the keeper of the Dubkir herd. My father¡¯s father, father, and I - we raise them. They¡¯re half-wild, even after learning to take a saddle, and beautiful every one.¡±


    Now that had Lyssia''s attention. Dubkir horses were treasures. She had known that the Jarl currently in possession of the herd and their grazing grounds would be in attendance, but she didn¡¯t know he had a son. Lyssia gave Arvid¡¯s side a pat, trailing her hand along his back as she moved on to his back hooves. ¡°The winter was kind to the herd?¡±


    ¡°Very. We had two winter foals born on the first day of frost. Tiny little things. I spent much of the winter cooped up with them in the barn. It was the most peaceful month I¡¯ve spent in a long time.¡±


    ¡°I admit that does sound...nice. Tell me, what does carrying for two foals over the winter entail?¡±


    Lyssia glanced sidelong at the Jarlson. Her eyes flew to the clasp of his cloak. A shield painted with stripes of yellow and green. She noted the triumphant smile he threw toward the other two Jarlsons. He wandered back to his horse¡¯s stall as he answered her question, taking up his own oilcloth and brush. The others retreated to care for their horses as well.


    The stalls were positioned in groups of threes with higher walls between the groups. The Jarlson with knowledge of the Dubkir was lucky enough to be so close, and he used his advantage to keep control of the conversation. But the distance between stalls did not stop the other two from offering their thoughts on horses and horse care.


    Lyssia took care of Arvid, even sneaking to the other side of the stable while the Jarlsons bickered blindly amongst themselves about the best way to patch a damaged saddle to collect fresh oats and water for him, before moving on to Sikurd¡¯s stall. He had waited patiently, and she tried to handle him with as gentle and thorough a hand as she had shown Arvid.


    She had vowed to take her time, both for the horse¡¯s sake and for her own. She had to have something to report back to her father after spending a whole afternoon in the company of the Jarlsons. She was learning a lot about them in their speech and their silences. They didn¡¯t seem in a hurry to leave the stables either, and she had to wonder if they had been ordered to get to know her as she had been ordered to learn more about them.


    Lyssia was slightly amazed by the unflagging energy that the Dubkir boy showed when speaking about horses. Would he be as outspoken given a change in topic?


    The older Jarlson enjoyed interrupting to make jokes, but he was just as helpful in providing snippets of history. She would ever have known looking at him that he had a scholarly mind.


    And his short friend who took it as his job to make sure that Lyssia did not go too long between adding to the conversation? It was obvious from their playful needling that they had grown up with each other. If his friend could be counted on as an ally, could he?


    Though she knew time was passing, Lyssia didn¡¯t register the lateness of the hour until Roakev flung open the doors at the end of the aisle and came stalking into the stables.


    ¡°There you are, Lyssia. I have a message from the Kongr. A message for all of you.¡±¡°How is the Dunival man?¡± Lyssia rushed to ask.


    ¡°I¡¯m told he¡¯s doing okay, but Seaka has advised that he stay where he is until she can be sure why he keeps passing out.¡±


    ¡°What does the Kongr say?¡± the Dubkir Jarlson asked. They had all left off their work with their horses and converged near Sikurd¡¯s stall.


    ¡°He says that too much stress is not good for anymore, least of all for a group of men who hold the fate of a treaty in their hands. My uncle proposed that the Eda-Jute hunt for tomorrow continue on schedule, and the Kongr...agreed.¡±


    Lyssia held her response in check and glanced around the circle. There was no reaction to Roakev¡¯s words except for a tightening of shoulders and tense nods.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Lyssia said when Roakev turned to her.


    It seemed odd timing for a hunt, but was she really going to complain about a chance to leave the stead when she had been moping about her captivity this morning?


    ¡°...it¡¯s a good thing I took some time to pamper Arvid and Sikurd. They¡¯re getting their fair share of exercise this week.¡±


    ¡°Thank you for your help, but I can see to my horse now. You should rest before the hunt. The Kongr has requested that you join us.¡± Roakev opened the door to the stall and stepped back, palm held out to help her step over the threshold.


    For a brief moment, Lyssia considered refusing to leave. It felt too much like Roakev was ordering her to go to her room. But she was tired. She stepped around Sikurd slowly, reaching out to trail a hand along his neck as she passed, and placed the brush in Roakev¡¯s outstretched hand.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t miss a hunt. You¡¯re thoughtful to think of me, Ro. I will go rest. Gentleman...¡± She passed through their midst, sweeping into a low curtsy to acknowledge their bent heads. ¡°Thank you for providing me company this afternoon. You may tell your fathers that you have succeeded in your aim to gain my attention, and I shall tell my father that you are excellent conversationalists. Until tomorrow.¡±


    She was halfway across the grounds heading toward her bed when she thought to turn around and retrieve her saddle and pads. They could use a cleaning before tomorrow¡¯s hunt as well, and she could take care of them in her room.


    How best to announce her presence before disrupting whatever conversation was being had without her?


    She shook off her unease. Who cares what the boys were talking about. She wouldn¡¯t let them stop her from doing what needed to be done. A little voice in her mind warned her to approach the doors slowly and not go barging in, and she was thankful that she listened to it when she heard her name spoken by a voice she did not know well.


    A prickling feeling at the base of her neck warned her to approach the doors slowly and not go barging in. Lyssia was thankful that she listened to it when she heard her name spoken by a voice she didn¡¯t know well.


    ¡°Not at all what I thought she would be like.¡±


    Lyssia shook her head in disbelief. The Dubkir boy was still talking. She thought it was the shortest Jarlson who answered him.


    ¡°I know. I always thought her a bit standoffish. I thought, ¡®Maybe she¡¯s shy¡¯, or, ¡®Maybe she¡¯s simple¡¯. But she¡¯s definitely not that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s pride. That¡¯s what it is. She has her father¡¯s weakness for pride.¡±


    ¡°No! What do you mean?¡± Finally, the older Jarlson entered the conversation.


    ¡°Did you see the way she looked down at those poor people? And the way she handled Sorev? I¡¯m warning you. She has a temper. Am I right, Roakev?¡±


    ¡°You are entitled to your opinion of my uncle---"


    "Dizean the mournful."


    "Dizean the proud."


    "Dizean the coward¡­my father''s name for him."


    "You may think what you want, but I wouldn¡¯t go shouting your opinions of him in public. As for Lyssia, I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ll have to find out for yourself...if you dare...¡±


    Lyssia leaned toward Roakev''s familiar voice. She didn¡¯t like what he was saying about her, but like everyone else, he would have his reasons in order if asked. And at least she trusted his voice. She had spent an entire afternoon listening to these voices. Why couldn¡¯t she be sure which voice belonged to which boy?


    Listen to me. I do have a weakness for pride. What¡¯s his name is right. I really have to find out their names...


    ¡°I don¡¯t know about her father, but I do know you¡¯ve pegged Lyssia wrong.¡±


    ¡°Oh, all of this from a couple of hours spent with her, Caldin?¡±


    Caldin. That¡¯s the older one...she thought.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you ever thought it a burden what she¡¯s forced to carry every day?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know that I¡¯ve thought much about it, to be honest. I suppose - so long that I could stand the face underneath - that it wouldn¡¯t matter.¡±


    ¡°Hush now, you lot! Hold your tongue! So it¡¯s true then? Your fathers¡­¡± Roakev¡¯s voice trailed into a whisper.


    If Lyssia leaned any closer to the opening, she might very well fall through the door. All this time, she knew that people talked about her. It was a simple truth and not a matter of pride to admit it. But she had never hidden behind a door to hear what was being said about her.


    If she turned back around and left now, it wouldn¡¯t be like she was running away. She had no reason to run from those gossipers, those magpiers, those...those...boys.


    But she wouldn¡¯t run. And she wouldn¡¯t stomp her feet and yell and make a scene. She was smarter than that. But she wouldn¡¯t pretend that their words didn¡¯t sting.


    There was nothing for it but to take a deep breath and walk forward.


    ¡°Oh, hello again,¡± she chirped, cheerful as could be. ¡°I forgot my saddle. Would you mind handing it to me, Ro? And the pads too. Thank you. Good day.¡±


    Someone might have tried to speak to her. She didn¡¯t know. All she knew was that the guilty look in Roakev¡¯s eyes was one she was unaccustomed to. She looked away. Now she could turn around and head for her room.


    But she wasn¡¯t running. No, she would never run from him.


    **********


    It was too much to ask for a good night''s sleep, even after such an eventful day.....

 Chapter 16B

    It was too much to ask for a good night''s sleep, even after such an eventful day.


    At least Lyssia wasn¡¯t stuck in a dream that fooled her into believing she was awake. She was aware that she was in another world as soon as her mind settled on a location.


    The first thing she noticed wasn¡¯t a sight or a sound or a smell. It was a feeling.


    She felt like she was falling.


    It was a slow descent. She was able to have a debate with herself over whether she wanted to open her eyes. The problem was that she couldn¡¯t remember ever falling from a great height. If she wanted to remember where she was, she would have to open her eyes.


    As soon as she did, she realized she wasn¡¯t falling.


    She was flying.


    The wind slapped her in the face, making it hard to take stock of her surroundings. She turned her face into her shoulder and her foot shifted, almost pitching her forward into the empty air. She grabbed the edge of the crumbling stone wall beside her and pulled herself up straight.


    ¡°Watch it, Lys! Be careful! Get back from the opening!¡± Roakev shouted from somewhere beneath her.


    ¡°Step yelling at her, Ro! She¡¯s fine! Hey...you okay?¡±


    Lyssia glanced over at Azerian, who was crouched precariously atop a pile of rocks at the top of his tower. Seeing him so at home up here made it easier for Lyssia to take a deep breath. The cool air stung her lungs and cleared the cobwebs from her mind. She knew exactly where she was.


    Her fingers dug into the stone wall and her eyes watered as she tilted her face back to survey the ageless forest laid out before her. Miles and miles of tree canopy, wild and green, leaves and high branches dancing with the wind. Giggling, Lyssia lifted a hand and waved back.


    To the west and south, green fields dotted with evidence of life rolled out from the edge of the forest like a great lumpy rug. The roots of the mountains ran deep, invading the fields as far as she could see even though their real job was to stand guard at the eastern border.


    Lyssia glanced nervously at them over her shoulder. The mountains did not wave in welcome as the forest did. They stood as silent sentinels, watching her, judging her. Up and up, her eyes followed the curve of the highest mountain, Aturnel, to its mist-shrouded peak.


    Mighty Aturnel, the guardian, some called it. It climbed so high that none could touch its peak. The closest you could come to reaching it was by climbing Rilken''s tower, which she now stood atop.


    Of course, she wouldn¡¯t dare to climb to the very top which some long-ago battle had reduced to a thin spire. Time had further damaged the tower and its seven brethren, who sat circled around a raised dais in a cleared spot of land like grumpy old grandfathers gathered together to complain about their missing teeth and old bones.


    Azerian had taught her to climb the ivy-covered towers, taking advantage of chinks in the stone face, carved out niches and holes that left the stone structures open to the elements, and the occasional partly preserved stairway. But never had she dared climb so high as this.


    The discussion of what purpose the towers had served in its time was a question that had stolen hours of their time, but at this moment she didn''t care to know what answer the builders would give. Rilken''s tower held a singular purpose for her today.


    She had begged her cousins to help her slip away from the hunting party, begged Azerian to guide her to Rilken''s tower and climb beside her, begged Roakev to be their lookout, braved the wind and her nerves and her father''s displeasure, all for the chance to stand here on this semi-sheltered lip of stone, turn her face toward the north, and feast her eyes on the vast sea that Rijek and his sons had sailed across.


    There were no words to describe the disappointment she felt when all she could see of the great waters was a shimmering line on the horizon.


    Was that even there, or was she imagining it?


    "Anything?"


    Lyssia swiped at the wind-fed tears that threatened to spill out of her eyes and leave sticky tracks under her mask. This heavy leather thing was uncomfortable enough already; she didn''t need to add to it.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    "No!" she called back as she sunk into a seated position. "Nothing! Absolutely nothing¡­"


    The view seemed diminished to her now. Even the sight of the branches waving at her didn¡¯t thrill her as they had before she realized her reason for coming was a fantasy. What had she been thinking? Of course, she wouldn¡¯t be able to see the sea from the forest of stone.


    The closest she was going to come to the sea was the sheltered view from the forest that butted against the Thivness. Chances were, she wouldn¡¯t even get that far.


    Perhaps that should have been her goal. She had been desperate enough to sneak away to this forest of stone. Why not make it all the way to the jagged cliff that marred the northern edge of the forest? The Thivness. The wildest place in all of Ilvana.


    Or at least, she imagined it must be so to have earned such a name. Thivet meant ¡°wild¡± in the old tongue. She had learned the word from her father¡¯s Skald during her writing lessons.


    Thivness - the Wildness - who would choose to name a place such a thing? It made about as much sense to her as naming a mountain without eyes or teeth a guardian.


    ¡°Lys!¡±


    Azerian¡¯s shout interrupted her thoughts. She jumped, her eyes automatically turning toward the archway that served as an entrance to the forest of towers. Ordinarily, she would have assumed that no one could hear them from this great height. Their voices should have been caught and flung aside by the wind, but in the old forest of towers, sound didn''t travel as one would think.


    The dais and the steps leading up to it had been built in a slight valley before Aturnel and the towers placed so that any sound directed toward the dais from the stone steps up to the heights of the towers was magnified and carried out through the double archways facing the mountains and the trees opposite them. They were facing out from the dais and the mountains, toward the forest, so it was probably fine.


    Lyssia eased back to her feet, her eyes sweeping across the horizon again, and then back to the visible rent in the forest that marked the boundary of the Thivness. Somewhere between here and the Thivness, her father led the hunting party as they tracked a herd of Elken and led them into position for today¡¯s hunt.


    Their first hunt.


    Lyssia tried to reach for the excitement she had felt this morning as she rolled out of her tent, fully outfitted for the hunt but preparing to sneak away. Her first hunt - a great honor at thirteen. Traditionally, fourteen was the year that young sons took their first shots in an Elken hunt. Roakev should have been allowed to make his first shot last year, and Azerian should have been made to wait another.


    She would have joined Azerian, she supposed. They would have happily shared the rite. But her father had decided a compromise was preferable, and now she had to share the hunt with both her cousins and Rijek''s sons as well.


    The thought of competition should have added to her excitement. But it was gone, like her thrill at climbing the tower and her joy at viewing the forest from up high. All she felt now was a growing sense of unease.


    "Lys!" Azerian called again, waving his mask at her. He was trying to coax her to take hers off. She should agree to it easily. She should have slipped her mask off a while ago. A smile and a quick check over her shoulder should have been enough to convince her to relax enough to enjoy this small taste of freedom.


    It had that day. The day of her first hunt. She had enjoyed several minutes of freedom before the rider sent to find them interrupted the fun, and she had been sent skittering like a bug on all fours into the hollow of the tower.


    A moment of panic, but once her mask was back in place, she and Azerian would climb down to meet Roakev and the messenger, they''d ride off to meet the party, and the hunt would begin.


    That''s what was supposed to happen, but a feeling like a hot poker stabbed right through her heart and made it impossible for her to raise her hands. She remembered more than that. She remembered more than the joy of the hunt. This day had ended in tears. It was not a happy memory.


    That feeling - that was a reminder that she didn¡¯t have to re-live this day again. Was it worth it?


    Her gaze shifted from Azerian to the mountain behind him. Aturnel, the toothless guardian. A wave of unease hit her again, but she rolled her shoulders, shaking it off like a heavy blanket.


    She flashed a smile toward Azerian - and the mountains - and tugged at the buckle on the side of her mask.


    "Rider!" Roakev''s call rang out through the hollow.


    "Get down," Azerian hissed, but Lyssia had already crawled back from the tower''s edge and refastened her mask. It would have been nice to have one minute to enjoy without it, but there was no time to bemoan the loss. With a quick signal to Azerian, she lowered herself one-handed over the side of the tower and stretched her fingertips to find the first handhold.


    It was a long way down, and there was no room for hesitation. But she was not afraid of falling. Not here. Not now.


    Keep him looking the other way, Roakev. We''re coming.

 Chapter 17A

    Chant of the Forest Pilgrims


    Ancient Ilvanian chant, written before the first records


    and passed orally from generation to generation


    Beneath these shadows


    May you find yourself again


    Speak only truth


    Take only what you claim


    What you do not understand


    Be it foe or friend


    Turn not your back on it


    Or lost will be your tune


    ****


    Let your aim be truth


    And what you seek


    Beneath these shadows


    Will find you


    Be not hasty


    Tread softly here, friend


    Be at peace


    Breathe deeply this air in


    If you come in peace


    Then here you may find kin


    *****


    Beneath these shadows


    No fear shall overtake you


    If truth you speak


    Then truth will find you


    Never turn your back


    On what you do not understand


    Never close your eyes


    Or you will begin again


    Hold what you seek in mind


    Let it lead you to the truth


    Beneath these shadows


    May you find refuge


    **********


    Don¡¯t look down.


    It was Azerian¡¯s most important rule of climbing. Don¡¯t look down unless both your feet are on solid ground. Lyssia had broken this rule only once, the first time he had brought her here. Thankfully, the fall had been short and only cost her a scraped knee.


    She was nearing the ground, but she wasn''t sure how near she was when she slipped.


    She had just spent several minutes jumping from one intact piece of staircase to another inside the tower and had come to another opening in the wall that she would have to climb through. The stone crumbled beneath her foot as she tried to find purchase on the opening''s lip, and she tumbled out and into Azerian''s waiting arms.


    She had only been three or four feet off the ground. She could have jumped if she''d stopped to check the distance, but she was thankful that Azerian was there to break her fall.


    "Oomph!" Azerian cried as her weight sent them both tumbling to the ground. A ripping sound rent the air.


    Lyssia slapped a hand over his mouth as she heard their uncle cry out, "What was that?"


    Lyssia glanced down in shock at her dress. She had been permitted to wear pants so she would be able to sit astride her horse during the hunt, but she had been instructed to wear a dress long enough to keep them hidden.


    "Ohhh hoo ohhh¡­" Azerian tried to hold in his laughter as he stood and brushed himself off. His wide eyes were locked on the tear in her dress that nearly reached her hip.


    Stiff panels almost the exact same shade of green as the rest of the dress had been added to the back and sides by a careful seamstress. The effect made for a wider and heavier skirt that could be draped into place while riding. They had also made it more difficult to climb, but she had chosen not to notice the extra weight. If she had said anything, it would have just caused both boys to laugh at her.


    Lyssia didn''t feel like laughing. She felt like crying.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Seeing her so upset, Azerian swallowed his guffaw and offered her his hand. "Are you alright? You''re not hurt, are you?"


    Lyssia tried to copy his whisper, her lips barely moving as she replied, "No. But I''ll have to add climbing to the list of things I can''t do."


    "Ah, you can do it. You just need more practice. We''ll make it a priority once you know who is gone."


    Lyssia held up her hand to silence him and fingered the torn edge of her dress. It had split right along the inside edge of the stiff side panel. How was she going to explain this?


    She couldn''t.


    An idea sprang to life in her mind, but it was only half-formed when she set one foot against the tower, took hold of the panel piece that was draped over her other leg, and yanked down. The cloth held under her hands. She couldn¡¯t get the right angle, but Azerian caught on quickly enough, and with her pushing and him pulling, they were able to make a second tear in her skirts. It wasn¡¯t straight, and it wasn¡¯t pretty, but it would do.


    Loosening her leather belt, Lyssia flipped up the front section of her skirt and rolled it over the belt to create a short panel in front. Her pants were now visible for all to see, but she was hoping that the difference would not be that noticeable when she was mounted. Lyssia had seen Carryn wear a similar style of dress over riding pants. It offered greater movement, and no one minded much what she wore.


    Hopefully, Lyssia''s attempt at the style would look intentional.


    "Your father''s not going to like that," Azerian said, still trying to keep his words from being carried toward the dais.


    It wouldn''t matter in a minute. Roakev and his father were approaching to investigate the noises. Roakev was slowing him down with questions about the hunt as if they had not gone over the details a dozen times already today, and Eindre seemed to be getting impatient.


    ¡°But which direction will we be moving the herd?¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re asking me that now, you are not prepared. I expected more from you today.¡±


    ¡°Father, I am prepared. What I meant to ask was¡­where is the herd stationed?¡±


    ¡°If you were with them hunters, you would know that.¡±


    Lyssia reached up a hand to brush the stray hairs that had escaped her braid, straightened Azerian¡¯s jacket, and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. "Yes, but think of the alternative," she whispered in his ear.


    "Alright, I will." He led her forward just far enough so they would be visible from the dais steps. Then he paused, scrunched his face in thought, and let out a short bark of laughter. "Thank you. I needed that."


    "Mmmhm...Your mask!"


    Azerian pulled his leather hunting mask out of the pouch attached to his belt and slipped it into place as Lyssia turned toward the forest of towers. Her eyes darted back and forth amongst the towers. Where---?


    "I''m glad to see you enjoying yourselves."


    "Uncle Eindre! You found us!" Azerian exclaimed cheerfully, spinning them both around to face him.


    Lyssia squeezed his arm tight, her head reeling. ¡°We were just heading back to join the search.¡±


    ¡°No need. The Elken herd has been located.¡±


    ¡°Good. Then shall we¡­?¡± Azerian started to lead Lyssia toward the horses, but Eindre blocked their path.


    ¡°Lyssia, your father told me he wasn''t worried when you disappeared. He had hoped you found a tree nearby to rest beneath while you saw to your studies. I told him that perhaps you three had snuck away alone to practice your archery skills. I think he would have accepted either answer over the truth.¡±


    ¡°The truth... ¡° Lyssia held her breath.


    ¡°Climbing the tower. What were you thinking, Lyssia?¡±


    ¡°C-c-climbing?¡± Azerian stepped in front of her, spread his arms wide, and rolled his wrists.


    He looked like he was about to have a fit, but Lyssia knew he was doing that thing he did when he wanted to draw attention to himself. She wasn¡¯t sure he was even aware that he did it. All together, it was a rather effective display.


    ¡°Or practicing her recitation of the Lays of History atop the dais of whispers before the towers of her ancestors?¡±


    ¡°Do you think the Kongr will believe that?¡± Eindre demanded with a raised brow.


    ¡°Do you?¡±


    Eindre leveled his stoniest gaze at Azerian. Lyssia inched away, keeping her eyes on the pair to see who would blink first. Finally, Eindre shook his head. He made a motion that looked like he was wiping mud off his hands, wiping this whole situation from his hands.


    ¡°Never lose that spirit. I would never wish that,¡± he said, pointing to Azerian and Lyssia in turn then motioning toward his son. ¡°I just wish you could learn when to harness all that energy. Today is important. This hunt is not just for you. It affects---¡±


    A trio of groans echoed in the forest of towers, which meant that Lyssia was not alone in her thoughts. She glanced back at Roakev. He wasn¡¯t even looking at them. His attention was on the horses, but she felt the unhappiness rolling off him like a great wave of black cloud that gathered in anticipation of a storm.


    ¡°Uncle, I understand.¡±


    ¡°If you understood, you would not even put yourself at such a risk. Lyssia...Drottine¡­you can¡¯t keep doing this. And you...¡± His hand snaked out faster than a snake¡¯s strike and fastened around Azerian¡¯s arm, and he gave his nephew a shake. ¡°...need to keep the Drottine safe. Not drag her away from her duties and those who would protect her.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need guards out here,¡± Lyssia murmured, but her words carried and made Eindre pause. ¡°I need---¡±


    A horn sounded - low and sonorous - in the distance.


    Lyssia¡¯s heart stuttered at the sound, all her unease replaced with a singular cord of nervous purpose. She turned to her uncle, waiting for him to confirm the meaning of the call.


    ¡°They¡¯ve gathered the herd. They¡¯re calling all archers in for the hunt. Drottine, I await your order.¡±


    ¡°Then I say...to the hunt!¡± Lyssia sprinted for her horse, Azerian and Eindre fast on her heels. She pulled up short, ignoring Roakev¡¯s hand to reach back for her uncle¡¯s. He swung her up into the saddle with barely a pause in his own stride.


    Lyssia felt the nameless horse¡¯s muscles bunch beneath her and tensed, but he calmed himself, and Lyssia smiled, trailing an appreciative hand along his side. He was a Dubkir and a beauty. A gift from her father last year.


    Roakev had received a horse as well, but Azerian had refused the offer to claim his own Dubkir. He could work harder to fit in, but after three years, he still took every opportunity to stand out. His horse was nice enough. Young, swift, and a fearless jumper. But he was no substitute for a Dubkir.


    Dubkir horses were compact enough to weave through trees and fast enough to chase down a bounding briar hare. They were smart enough to ride without leads, resilient enough to be turned out to pasture in the winter months, and strong enough to face down a herd of Elken. They were a part of the land itself, bred to survive and born for the hunt.


    It had taken her months to teach herself to ride in the old style - light saddle, double pads, no bit, bridle, or lead. She had thought in that time, the horse¡¯s name would simply come to her. But it had not.


    Roakev had no trouble naming his horse. It had taken him less than a day to declare that the ebony-coated stallion was as glorious as Sikurd, the famed warhorse of the first Kongr of Ilvana.


    It was a good fit. The horse¡¯s coat shone so splendidly in the sun that Lyssia could imagine songs being sung about him. He was a proud creature, more so than Lyssia¡¯s mud-brown stead, who seemed more stubborn than proud, more handsome than glorious. But she thought him perfect, and he deserved the perfect name.


    For a year, she had trained for this. No, for longer than that. Since that moment three years ago when Tirne of Dunival had handed her a hunting bow, she had put it in her mind to train for this day. One of those Elke being held for the hunt belonged to her. She should have found it herself. She should have marked it already, if only in her mind. But it was too late for regrets.


    Lyssia had promised that today would be about making herself proud. She wasn¡¯t doing this for her father or anyone else. But¡­


    How proud would he be if she succeeded in bringing down an Elke in her first hunt?


    Turning to Azerian and Roakev, she searched for the same excitement in their eyes. ¡°Ready?¡±


    Their answering smiles - one assured and steady, the other gleaming with a devilish light - were answer enough.


    ¡°To the hunt!¡± She stood up in her stirrup, leaned her weight forward, and whistled her intent. Her handsome Dubkir surged into action, moving with all the swiftness of the wind in the trees above toward the sound of the hunting horn.....


    **********

 Chapter 17B

    The hunting party had gathered the herd of Elken that resided in the eastern forest in a clearing ringed by two long-reaching feet of the mountains. Lyssia felt like they were stepping over some giant snake¡¯s tail as they crossed the short, stony outcropping at the edge of the clearing and joined the group of riders that blocked the Elken from leaving.


    There were two distinct groups of riders. Those who intended to do the actual hunting were positioned in a line closest to the animals they would be pursuing. The rest were fanned out along the clearing¡¯s edge.


    The majority of the group gathered here today would not be acting as hunters. They had other jobs to perform: the containment of the herd, the gathering of dropped arrows and misplaced tack, the transportation of Elken bodies, and the healing of the injured.


    ¡°Did you know Lach Seaka was invited to join the party?¡±


    ¡°Just a precaution, I¡¯m sure,¡± Roakev said, pulling up beside her.


    ¡°Should we¡­¡±


    ¡°Keep going,¡± Einsre told them. "Your place is with the hunters.¡±


    ¡°What about your place, father?¡±


    ¡°I will fall back unless called for.¡± He moved off to the side without another word, leaving Lyssia and her two young escorts to approach the line of hunters on their own.


    Lyssia knew their arrival had not gone unnoticed, but her father, unmistakable in his oiled leather mask topped with a circlet of iron and long cloak trimmed with fur, did not break off this discussion to acknowledge them.


    She cast her eyes along the line of hunters, nodding to those who bent their heads in silent greeting until she found her aunt¡¯s gold eyes.


    Carryn smiled at Lyssia and held out one of her gloved hands. She lifted the three fingers on her left hand one at a time and then curled them into an O.


    Is everything alright with you three?


    Lyssia saw Azerian signal affirmative and made an O of her own to match Carryn''s.


    Roakev wouldn''t respond. He didn¡¯t know the code, and his attention wasn''t on his aunt. He shifted to face the single rider that dismounted and approached them from the knot of unmasked Dunival riders.


    "Roakev! Azerian! Well met, boys! I see you''ve brought the Drottine back in one piece," Kongr Rijek called out, drawing the attention of everyone within listening distance.


    Lyssia found it hard to dislike Rijek. On the one hand, he was very loud and opinionated. She didn''t think the Dunival leader had a single subtle bone in his body. On the other hand, he was open with his thoughts, never yelled in his anger, and had a gift for remembering names.


    Sighing in resignation, Lyssia readied her hand to be grasped and brought to Rijek''s lips. "Drottine Lyssia! It is a pleasure to see you again."


    "Kongr Rijek." Lyssia tried to greet him warmly, but she knew she could never match his enthusiasm. She had been gone two hours - three at the most - and yet he spoke as if she had been gone far longer. It was part of his charm, but she couldn''t be the only one who found it exhausting.


    Lyssia''s eyes lifted automatically to search for Rijek''s son. They should be close by, but she didn''t see them among the hunters. "Will you be joining the hunt?" she asked Rijek politely.


    "Only as an observer, my dear," he said, returning her hand to its place atop her saddlehorn with a fond pat. "As I understand it, an Elken hunt is a very special event, and we wouldn¡¯t want to get in the way. We''ll be watching."


    ¡°Lyssia!¡±


    Her father had finally finished his conversation and was heading in their direction. Kongr Rijek bowed out of the way, and Lyssia dipped her head beneath the weight of her father¡¯s gaze. ¡°My Kongr.¡±


    Her horse shifted beneath her, but she knew it was not nerves. It was eager energy. She felt it too. The weight of this moment. Surely her father did too.


    But when Lyssia glanced up, he had already shifted his gaze away from her, back to the Elken. Instead of showing her disappointment, she tried to mirror his pensive stance. She felt the absence of her cousin¡¯s presence as they followed Rijek, giving her and her father space to talk.


    Her gaze was caught and held by a young buck, barely half a foot into his antlers. A grown male Elke could possess antlers that doubled his height and weight. The average male stood eight feet without his antlers. She had already counted the number of archers waiting patiently in line to take their places in the shadows. Still, she had to ask the question.


    ¡°What number?¡±


    ¡°Twelve. Preferably older.¡± He motioned with his chin toward the man he had been speaking to when they rode up. ¡°It seems last year¡¯s hunt did not go as well as planned. The lesser herd in the western forest has been thinned too much already. Their Elken do not grow as large as ours. It¡¯s the mountain air. When the animals take to the mountain paths in the spring they are strengthened. We must share our good fortune with the western steads. I¡¯ve invited a few of their hunters to join us. They will take the Elken they shoot back to their families, but you---¡±


    He turned abruptly, reaching across the distance between them to grip her arm. ¡°You don¡¯t need to think about that. You just need to focus on one Elke. Do you remember the plan?¡±


    ¡°Yes, father.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°The outriders will contain the Elken herd. Then when the time is right, they will drive them forward past the hunters, who will be lying in wait. They will ride in formation forming a barrier through which no Elken can pass through, driving them toward the water and the...the Thivness. They will have no choice but to continue toward the cliff, but their instincts will not allow them to run over it. Once the hunt is complete, we will pull back, take only what we¡¯ve claimed, and allow the herd to return to their usual paths.¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s father nodded as he released her. ¡°Good. Now take your place,¡± he said, turning aside and making his way for the spot left open in the middle of the line of archers.


    No words of welcome. No words of farewell.


    The three riders closest to Lyssia peeled off from the line. She knew she was meant to take one of their places, but she hesitated, allowing Azerian or Roakev to decide who would take the position closest to the center. Her eyes sought out the individual forms of the Elken that huddled together in confusion.


    Her gaze slipped over the young of the herd, not a year old and fur still shining like gold. And the females, their lighter, spotted fur a contrast to the males darker, solid coats. And the largest male, his forked antlers rising ten feet into the air.


    They were beautiful creatures. She just hoped there were enough older females they could choose from to keep from having to target any child-bearing females.


    She saw her father motion for the hunting line to move forward. Azerian and Roakev approached her again, a question in their eyes. Twelve, she mouthed, flashing ten fingers and then two. The boys smiled and turned to keep their horses ahead of hers. It seemed they had already chosen who would take the inner position: her.


    The other riders moved aside as the hunters passed them, heading for the forest beyond the clearing. They spread out amongst the trees, leaving a sizable gap in the middle of the line and enough room for the Elken to pass between riders. This meant Lyssia was pushed to the very edge of the herd, and Roakev and Azerian weren¡¯t in direct line with their prey. They would have to angle in sharply, and chances were they might be forced to take a second or third shot as their kill. It would still count, but it wasn¡¯t something they would want to brag about.


    If I can injure more than one Elke, I will, Lyssia decided. I won¡¯t be greedy. I¡¯ll be helping someone else.


    That was assuming she got a shot in at all.


    This was her first hunt. Surely, the nerves would kick in. She had been told they would, but her mind felt the clearest it ever had.


    Not as one but almost, the line of horses drew back. Lyssia¡¯s horse moved as directed, stepping back with his front still facing the Elken herd in the clearing. Lyssia led him back until she lost sight of the herd and the spectators before guiding him to turn around and ride out another few yards.


    The other hunters were lost from her sight as well. She could barely make out Azerian sitting to her right. Roakev would be keeping pace on his other side. They were within speaking distance, but it felt like the distance between them was infinite with the forest¡¯s shadows distorting place and distance.


    When she felt that she had traveled far enough, Lyssia circled her horse around a tree and brought him to a halt on the shadowed side. Rubbing a hand over the spot where his neck met his shoulders, she murmured to him to be still and reached for her bow. It was a reassuring weight in her hands.


    She angled her satchel of arrows so they would be within better reach and lifted a hand to check the strap that held her mask in place. There were gloves tucked into the bag with her arrows. She tugged them on, adjusting them so that they fit snug around her fingers.


    A female voice rose from the shadows. Lyssia closed her eyes and let the haunting melody wrap around her. She had read these words, but she had never heard them sung before. Some believed these ceremonial words could actually strengthen a hunter¡¯s arm, guide their arrows, calm the denizens of the forest. Lyssia knew there was much she didn¡¯t understand of the world, but she wasn¡¯t sure she believed that a song could do all that.


    Then again, there was something about this place. If such a transformation were possible, then it would occur beneath these trees.


    Someone began to beat a drum and the hunting horn sounded again, one last signal to all those in the area that a hunt was about to take place. Lyssia took a deep breath as Carryn had taught her - in with one beat of the drum, out with another - working to slow her heartbeat to the drum¡¯s steadying cadence.


    A sound like an avalanche rushing toward her made grip her bow tight to her chest. The drumbeat was lost to it, and Lyssia struggled to breathe for a moment while her heartbeat stuttered. The first few Elken raced past her riding spot as she struggled to calm herself.


    She guided her horse closer to the trunk of the tree they sheltered behind, fearing that he might protest at his proximity to the horned giants, but except for two kicks of his back leg and a single toss of his head, he was still.


    She held him there all the same, frozen and cursing herself for her hesitation.


    Now! Now!


    If she fell too far behind, she wouldn¡¯t get her shot. Someone else, perhaps even someone behind the front line, would take this chance from her. She couldn¡¯t let that happen.


    ¡°One down!¡± a baritone voice called in the distance.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°Two has fallen!¡± a sweet soprano voice sang, followed quickly by shouts of, ¡°Three!¡± and ¡°Four!¡±


    Lyssia kicked her horse into action.


    Arvid.


    The name came to her suddenly. Her great grandfather¡¯s name. She¡¯s been told he was strong and brave and never backed down from a fight. Arvid!


    ¡°Arvid!¡± she yelled out loud and laughed, urging him to pursue the Elken that wove through the trees, desperate in their flight. They were moving through a section of forest that was thin, and the dappled light struck their coats and gave them away. She should act now before the trees closed in around them and lent the Elken cover.


    In a double blink of her eye, her bow was raised and an arrow notched in place. She squeezed Arvid¡¯s sides with her knees, trusting him to navigate safely around the obstacles in his path while she sighted. She hummed a piece of the song that had sent a chill up her spine earlier as she drew back the string on her bow and steadied her hand against her leather-clad cheek.


    There. Female, possibly four or five years old. A pronounced constellation of brown spots was visible on her hindquarters, and there was a white mark on her left side.


    ¡°Five fell to me!¡±


    ¡°Six!¡±


    ¡°Seven down!¡±


    Lyssia released the arrow. Her breath caught as Arvid leaped to avoid a fallen log. She notched another arrow, let it fly, and reached for a third one before his back feet hit the ground. The impact lifted Lyssia partway from the saddle, but she didn¡¯t fall.


    Her first arrow had gone wide, but the second hit the white-marked Elke in the side and sent her to her knees. One more to the neck, and she was still.


    ¡°Eight has fallen!¡± Lyssia sang out as loud as she could before her breath hitched in a sob.


    Arvid continued on and -


    There. A male, not two years old judging by the height of its antlers. There was something off with his gait. Lyssia''s gaze dropped to his legs.


    Oh, poor thing. His back right leg was bent. He was still running at a good speed, but he was clearly struggling to keep up with the rest of the herd.


    Lyssia made a split-second decision. Her arrow shot cleanly through the Elke''s injured leg, and he collapsed. Before she could shoot again, another horse cantered into her line of sight. Recognizing Roakev and Sikurd, Lyssia quickly lowered her bow. His attention was arrested by the two female Elke that jumped over the fallen male, and Lyssia sat back in her saddle to witness his victory.


    Lyssia didn¡¯t see Azerian until he was upon Roakev. He pulled his horse right up beside him. Although he sat two head lower than Roakev on his runner, Roakev¡¯s aim was still blocked when Azerian stood in his stirrups and balanced one knee atop his saddle.


    Lyssia gave a whoop when Azerian¡¯s arrow found its mark in the bigger of the two females. The smaller one skittered and veered off in another direction. The others riders would have to stop her and redirect her toward the rest of the herd.


    Azerian shook his bow in the air in triumph. ¡°Ten is mine! Hey!¡±


    Roakev snatched the bow from Azerian¡¯s hands and flung it to the ground, and Azerian¡¯s satisfied expression turned sheepish.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to be last. Now go! Get your own!¡± He gathered his reins to pull his horse aside, ensuring that Roakev had a clear path to chase after the remaining Elken.


    But Roakev wasn¡¯t paying attention to them anymore. He was staring off after the second female who had bolted.


    ¡°Roakev...what are you thinking?¡± Lyssia asked.


    ¡°What am I thinking? I¡¯m thinking¡­¡± He caught himself as he looked back at her, his enraged roar quieting to a harsh shout. ¡°I¡¯m thinking that I don¡¯t have any choice!¡±


    ¡°Roakev? Roakev, no!¡± Lyssia cried.


    They weren¡¯t supposed to turn from the path. It was dangerous. Her eyes searched the trees, looking for her father, her uncle, anyone who could have taken charge of the situation.


    ¡°What are you doing? Stop, you dunga! You can¡¯t go that way!¡±


    Azerian raced to block Roakev¡¯s path, but Sikurd pushed past his horse with barely a second look. Roakev reached across to shove Azerian out of his saddle.


    ¡°I¡¯ll deal with you later, beetle. Just stay out of my way!¡±


    Lyssia stared open-mouthed after Roakev as Sikurd took off in pursuit of their lost prize. Azerian seemed just as stunned, but when Lyssia looked down at him, she saw that there were angry tears in his eyes.


    ¡°I only wanted to get the first shot. I didn¡¯t mean for¡­¡±


    ¡°I know. But what should we do? Isn¡¯t that the direction of the---?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but we¡¯re not that close, are---?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t...I don¡¯t like this. Az, I think we should go after him.¡±


    ¡°Go after him?¡±


    ¡°Yes, to help him...stop him¡­¡±


    ¡°Someone else will stop him. You¡¯re not done here, Lys.¡± He gestured toward the male Elke she had shot through the leg.


    With a jolt, she realized that the creature was struggling to rise. She had forgotten all about him. Yes, she should put him out of his misery, but it felt different now that she wasn¡¯t caught up in the excitement of the hunt.


    ¡°I...I...I can¡¯t. I have to...Please, Az. Can¡¯t you¡­?¡±


    ¡°Drottine?¡±


    Lyssia jumped at the unfamiliar voice. She waved forward the two riders approaching them. ¡°Oh, thank goodness. You...are not Ilvanian.¡±


    Magnor - Rijek¡¯s older son - looked back at his brother, his face a mask of mock affront. ¡°Well, that¡¯s not very nice. Is it, Tirne?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± Tirne asked, frowning between Lyssia and Azerian.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think he would listen to you,¡± Lyssia said. Then without further explanation, she charged out of the clearing in the direction Roakev had taken.


    ¡°Who wouldn¡¯t listen to us? Wait! Where is she going?¡±


    ¡°To stop Roakev from doing something stupid! Follow her. I¡¯ll be right there!¡±


    Lyssia blocked out the sound of pursuing horses as she searched the trees for any sign of Roakev, his steed, or the swift-footed Elke he was pursuing. She yelled his name over and over, her panic rising every second he did not respond.


    ¡°Eleven by my hand!¡±


    The shout surprised her by its nearness. They were still close to the herd and the hunters. Good.


    ¡°Roakev!¡± She called out as she caught sight of him up ahead. ¡°Shoot, Roakev! Shoot it!¡±


    The female Elke darted to the left, and Sikurd put on a burst of speed, tearing after it.


    Arvid chased after Sikurd, a brown streak chasing black. Lyssia felt now how Roakev must feel - bent on a single purpose. She wasn''t worried about spooking the Elken herd or leading Arvid into an impassable area. She noted that other riders were in pursuit of her now, other voices calling her name, but as if from a distance. They weren''t here for her; they were here for Roakev.


    She couldn''t see him now, but he couldn''t be that much farther ahead. One Dubkir should be able to outrun another.


    But she wouldn''t have to outrun him. If she could just draw enough attention to them, someone else would stop him. Before he got lost. Before he got shot. Before he got bucked off this horse and kicked in the head by a stray hoof. Before he...before he...


    Whether it was a trick of her mind or of the shadows, she had no warning before the trees gave way around her. Her first thought was that they had entered another clearing. Perfect. Roakev would have his chance now, and he would stop. The hunt would be over. The celebration would begin.


    An animal''s howl of pain broke through her daydream of the rustic feast they would enjoy at their campsite tonight. Arvid went still, his legs rigid and his ears plastered to his head.


    "What is it, boy?" Lyssia asked, trying to coax him forward.


    "Drottine!"


    "Stop! Magnor, Tirne, stop! Watch the thorns!"


    Lyssia''s eyes flew to the ground. She was surrounded by thorn bushes. But these were no ordinary brambles.


    They were ban-maudr thorns, six-inch-long spikes topped with prickers designed to bury deep into the flesh of any creature foolish enough to wander within reach of them. They were impossible to remove without a knife once embedded, and their spikes contained a poison that drove the victim insane as they tried to gnaw their injured body part off.


    Lyssia had heard tell of a horse from their own stables being put down after coming in contact with ban-maudr thorns. The owner had three choices: maim the animal and leave it lame, give it a swift death, or watch it suffer for days as it succumbed to madness.


    A swift death seemed like the merciful option.


    Ban-maudr existed in small clumps all throughout the forest. Avoiding them had been one of Lyssia''s first lessons of the forest. She had never seen so many thorns growing in one place before. They guarded the forest at the edge of the shelf of land she could see just up ahead that ended in the sheer drop of the Thivness.


    "They''re executioner thorns. We can''t go through here. We have to go around! Lyssia, stay right there! We''re coming!"


    "Azerian, I can''t see him! Roakev! Ro! Where are you?"


    Another howl rent the air. It wasn''t a human sound of pain, but it made her skin crawl all the same. Slowly, so slowly her movements left no sound, she eased herself down out of the saddle.


    She couldn''t go back. They had made it almost all the way out of the group of poisoned bushes. There was a path forward. She just had to convince Arvid to stay calm and make his way toward the cliff.Lyssia inched in front of Arvid, eyes locked on the ground. Then turning sideways, she slipped her hands around his head and led him forward.


    "Easy. Easy does it. Slowly, boy. That''s the way."


    Arvid answered with low noises that tickled her ear and sounded to her as if he spoke his own words of encouragement. Together, the pair cleared the bushes and stepped onto the barren boundary of the Thivness.


    The sounds of animal distress came from their right. Lyssia turned in that direction, crying out when she saw Roakev standing only a foot back from the cliff edge.


    He had a knife in his hand and was advancing on the female Elke that had eluded him. She was lying on the ground on her side, but as Lyssia watched, she began to writhe on the ground, twisting her body this way and that as she tried to get at the thorn sticking out of her back leg.


    Lyssia was caught between her desire to rush toward her cousin and pull him back to safe ground and watching in spellbound wonder as Roakev stalked forward. His movements were efficient, his stance sure. He had no intention of leaving what he had started unfinished. If only she had been able to show the same strength when it came to the male Elke she had shot.


    Sikurd stood on the other side of the tangle of thorn bushes. He was stamping his feet nervously, but he didn¡¯t look uninjured. Lyssia hurried forward and took hold of Roakev''s stirrup, leading the frightened horse a little ways from the bushes. He resisted at first, but when Lyssia stopped a good distance from the cliff edge, he relaxed.


    Lyssia left Arvid and Sikurd standing together and inched forward quietly. She assumed that Roakev had heard Arvid¡¯s approach, but she didn¡¯t want to break his concentration now. He leaned over the injured Elke, and Lyssia was glad her view was blocked as the creature bleated in fear.


    She kept one eye on Roakev¡¯s back and the other on the shimmering expanse of water before them.


    The sea.


    She was here. She could see it. She could breathe it in. She could hear the waves lapping against the rocks.


    She could almost feel the water tickling her feet. She imagined it would be like standing in a meandering river, but the water would be warmer, the ground sandier, and the view...Wow.


    The Thivness was not meant for such daydreams. It was a natural barrier against the sea.


    No ship could dock in its cove. No man or Elke could dive from its height. There were no stairs that led down the water - natural or man-made.


    The cliff was impossibly steep, so steep in fact that it was rumored that not even lichen could find purchase on the hard stone surface. Stumbling over the edge would mean a fifty-foot drop to the water below, and if the rocky spires that poked out of the bottom of the seabed didn¡¯t get you, the hungry fish might.Of course, the one time that Lyssia got close enough to hear the melodious music of the waves, she couldn¡¯t enjoy it.


    Roakev stood inches from certain death. He knew the danger well as she did. Why was he hesitating now?


    ¡°Ro?¡± Lyssia stepped to the side and then back suddenly. She had caught sight of Roakev¡¯s knife digging into the flesh below the Elke¡¯s throat.


    Twelve! Or whatever number we¡¯re on.


    How long had it been since they had left the hunt behind? They were safe from the herd and the hunters here. One lone Elke might have ventured this close to the Thivness, but the herd wouldn¡¯t. She believed that, but she couldn''t shake the cold tingle of fear that ran down her spine.


    It was time to say their farewells to this place.


    ¡°Ro¡­¡± Lyssia tried again to get his attention and found that she couldn¡¯t force more than a whisper out of her throat. Throwing a longing glance at the flask tied to her saddle, Lyssia cleared her throat. ¡°Roakev, we need to---¡±


    Roakev glanced back over his shoulder at her, his eyes wide with shock. ¡°Lyssia? What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°I could ask you the same thing, but¡­¡± Lyssia crossed her arms and took a step back as Roakev reached for her. ¡°You should really stand back from the edge.¡±


    He jumped to his feet, anger twisting his hands into fists. He threw his bloodied dagger back toward the trees and reached for her again. ¡°You should really mind---¡±


    He broke off as a stone rolled out from under his boot. He thrust his arms out, leaning forward at a sharp angle to try to regain his footing.


    Lyssia almost laughed. Roakev, the one who was always one step ahead, the one who was always in control, was about to land on his bottom in the dirt.


    But then saw the look of fear in his eyes, and she realized he wasn¡¯t in control.


    He wasn¡¯t going to land.


    He was going to fall.

 Chapter 18

    It happened so suddenly. One moment, Roakev was lunging for her, the next he was flying backward.


    ¡°Roakev!¡± Lyssia flung herself toward the cliff edge, her hands grasping for him. His coat sleeve slipped through her right hand just as her left hand caught hold of his hand.


    Her stomach did a flip-flop as she swung him around, back toward solid ground. She tried to release him and let the momentum carry him away from the edge, but he refused to let her go.


    One of her heels caught against the stone. Roakev tried to yank her toward him, but it was too late to do anything but slow her descent. She went over the edge, and Roakev went to his knees.


    Lyssia dug her nails into his wrist in a death grip, her feet scrambling to find any purchase.


    ¡°Ahhh!¡± Roakev released the shout that he had been holding in. ¡°Help! Help!¡±


    He was holding her steady for now, but Lyssia didn¡¯t have to ask if he could pull her up. He would have already rescued her, placed her on her horse, and escorted her back to his father if he could.


    ¡°Roakev, it¡¯s alright!¡±


    ¡°Help! Help!¡±


    Everyone else was busy with the hunt. Azerian wouldn¡¯t get to them in time. There was no one to answer his shouts.


    ¡°Roakev, stop! It¡¯s alright! Just...don''t...¡±


    ¡°Heeeelp!¡±


    ¡°Roakev? Lyssia? Hold on! They¡¯re over here!¡±


    Tears sprang to Lyssia¡¯s eyes at Azerian¡¯s shout. The sound of running feet preceded the cascade of stones that clattered down onto her head.


    ¡°Sorry! Sorry! I¡¯ve got you!¡±


    Warm fingers clasped her hand that rested uselessly against the cliff face. Lyssia glanced up, expecting to see Azerian grimacing down at her. Instead, she locked eyes with Tirne.


    Her eyes danced sideways, refusing to hold his for more than a polite moment, and fell on the last thing she expected to see.


    One little bush - brown and scraggly and barely a hand width in length - had defied the Thivness and taken root. It sat just above their clasped hands. How Tirne had managed to avoid the thorn when he reached for her, she didn¡¯t know.


    "You got her?¡± Azerian asked from his hidden position.


    ¡°Yeah, we got her,¡± Tirne answered.


    ¡°We¡¯ll anchor. You pull. On three.¡±


    ¡°Got it!¡±


    ¡°Roakev, Tirne, listen...to me¡­¡± Lyssia said, struggling to gather enough breath to speak.


    ¡°One!¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t...you can¡¯t pull me up...¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Drottine. We¡¯re not going to let you fall.¡±


    ¡°Two!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s great. But you can¡¯t... There¡¯s a thorn...there¡¯s a bush...Please don¡¯t...¡±


    ¡°Three!¡±


    Ignoring her plea, the boys kneeling above her squeezed her wrists tighter and yanked on her arms.


    ¡°Ah! What the---?¡± The thorn scraped across the back of Tirne¡¯s hand and lodged itself in Lyssia¡¯s arm.


    ¡°Gaaaaa!¡±


    The movement above her ceased at the sound of her blood-curdling scream.


    Roakev eased himself another inch forward, peering down at her. ¡°Lyssia, what happened? Oh no...It¡¯s ban-maudr! It¡¯s got her!"


    ¡°Me too,¡± Tirne said through clenched teeth.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let her go!¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t!¡±


    Tirne¡¯s hand was like a chafing rope around Lyssia¡¯s arm. He worked it back and forth trying to relieve the pain of the cut, but he held on. Even when Lyssia¡¯s vision began to swim, and her arms went numb, and her eyes began to drift closed, he held on.


    Finally, she heard voices approaching, stampeding hooves, a sound like a bjurn¡¯s roar.


    ¡°Lyssia!¡±


    ¡°No, Dizean. You can¡¯t.¡±


    It sounded like Einder was having to physically restrain her father.


    ¡°Lyssia!¡± he roared. ¡°My daughter! Who is responsible for this?¡±


    ¡°What does it matter? I¡¯ll go! Lyssia!¡±


    ¡°Carryn, stay back.¡±


    ¡°Get out of my way, Eindre. Lyssia! Azerian! I¡¯m coming!¡±


    "No, you¡¯re not! I will get them."


    Eindre sidled up next to Tirne on his knees and used his longer reach to grab ahold of Lyssia¡¯s arm.


    ¡°Get behind me,¡± Eindre commanded as he took Lyssia¡¯s weight. He paused at her whimper of pain, but then his grip on her arm tightened and he slid back, pulling her with him.


    The thorn fought to stay attached to the bush, but it finally gave way, and Eindre was able to haul both it and her over the cliff edge. Roakev, whose whole body was shaking now, just seemed to hold on as his father dragged them all to safety.


    Hot tears escaped Lyssia¡¯s eyes, blinding her. Her ragged breath made it impossible to speak. She could not feel the grip of Eindre¡¯s hand or the rock as it scraped against her skin. All she could do was hang there limp and listen to Roakev¡¯s pants and the sound of the hungry waves below, roaring at the loss of their meal.


    And then Carryn¡¯s arms were around her, rubbing feeling back into her limbs, and her voice was in Lyssia''s ear.


    ¡°Lyssia-ami, Lyssia-ami,¡± she whispered over and over and sobbed tears of relief.


    Someone else offered to carry her away from the cliff, but Carryn refused to let her go. She gathered Lyssia up like a bundle of firewood and carried her back under the cool shelter of the trees.


    Lyssia had assumed they would take her back to their camp, but they didn¡¯t go far before she felt herself being lowered to the ground.


    ¡°Water¡­¡± she murmured, and a waterskin was brought to her lips. The liquid made it easier to breathe, but it did little to revive her mind.


    She heard her father call for Seaka to be brought to them at once and heard Magnor and Tirne dragged away by their father. She thought to call out after them and ask that Tirne be allowed to stay and receive treatment for his cut, but she couldn¡¯t get the words out before she slipped into unconsciousness.


    **********


    Her thoughts broke apart like a calm lake interrupted by a thrown stone. She held out a hand, trying to contain the images that showered down on her head and slipped through her fingers.


    She caught one and brought it close to examine it.


    ¡°My lord Aturnel, are you following me?¡±


    Laughter bubbled up in her chest at the sight of the tiny mountain in her hand, but there was no way for the laughter to escape. There was something very, very wrong here. She should be able to laugh.


    Aturnel.


    Thivness.


    Mountains without eyes, without claws, without hearts.


    Who gave them names?


    Who set the one to protect and the other to destroy?


    ¡°Listen, Drottine, and you will learn,


    that words have the power to heal and burn.


    Names have power as nothing else does:


    the power of what is and what was.


    Listen, well, and you will find,


    the echo that names leave behind.


    History is the song of life -Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    filled to the brim with victory and strife¡­¡±


    ¡°Not now, Bjarke!¡± she barked at the interrupting voice.


    Her boldness came from the echoing feeling in her head that told her the Skald was not really here, and she was not really sitting beside him on a fine spring morning beneath the evergreen in the performer¡¯s courtyard preparing to receive another lesson.


    ¡°If names are power...then who named the mountains and gave them their power?¡±


    His answer had been infuriatingly boring.


    ¡°It is said the mountains borrowed their names from the guardians that once resided over Ilvana. Aturnel, was a mighty beast, and so our grandfathers called the mighty mountain ¡®Aturnel¡¯, and they said ¡®Aturnr¡¯ means ¡®a guardian¡¯. It meant nothing at first, but now it means everything. The power does not reside in the mountain. The power resides in the name.¡±


    ¡°But...Seaka says that power resides in the mountains.¡±


    ¡°She does, does she? Interesting...Seaka is wise, but she is not a scholar. You should not believe everything she says. Here, I will read to you about the construction of your father¡¯s stead from the texts of the son of Rilken, the last Kongr who held court at the foot of the guardian mountain."


    How badly Lyssia had wanted to stick her tongue out at him and walk away. Just because he was a keeper of history did not mean he knew everything. If names had power, then ¡°Bjarke¡± had to mean ¡°petty one¡± or ¡°boring one¡± or ¡°big-headed, petty, boring one.¡±


    "He¡¯s a boring one, a snoring one, a deploring one!"


    It was pleasant to feel the trapped laughter tickling her throat.


    "Aturnel, kinda smells, in the east he dwells!"


    "Thivness¡­"


    What rhymed with Thivness?


    "Thivness, the wilderness, a sorceress!"


    Maybe that''s who she was named after. Bjarke didn''t know everything. She had been a sorceress. Not one of Ilvana¡¯s vanished monsters.


    But no, remember, Lyssia chided herself. Guardians are not monsters.


    She had met one. A beautiful, living, breathing guardian.


    "Thisska, has tiny paws and no flaws, fly to see me I wish-a you would!"


    Now that wasn''t funny, but it would make a good song. A powerful one, too, to call on the name of a Drakun. Not that she believed anything would come from singing it. She would be just as alone as she was now.


    Alone with her thoughts in all this...space.


    She peered around at the darkness and threw her arms around herself as if that alone would protect her against the cold.


    This was no dream. If it was a dream, she wouldn''t be alone.


    Is this why her dreams were so crowded? So she could avoid this feeling that was suffocating her now?


    "No. I don''t want to think about that. I want to laugh. I want to listen. I want to learn."


    "Idle thoughts lead to idle chatter.


    Idle chatter to idle hands.


    Idle hands to idle minds.


    Then the cycle begins again."


    "Hello, Bjarke. I must be losing my mind. But that''s fine...as long as I''m not alone."


    She looked down at Aturnel, still cradled in her hand. She pricked a finger on its peak and stroked its rough side. "I know what your name means. Or, at least, what we say it means. But I don''t know what my name means. Lyssia, I see a¡­lie."


    "Drottine...Drottine¡­"


    "Oh hello, Seaka. What rhymes with Drottine?"


    "Drottine, can you hear me? Here, hold her arm. I need to see how deep the wound is. If I can feel the prickers¡­"


    **********


    Lyssia came to when she felt a red hot iron poking at her arm. She jerked against the hands holding her down and screamed in shock at the rude awakening.


    ¡°She¡¯s conscious.¡±


    ¡°Keep her still!¡±


    Lyssia grabbed for the hot iron and was surprised to feel a perfectly ordinary hand in her grasp. The heat belonged to her skin. She trailed her fingers up her arm, searching for the source of the heat, but another hand clamped around hers and brought it to rest at her side.


    ¡°Drottine, can you hear me?¡±


    ¡°Seaka?¡±


    Lyssia¡¯s eyes blinked open. The Lach was frowning down at her. She had taken off the mask Lyssia had seen her wearing earlier. Her face was a series of hard lines, all furrowed in worry.


    ¡°Let her go,¡± Seaka said, and the hands holding her retreated. Only the restraint on her burning arm remained. ¡°How are you feeling? Can you move your fingers?¡±


    Lyssia wiggled the fingers on each hand. Emboldened by her success and Seaka¡¯s murmured, ¡°Good,¡± she checked her other limbs. Her face remained pinched in a permanent wince, but she was able to control everything except for the arm that remained caught in her aunt¡¯s grip.


    ¡°Good, good. Does anything hurt?¡±


    ¡°My arm is on fire.¡±


    ¡°I know. Is there anything else? Did you hit your head?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t...I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    ¡°It was all my fault.¡±


    Lyssia tilted her head to the side to peer up at Roakev, who sat hunched between his father and Azerian.


    ¡°No, it was my fault,¡± Azerian said.


    Roakev leaned back on his heels and glared down at Azerian. ¡°You¡¯re right. It is.¡±


    ¡°Well, I mean...I know what I did. But what we all want to know is, what did you do?¡±


    ¡°What did I do?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, what did you do?¡±


    ¡°Boys,¡± Carryn hissed, her grip on Lyssia''s arm tightening. ¡°We¡¯ll discuss this later. Right now, we need to focus on your cousin.¡±


    ¡°Please don''t. Don''t fight. I¡¯m fine,¡± Lyssia said, reaching out to touch Azerian¡¯s knee. He scooped her hand up and gripped it tight in both of his.


    ¡°No, you¡¯re not. You won¡¯t be until I get this thorn out of you." Seaka waved to someone Lyssia couldn''t see. "We need to get her back to my hut. I¡¯ll ride ahead and prepare a sedative. It will put her to sleep while I take out the thorn. I should prepare a numbing salve as well¡­unless you¡­¡±


    Lyssia heard the rest of her unasked question.


    ¡­unless you have any with you?


    She did. It was sitting in the bottom of her saddle pack. But she couldn¡¯t offer it to Seaka, because then there would be other questions to answer.


    ¡°No, you wouldn¡¯t. Of course not. The sooner you can get her on a cart the better. Don¡¯t take too much time to get to me, but don¡¯t rush. Don¡¯t jostle her side, and try to keep her arm level until she¡¯s¡ª"


    Seaka started to leverage herself back to her feet, but she was stopped in her tracks by the Kongr¡¯s growl.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°No?¡± Seaka asked, grimacing as she fell back onto her swollen knees.


    Lyssia''s father had been sitting at her head, not touching her but staring down at her face, his vigilance unwavering. A gasp had escaped his lips when her eyes opened, but he had kept his own counsel. Until now.


    He stood and crossed his arms, turning his back on everyone but the Lach. ¡°You¡¯re not moving her. You¡¯re treating her here. Now.¡±


    ¡°But, my Kongr, the pain¡ª"


    ¡°Do you have the tools you need?¡±


    Seaka cocked her head as she glanced from Dizean to Lyssia, who was starting to drift off again. ¡°I could make do. If you will have one of your hunters start a fire, I will clean my equipment and prepare a sedative. It won''t be as effective, but---¡±


    ¡°No sedative. I want that thorn out quickly. You will remove it now, and you will make sure there''s no scar.¡±


    The Lach stared at him, mouth agape. Her lips were moving as if she wished to speak but could not think of what to say. It was Carryn who spoke up.


    ¡°Dizean, you cannot be serious. You would deny your daughter medicine to ease her pain? She won¡¯t be able to hold still. Seaka¡¯s knife will slip, and then who are you going to blame?¡±


    ¡°Yes, she will. She will lie still.¡± His hand bore down on Lyssia¡¯s shoulder. ¡°There will be no scar.¡±


    Carryn shook her head. ¡°Dizean, that doesn¡¯t make any sense. You cannot¡ª¡±


    ¡°I grow weary, lady Carryn, of you telling me what I can and cannot do in regards to my own daughter. If you do not learn to keep your ¡®cannot¡¯s to yourself, you will be removed from my daughter¡¯s side and my stead. Seaka!¡±


    Carryn stared at the ground. She didn¡¯t say another word, and she didn¡¯t remove her hand from Lyssia¡¯s arm. Dizean retreated but not from defeat.


    Seaka watched all this with a hard expression. ¡°I insist on having my instruments cleansed with fire and the wound cleansed with spirits. You possess the nearest flask, my lord. If you would be so kind¡­¡±


    She held out her hand. With an exaggerated sigh as if the action pained him, Dizean untied the knot that secured the flask of mead to his belt and dropped it into her waiting hand. ¡°Very well¡­but be quick.¡±


    Seaka passed the flask to Carryn. ¡°Douse the injury. We don¡¯t want it to become infected. It may help soften the skin as well. I¡¯ll have to make a horizontal cut along the length of the thorn. It won¡¯t be pleasant, but that¡¯ll be the fastest way to remove it. Anything that can help¡­¡±


    She glanced at Dizean and then back at Carryn, a slight smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. ¡°Use it all. And you there! Start a fire and bring me my supplies!¡±


    Seaka struggled to her feet and retreated a few paces to oversee the unloading of her equipment. Carryn sat for a moment, flask hanging limp in her hand, before glancing over at Dizean. He nodded.


    Carryn motioned for Azerian to switch sides and hold Lyssia¡¯s arm down. She paused to lay a hand on Lyssia¡¯s cheek, smiling sadly when her eyes fluttered open.


    ¡°I love you. It¡¯s going to be alright,¡± Carryn whispered, then biting her lip, she poured the entire contents of the Kongr¡¯s flask over Lyssia''s forearm.


    Lyssia¡¯s body jumped off the ground. Azerian gasped at her strength, and he uttered a growled plea to Roakev and Eindre to help him.


    ¡°Lyssia!"


    Hidden beneath her father''s calm voice, Lyssia heard his fear. He dropped back onto his knees above her. Her eyes, wide with pain and masked by a blur of tears, found his face. ¡°Lyssia, you have to¡ª¡±


    He interrupted himself with a gasp, glancing down at her arm and back at her eyes. ¡°We will celebrate the hunt tomorrow night with a feast and a dance. I will serve the Elke felled by your arrow to the Dunival Kongr and his sons, and you will tell us all the story of your first hunt.¡±


    With visible effort, Lyssia took enough breath to ask, ¡°Which one?¡±


    ¡°Which one?¡±


    Something akin to pride crept into his voice, but he captured that emotion and buried it alongside his fear.


    ¡°Kongr Rijek keeps asking after your singing voice. I told him that he would have the opportunity to hear you before his party leaves. It should be a strong song. A song full of pride for Ilvana and for the hunt, but dignified¡­¡±


    His eyes strayed to Seaka when the elderly Lach shooed Azerian out of the way and took up position over her wounded arm. Lyssia caught a glimpse of the knife in Seaka¡¯s hand and clenched her eyes shut.


    ¡°Lyssia¡­¡± Her father¡¯s voice begged her to open her eyes and look at him. ¡°What song will you sing?¡±


    ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t¡­¡±


    Seaka¡¯s fingers clamped around her bruised wrist and lifted her arm. Lyssia tensed, every muscle in her body shifting away from Seaka¡¯s knife hand.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Drottine,¡± Seaka said in a voice devoid of emotion. She was fixated on the wound, and the problems it presented. She would offer no comfort until the job was done. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. But you must remain still.¡±


    ¡°Lyssia!¡± Lyssia¡¯s father placed his hands on either side of her head. ¡°What song will you sing? Perhaps¡­perhaps a historical lay? Your studies will prove useful. It would be good practice for you.¡±


    A gasp escaped Lyssia. She pretended it was a laugh and turned her grimace into a pained smile. ¡°No¡­not a¡­a historical¡­¡±


    ¡°Perhaps you will write a new song?¡± Carryn offered. She was bent nearly double over Lyssia, blocking her view of Seaka¡¯s knife.


    ¡°Y-Yes. I could¡­write about¡­my first hunt.¡±


    Dizean¡¯s mouth compressed into a thin line. Then his face lost its stormy expression, and he nodded at Carryn with grateful eyes. ¡°What words would you sing? What tune would you compose?¡±


    Lying there with Seaka¡¯s knife biting into her flesh and the thorn¡¯s poison coursing through her body, Lyssia¡¯s mind went blank. She opened her mouth to scream, and a song unlike any she''d heard before escaped her lips.


    She was unconscious of those listening to her. All she could feel was pain and the need to release it.


    She would not remember the song when the pain left her, but as Azerian would assure her later, those gathered to pay witness would never forget it.

 Chapter 19A

    "Hmm hmm hmm, low low, hmm hmmmm, low oooh¡­"


    Lyssia ignored the rider pulling up on her left. Whoever it was, she wasn''t in the mood to talk to them. Her attention wavered momentarily from the bramble bush she was staring at as the offending humming grew louder, but she didn¡¯t look up.


    She had not been able to focus on anything besides the bushes hiding in the shadows of the trees since they arrived at the forest edge. Her skin felt flushed from the heat of the morning sun, and her every sense was on alert for thorn bushes. She knew executioner thorns were not known to grow this close to the forest''s edge, but her waking mind was having a difficult time shaking off her dreams and the burning memory of ban-maudr poison.


    She had allowed Arvid to fall back into the middle of the riding party while her eyes searched the shadows. She was surrounded on all sides by people who would steer her mind away from thoughts of the past, but she had thus far managed to avoid being pulled into conversation.


    No one had attempted to broach the bubble of quiet unease that surrounded her.


    No one except whoever was humming that annoying tune.


    Lyssia risked a glance to the side and paused at the sight of Roakev leaning back in his saddle. His posture relaxed. His head tilted to the side, and lips pursed to start whistling. He seemed completely at peace with his surroundings, almost as if he was...happy.


    She looked around to see if anyone else was taking note of this wondrous miracle.


    It had been so long since she had seen Roakev like this. She wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that his father was staying back at the stead with the members of the Jarlsclan and the Dunival guests who were not participating in the hunt.


    Lyssia didn''t know how the decision of who would ride with the hunting party and who would stay behind was made, but Eindre had seemed a little sour-faced when he came out to see them off at the gate.


    Their group was small considering the size of the peacemeet. Two dozen riders had been chosen.


    The Kongr rode at the head of the party with Bjarke, followed by the five western Jarls that had volunteered for the hunt. Two of the Jarlsons that Lyssia had spent time with yesterday - tall Calvin and the heir to the Dubkir herd - were present along with their fathers.


    Magnor and the five men he had chosen to accompany him rode behind the western Jarls, and behind them, Sorev and his father rode with a full two horse lengths between them and Magnor''s men.


    Taking up the rear position behind Lyssia was Gavin and his two friends. Sidne rode with them, although she was not dressed to participate in the hunt. She thought their position was likely for the pregnant woman¡¯s benefit. Lyssia had noticed at the start that she seemed uncomfortable riding sidesaddle like she would have preferred to ride for the hunt as Lyssia did, but her stomach would not allow it. Her husband did not stray far from her side.


    ¡°Roakev¡­¡±


    He ceased whistling and smiled over at her. ¡°Hmmm?¡±


    "You look like you got a good night''s rest."


    "Indeed I did, fair cousin. An excellent night¡¯s rest."


    Roakev looked off toward the trees, and Lyssia prepared for him to ask her the same question. How much of her morbid thoughts should she share with him?


    Azerian wouldn¡¯t have had to be told. He would have seen how distracted she was, and he would have been able to provide a good guess as to why. But Roakev didn¡¯t ask, and after a long moment of silence, Lyssia relaxed.


    ¡°Azerian is riding with Magnor,¡± Lyssia noted, her eyes traveling once more over the riders in front of them.


    ¡°Magnor¡¯s probably still apologizing.¡±


    ¡°Apologizing?¡± A weight dropped into Lyssia¡¯s stomach. ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°He was in a foul mood this morning. Azerian and I caught him throwing a fit in front of his men. Something about a letter.¡±


    ¡°A letter?¡±


    Azerian¡¯s voice ran through Lyssia¡¯s mind. All I took was what I thought were a few pieces of water-damaged vellum.


    ¡°And then he turned on Azerian and started yelling at him about his mask. You know the one meant to look like an imp or whatever¡­?¡±


    ¡°Red skin, black horns, blue smile?¡±


    ¡°With black teeth. Yeah, that¡¯s the one.¡±


    ¡°Well, why---¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. If you ask me, they¡¯re both finally cracking under the pressure. Or maybe Magnor just needs a good night¡¯s sleep in his own bed. It does wonders for one¡¯s disposition.¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s not it¡­¡± Lyssia murmured, drawing her shoulders up and ducking her head to hide from Roakev¡¯s curious gaze. ¡°If he¡¯s struggling, perhaps he needs our help.¡±


    ¡°Help who? How?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Never mind. Do...do you know---?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re nearing the camp!¡± The cry came from an unfamiliar voice up near the front of the group. A new rider had joined her father, one of the trackers he had sent out last night to set up a temporary camp and track their prey.


    ¡°Excuse me. I¡¯m being summoned,¡± Roakev said, pulling out of line.


    Lyssia looked up to see her father waving Roakev forward. She started to follow him, but she was sent back to her place by a shake of her father¡¯s head.


    Lyssia pulled back into place and tried to melt into the shadows, but she knew her solitude wouldn¡¯t last. Seeing Lyssia alone, Caldin¡¯s father leaned over to jab him in the side and gestured over his shoulder at her.


    ¡°No, no, no¡­¡± she muttered, quickly casting about for someone else to take Roakev¡¯s place.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    There were people she should spend time with, confidences she should be attaining, information to gather, apologies that needed to be made. But no one she wanted to talk to.


    She had meant what she said when she enjoyed her conversation with the Jarlsons in the stables. It was an unexpected truth, but a truth nonetheless. But she was not sure that she was ready for a private conversation with one of these boys who complimented her to her face and whispered about her behind her back.


    ¡°Ughhh, there has to be another option. Another option. Another...option.¡±


    She glanced back over her shoulder at Gavin and his wife. She had only a moment to consider what she would say as she brought Arvid to a halt and waited for them to catch up. Sidne and Gavin split and came to a stop on either side of her. Their two companions pulled up behind, eyeing her warily.


    ¡°Drottine Lyssia, is something amiss?¡±


    ¡°I just wanted to check on you, Sidne. How are you faring?¡±


    She urged Arvid to continue, and the rest followed suit.


    ¡°I¡¯m doing well. Thank you for thinking of me.¡± Sidne flashed a smile at Gavin, and he turned a tentative smile in Lyssia¡¯s direction. The way to his heart was clearly through his wife¡¯s happiness.


    ¡°I¡¯m pleased you joined us, Jarl Gavin. But I was surprised to see, Sidne. Do you ever tire?¡±


    ¡°Of course I do."


    Her loud laughter brought more than our pair of inquisitive gazes their way, but Sidne hardly seemed to notice.


    "It was just such a beautiful day, and I¡¯m used to riding out with Gavin. There are many things I have no skill for. Unfortunately, the hunt is one of them. But I am quite handy with a skinning knife. I¡¯ll put my hands to good use there---¡±


    ¡°If you can stand the stench now.¡±


    ¡°Yes, if I can stand the stench. Thank you, dear. If it turns out I can¡¯t, I¡¯ll find some other chore to help with. As long as I can be of use, I¡¯ll be happy.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­¡± Lyssia said, and she thought she did.


    ¡°And you, Drottine? Will you be hunting, or will you be observing?¡± Gavin asked.


    ¡°I''m prepared to hunt, but the decision is up to the Kongr. I will put my skills to use as he sees fit. It does not matter to me either way.¡±


    Sidne seemed ready to speak before Lyssia had even finished her explanation. ¡°Well, that makes things easier on you. You can relax and wait for your orders.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Lyssia didn¡¯t know what else to say. This was not going well.


    ¡°I sense there¡¯s something more you wished to speak about, Drottine,¡± Gavin said, lowering his voice. ¡°I heard the call. We are nearing the camp. If there¡¯s anything you wish to say¡­¡±


    ¡°I know the time is running out for discussion, but I had hoped to start one concerning the west.¡±


    ¡°You wish to talk about...the west?¡±


    ¡°As I promised we would,¡± Lyssia said, meeting Gavin¡¯s leveled gaze. ¡°I wished to learn more about the state of the western forest. I was left with a feeling of unease after the discussions yesterday. I would like to hear your thoughts on the subject."


    ¡°On the state of the western forest?¡±


    One of Gavin¡¯s friends asked. He pushed forward, trying to look get in beside her on the path. As he had yesterday, Arvid refused to be pushed aside.


    Arvid reached back with his head, his teeth bared, and only quick thinking on the part of the nameless Jarl saved his horse from getting nipped.


    Sidne¡¯s mare shied away from the others, jumping ahead to put distance between Arvid¡¯s teeth and the conversation interloper.


    ¡°Sidne!¡± Gavin cried, jumping down from the saddle and rushing to help steady her mount.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m fine,¡± she kept saying, but Lyssia could see that she was shaken.


    Lyssia paused to make sure she was alright before drawing their attention back to her.


    ¡°Tell me. What is the reason for your anger?¡±


    She knew this vehemence wasn''t meant for her. She had done nothing to cause it. But neither had Sidne. She should not be made to pay for it.


    ¡°My anger? You...You wish to know the state of the western forest? It¡¯s dying.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Lyssia and Sidne both exclaimed at once.


    Sidne regained her composure first. She took out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from her neck and around the edges of her mask near her ears. ¡°Gavin, I wi-ll pull on ahead. I don¡¯t want to discuss th-this. ¡±


    She was gone before anyone could dissuade her.


    ¡°This is distressing news. Jarl Gavin¡­¡± She waited for him to regain his seat as she tried to order her thoughts. ¡°Do you share this opinion? Is the western forest¡­¡±


    She couldn¡¯t even say the word, couldn¡¯t even imagine what it meant.


    Gavin paused. No doubt he wished to follow his wife, but something made him stay. This conversation was important to him. He opened and shut his mouth several times in a row as he tried to form the words her needed to say. He must have picked and then discarded a dozen explanations before he finally spoke.


    Lyssia had spent the silent seconds trying to tamp down her growing anxiety, and she nearly jumped straight out of the saddle at the sound of his voice.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know that the forest is dying, but I have seen with my own eyes the sickness that spreads among the trees. It eats them from the inside out. It usually perishes in winter and doesn¡¯t take over again until the harvest has begun. But it didn¡¯t die last year, and this year... And the animals, they know something is wrong. They---¡±


    ¡°Do you hear that?¡±


    ¡°Hear what?¡± Gavin asked, turning to his friend.


    ¡°Why have they stopped?¡±


    Gavin turned aside, following his friend as he hurried to see what had caused the hunting party to stop up ahead. Lyssia stood up in her stirrups, straining her eyes and her ears. A discordant melody met her ears, distant but growing closer. Voices raised in an old forest chant.


    She had Arvid pick up his pace until she sat beside Sidne once again, her eyes growing wide at the sight of the crowd approaching from the opposite direction.


    ¡°...If you come in peace


    Then here you may find kin


    Beneath these shadows


    No fear shall overtake you


    If truth you speak


    Then truth will find you¡­¡±


    This was a group of villagers, not part of the hunting party. There was only one horse among them, an old nag that pulled a cart behind it. A great collection of animals and children rode in the back of the cart, and here and there amongst the crowd were other animals being herded or pulled along by rope collars. The stench was palpable.


    The people were dressed as if they were about to embark on a trip to Steiner Mart and not a jaunt in the woods. Most of the villagers, perhaps anticipating meeting other travelers along the way, wore masks. Those who didn''t hurried off into the woods.


    Not for the first time Lyssia was forced to watch them turn their faces away from her father and wonder if it was possible that respect motivated them, or if the name ''Dizean the proud'' or ''Dizean the coward'' was on their lips.


    The song they chanted spoke of old beliefs and truths she did not understand. The meaning behind it eluded her, but the tune tugged at her heart.


    Lyssia reached back to check the strap on her mask. She smoothed the hair down on the top of her head and swung her braid up over her shoulder. Her left hand found its resting place at the base of the Drakun pendant. Leaning forward to pat Arvid with the other, she used her feet to guide him out of line.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I should join my father. We will continue this discussion another time.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Drottine. Another time.¡±


    ¡°We will!¡± she called back over her shoulder as she nudged Arvid into a troy.


    She had made a promise to Gavin, and she planned to keep it. She had to know what was causing the western Jarls such distress.


    **********

 Chapter 19B

    ¡°A blessing for our children, please Kongr. We have a long way to travel, but our feet are happy for the journey."


    "Of course. I will gladly...Daughter, there you are."


    "Father." Lyssia bent her head to him and then again to the man thin, brightly clothed standing before him. "Karlsman. You and your family are set on a journey?"


    The man smiled at the acknowledgment. "Drottine. Vas heill et adhuil."


    Lyssia nodded again as he bobbed before her, bowing once, twice, up and down. His every movement had a bounce to it. She did not know the purpose of this man¡¯s journey, but it was clearly a joyful one.


    "No, Drottine, not my family. My family is large, but not so large as this. This is the pilgrimage my village makes every year so that our young animals celebrating their first year of life may drink from the water that flows at the foot of the mountain Vatn."


    Mountain lake. How...appropriate.


    "You do this every year?"


    "Every year we have births enough to celebrate, and we have not gone a year without since the first pilgrimage of blessing. Do you not believe in the good fortune of a Yute blessing, my lady?"


    Lyssia forced her gaze to remain fixed on the stranger. What was she to say? She would not look to her father or Bjarke like a child who needed an answer provided for her, and she would not look back at the Jarlsons gathered behind her, though the need to see how they were reacting to this turn of events was like an itch at the base of her spine that she couldn''t reach.


    "Yes, of course. I just wasn¡¯t expecting...The hunt. Will it be safe for pilgrims to be sharing the forest paths?"


    "We do not have much farther to go,¡± her father answered. ¡°The herd has been detained a mile from the path. These pilgrims are journeying to the mountains. They will not be anywhere near when the hunt begins."


    "And we will set watchmen to ensure similar parties entering the forest are not taken by surprise,¡± Bjarke said, sidling forward. ¡°My Kongr, if you will allow me to ride ahead, I will take care of appointing men to stand watch."


    "Do as you see fit, Skald. Azerian, Roakev, go with him. See it done."


    The leader of the villagers watched their horses canter off into the woods with an appreciative eye.


    "I hope we are not scaring away your aim."


    "Elken are not easily spooked."


    "Elken? Oh, what I would give to see one of those fair beasts up close."


    Elken? Lyssia thought. This far from the mountain paths? Sickness that ate trees and the Elken herd moved.


    What did it mean?


    "Was it a blessing for your children you asked for?"


    "Yes. My son." The Karlsman grabbed hold of a boy''s arm and dragged him forward.


    "And mine as well," another man said, stepping forward with a young boy and a calf in two.


    "And for my daughter, Kongr. Please."


    "Dro-ine¡­" a soft voice called up to Lyssia.


    Lyssia looked down into the sweet gaze of a girl whose head did not even reach Lyssia''s stirrups. She was holding a babe swaddled in an old shirt in her arms. "B-essing for my baby sis-ser?"


    Lyssia gestured for her to raise the babe higher so she could take the girl''s tiny fist in her hand. When she had finished speaking, another child was lifted to her. She spoke practiced phrases that came easily to her, well wishes for the children''s health and happiness.


    And that''s all it was. A wish. A chance to connect with her people and see the smiles on the children¡¯s faces as Lyssia reached out to them.


    She hated how her tone sounded as she spoke the same phrases over and over. She tried to make up the difference with a wider smile, but she did wish that she could dismount and move among these people, receiving blessings as she handed them out.


    She was considering doing just that when three people with a child - a woman and two men pushed to the front of the crowd. Paying no mind to the line that had formed before her, the woman addressed Lyssia. Her wispy voice did not match her haughty demeanor, and Lyssia was caught off momentarily by the question she posed.


    "Are you the daughter of Erina the kind, the girl who settled the dispute between Karlsmen Ardbon and Liefer so that no blood was spilled?"


    Erina the kind¡­Seaka! The Lach¡¯s name echoed like a growl in her thoughts.


    "I am Lyssia Erinasdaughter."


    Lyssia did not speak of the incident at the Mart the woman alluded to, but she would not be swayed off her course.


    "You are the young Drottine they are calling wise. You brokered peace between the farmer and the blacksmith."


    Lyssia gritted her teeth against the inevitable feeling of walking into a trap. "Yes. I settled their dispute. I reasoned with them."


    The woman relaxed, taking a step back and dropping into a deep curtsy. "I beg of you, Drottine. Please speak to my husband and our neighbor before this goes any further."


    "You wish me to¡­?"Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    "Speak reason. Be our judge."


    She was being petitioned before her father and the entire hunting party. She was being called to decide the fate of these unknown people plagued with some unknown problem.


    Her eyes darted past the crowd to the trees. She sensed the need for this conversation to be conducted in private, but there was little chance she would be able to leave with them. And if they did not balk at the watching crowd, why should she.


    "What has happened?" she asked.


    "Drottine, my wife and I have done no wrong."


    ¡°What have you done?¡±


    "Only tried to reclaim what belongs to us. I have had part of my land taken from me. My neighbor took it upon himself to till his field early, and he took over two lengths of my field as his own."


    "Two lengths...That is worth a lot?"


    "It is worth a lot of time and resources to prepare," the second man answered. "That is worth something."


    "The land is mine!"


    "But it had been tiled by my hand. And what of the early wheat I have already sown in that part of the field? That belongs to me."


    "You could not simply give back to your neighbor what is his? Or bequeath him two lengths of your land for the growing season?"


    "I do not work for free."


    "And you would not share resources? Give him a portion of your seeds or crops in payment for his work on your field?" she asked the first man.


    "Why would I pay someone to prepare my fields when I have children enough to help me?"


    "And you would not want to wait a year to reclaim your fields even if you were compensated for them?"


    His wife provided a quick answer for him. "He cannot provide compensation enough to make sure our family is fed and our tithe paid."


    Lyssia fought the urge to hide her face behind her arm. Every easy solution had been met with disdain. Why? Because they had already fought over them and declared no winner.


    What did these people expect from her? They only wanted someone to make the hard decision for them.


    "How many mouths do you have to feed?"


    "Nine, my lady," the woman replied and glanced sidelong at her opponent so that Lyssia knew what to expect from his answer.


    "Six, my lady," he said, bending his head in anticipation of a reprimand. He thought his cause lost, but Lyssia did not plan to force anyone into a losing position.


    ¡°If you are seeking my opinion, it would seem that both of you have a stake in the land.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but what should be done about it?¡± the woman asked. The same question was mirrored in the eyes of everyone gathered to listen.


    ¡°Here is what I would say. You should¡­¡± Lyssia took a deep breath - in-out-in. ¡°You will share it. Two-thirds will remain in your family possession, but you shall loan one-third of the land from the section that has been sown to the man who tilled it. Next year, the boundaries of your fields shall revert to where they once were, and you shall share the burden of making sure they are properly marked and protected.¡±


    When Lyssia had brokered peace between the farmer and the blacksmith, they had put up more of a fight before accepting her decision. There were no arguments provided this time. Only a single question spoken in a toneless voice from the man that stood alone.


    ¡°And if that is not enough for either of us?¡±


    ¡°Then you will do as you must to provide for your neighbor. If no help can be found among friends, you will go to the man to whom you pay your tithe, or you will journey to my father¡¯s stead. Food, clothing, shelter - whatever you need. Your families will be provided for. All you have to do is make your needs known.¡±


    The man¡¯s eyes shone with tears as he bowed his head before her. ¡°Thank you, Drottine. Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Who owns your fealty?¡± Lyssia¡¯s father asked.


    ¡°Jarl Angar, my lord.¡±


    ¡°Angar! These are your men?¡±


    Jarl Angar rode forward. He had chosen to wear his yellow cloak again. It was a poor choice for a hunt, but it ensured that he stood out in a crowd.


    ¡°I do not recognize them. But if they say they are, they must be.¡±


    ¡°Have you heard their worries?¡±


    ¡°Yes, and I am impressed with the Drottine¡¯s solution. I will back it with my own promise.¡± He turned from Lyssia and her father and held out his hand toward her supplicants. ¡°I will cut your tithe in half this year. And if that is not enough, of course, you must come to me. Your families will not go hungry.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, my Lord Angar.¡±


    ¡°Yes, thank you, my lord.¡±


    ¡°I have no token to give you, but you can rest assured that my word is good.¡±


    Lyssia frowned. That did not ring true. ¡°Have you any coin, Jarl Angar?¡±


    ¡°Coin, Drottine? No. I had no need to pack any.¡± He chuckled at the thought, but no one joined him.


    ¡°I have a thought¡­¡±


    She reached into her saddlebag, searching blindly for the pouch of coins she had taken to the Mart. This is the last time I¡¯m doing this, else my bag will need repairing, she thought, as she plucked several long strings from the frayed corner.


    ¡°I have little need of coin. Let these be put to good use. If you find yourselves in need, you may spend them or use them or as tokens of my esteem. Will you recognize them, Angar?¡±


    She held four coins threaded through with string up for his inspection. He nodded in assent, watching carefully as she handed two coins each to the men standing before her.


    ¡°My lady, you are too generous.¡±


    ¡°And wise.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and wise.¡±


    ¡°Truly, she is,¡± Jarl Angar murmured, making Lyssia blush. His fingers tangled up in his beard as he stared at her and scratched at his chin. ¡°You must be proud of her, Dizean.¡±


    Her father¡¯s single nod was not enough to quiet the whispers that had risen among the crowd. Lyssia heard her name spoken by dozens of voices, and for some reason unknown to her reasoning mind, the sound filled her heart with fear.


    ¡°We must be off now,¡± Lyssia¡¯s father said, preparing to ride on. The crowd parted before him and closed around him again like slow-moving honey. ¡°Travel with our blessing for safety and a swift return to your homes.¡±


    Lyssia watched him leave, unsure of her position.


    ¡°Lyssia, join me!¡±


    ¡°Yes, father! Goodbye. Good day. Vas daginnen.¡± She waved to the children at her feet and had Arvid walk forward slowly, careful to make sure he didn¡¯t step on any little toes.


    Her father stopped once they were far enough away from the crowd and motioned for her to join him. ¡°You will participate in the hunt today, Lyssia.¡±


    ¡°I...yes, father.¡±


    ¡°Head east from here. You will find the herd. Tell the outriders to expect our arrival soon and take your position. We will get this hunt over with quickly and return to see our other work completed.¡±


    ¡°Yes, father. I will find them.¡±


    He glanced back over his shoulder to the rest of the party, each man riding forward with curious eyes and eager smiles focused squarely on her.


    "Go! Now!"


    Lyssia did not question the order. Without a second thought, she wheeled Arvid about and took off into the solitude of the trees, her favorite companions.


    **********

 Chapter 19C

    The herd was easy to find. Once her message was delivered, Lyssia was free to find a quiet spot on the trees to wait. take her position in the trees. She slid her bow out of its holder and laid it across her lap as she closed her eyes and inhaled the clean scent of the forest.


    She liked these moments best. When she had just Arvid and the birds as company.


    Her mind battled against the wrongness of what her father had said. Elken hunts were not meant to be rushed.


    They were meant to be a journey. It took time to reach the mountains and effort to track down the herd. Three days at the minimum. The hunt was hard work, a rite of passage, a celebration.


    It is a tradition, she thought, even as a tiny voice in the back of her mind wondered if what she truly wished for wasn¡¯t adherence to tradition but proximity to the mountains.


    Aturnel, in the east he dwells.


    It was probably for the best that she did not indulge those wishes.


    A flash of bright red drew her attention off to the right. She turned in that direction, whistling a few notes and searching for a pattern of red wings or red fur.


    She looked down, reaching for her archery gloves, and when she glanced back up again she found herself face to face with a fanged monster.


    ¡°Ahhh!¡±


    ¡°Ahhh!¡± Azerian echoed and burst into laughter.


    ¡°Azerian,¡± Lyssia hissed. As soon as she found the breath to yell¡­


    He was already off, his horse sprinting through the trees in the direction of the herd. ¡°The other hunters are ready! You¡¯re at the end of the line! One of the Dunival riders is positioned on your right.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Lyssia said, too slow for him to hear, and imagined his smirk.


    The drumbeat found her a few minutes later, and she heard the call of the hunting horn and the far-off sound of a voice raised in song. She couldn¡¯t make out the words, but the tune soothed the last restless rustling in her heart. At least some traditions were not so easily shaken.


    There was a moment of hush as the forest held its breath. Lyssia felt it like a shift in her vision, for one moment everything was right in her world.


    She heard the thunder of hooves as the herd took flight. Lyssia pointed Arvid in that direction, but she kept him from advancing. Her eyes searched the shadows for a flash of gold and brown fur flying past, a graceful hoof kicking the ground, a set of horns reaching for the treetops.


    ¡°One to me!¡±


    ¡°Two has fallen!¡±


    Arvid was impatient to be off, but Lyssia knew there had to be one or two Elken that veered off from the main herd. It was her job to catch a straggler this time around. She could be patient.


    The signal came when she saw another horse ride past in pursuit of a spotted female. Arvid surged forward with the slightest bit of pressure from her heels. She pulled behind the first rider, following the path he set as she searched for her own quarry.


    ¡°Three down!¡±


    A young male, blinded to her presence by its need to escape, blundered past her. She veered off to the left and plucked an arrow out of its satchel. The Elke wasn¡¯t running a straight path. He kept veering back toward the rest of the hunt, running a zigzag pattern that made it difficult to get a sight on him.


    But she didn¡¯t want to be led back into the main hunt, and she knew the number had been sent low at six. Better to end this quickly.


    ¡°Four to me!¡±


    One. Two. Her arrows sang as they flew through the air, landing with a sickening thunk in the Elke''s hindquarters and side. Arvid came to a halt on his own seeing the creature felled, and Lyssia jumped down from the saddle, knife in hand.


    ¡°Shhhhh,¡± Lyssia whispered as she approached the Elke. She lowered herself into a crouch. He struggled to gain his feet as she placed a hand on its neck.


    She inhaled sharply as she angled her knife and thrust it into the hollow under its throat that Seaka had taught her about. It would ensure a cleaner, quicker death for the Elke than having its throat slashed open. It was done in an instant.


    Lyssia stood and yanked her knife free, retreating quickly so she would not have to watch the life-blood drain from her victory.


    ¡°Five is down!¡±


    ¡°Six!¡±


    The final cry rang out as a horse wearing an empty saddle broke into the space between Lyssia and her horse. Arvid gave a warning cry as it passed too close to him, and the strange horse reared up onto its hind legs, its front hooves flashing dangerously close to Lyssia¡¯s head.


    She skipped back a step and dropped to the ground, her boot coming to rest against the Elke¡¯s body. The riderless horse stomped the ground and reared again before taking off.


    Lyssia rushed straight to Arvid¡¯s side without taking note of where it went. What concerned her more was the direction it had come from. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    She hadn¡¯t recognized the horse. It wasn¡¯t Sikurd, and it didn¡¯t belong to her father or Azerian. She remembered him saying that she was positioned beside one of Magnor¡¯s men. Could the horse be his, and if so, what had happened to the man?


    ¡°Dunival!¡± Lyssia shouted as she set out in search of the man who had lost his horse. ¡°Dunival down! Where are you? Dunival!¡±


    She came upon a figure hunched on the ground all of a sudden.


    Her gaze swept the area, searching for a horse. There was none, and the man¡¯s attire revealed him to be part of the group from Dunival.


    ¡°Hello! Are you alright? I saw a horse without a rider, and I thought that...¡±


    The man turned to the side, and Lyssia saw what was on the ground before him.


    A scream caught in her throat.


    A bloody Elke¡¯s carcass rested on the ground with its legs up but bent at odd angles like they had been broken. A long gash had been torn out of its belly, and blood and...other things...were strewn all around it. Lyssia turned away before she could see any more.


    Steeling herself against the sight, she started to turn around to face him again. A blood-slickened hand grabbed her wrist.


    ¡°Hey! What are you¡­? Get off me! Stop! No!¡±


    Lyssia fought against the man¡¯s grip, kicking back at his legs until he let go. Falling to her knees, she crawled away a distance before turning back to face her attacker.


    The Dunival man made no move to follow her. Blood was dripping down the man¡¯s front, from his forehead to his knees. His hands were caked in blood and gore. He had ripped his mask off. It hung behind his head by one end of its leather strap, and the eyes that stared back at her were black and wild.


    As Lyssia watched, he crouched and reached for the ground, rubbing his hands along the ground. It was a curious movement. If Lyssia knew any better, she would have thought he was trying to wipe the blood away.


    ¡°Dun...Dun...Dunival?¡± Lyssia¡¯s breath hitched, and the man¡¯s gaze shot up again, locking on her.


    rewn all around it. Lyssia turned away before she could see any more.


    ¡°What happened? Did you...did...did¡­?¡±


    The man didn¡¯t respond. All Lyssia could hear was his labored breathing.


    He opened his mouth as though baring a set of fangs and growled at her. The scream that Lyssia had been holding in clawed its way free of her throat as he rushed toward her.


    ¡°Hey!¡± A tall figure jumped in front of her. Lyssia climbed to her feet and ran to hide behind Arvid, still screaming. He rocked nervously from side to side, but he would not bolt. His training would not allow him to leave her behind.


    Glancing over his bent head, Lyssia watched Magnor advance on the man. ¡°Standa! Standa!¡±


    The man¡¯s features were twisted with rage. He looked almost inhumane with his teeth bared and his black eyes devoid of recognition. This was his Kongr standing before him. Surely, if he had any reason left, he would not attack his sovereign.


    ¡°Magnor, no! Don¡¯t! He¡¯s---!¡±


    ¡°Be quiet, Lyssia! Standa! An-rivic!


    The man-beast growled again. Lyssia couldn¡¯t help but think of him as such when he crouched down on all fours and reached out with his bent fingers. Lyssia¡¯s eyes flashed to his fingers, checking for claws.


    Magnor grabbed hold of his arm and drove him to the ground. They wrestled that way for a long moment. Lyssia clamped a hand over her mouth as her scream broke into a fit of tears.


    More men raced toward them. Magnor¡¯s men converged on their crazed countrymen, taking hold of him and pulling him away as Magnor directed them. ¡°Take him away! Get him under control! Place him in the kennels!¡±


    Roakev pulled Lyssia away from Arvid, yanking her hand off her mouth and searching her for injuries. ¡°What happened? Where are you hurt? Who hurt you?¡±


    ¡°No one. I¡¯m...I¡¯m fine. Magnor...and the...he...¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re bleeding.¡± He ran his hand up and down her wrist, trying to find the source of the blood. ¡°Is this¡­? This isn¡¯t your blood, is it? You¡¯re okay?¡±


    ¡°But how? Why? No! I...I can¡¯t...¡±


    Lyssia tried to move past him to look for Magnor. She was fine, but was he?


    ¡°Lyssia¡­¡± He took hold of her arms and shook her gently, drawing her gaze back to him. ¡°What happened?¡±


    Lyssia tried to gain control of her voice. Her eyes latched onto the even rise and fall of Roakev¡¯s chest. She tried to duplicate his breaths, waiting until she felt her heartbeat begin to slow before she answered him.


    ¡°I found a...a horse and I thought¡­no rider, so I...I found...and there was blood...and the Elke and¡­¡±


    ¡°Okay. So there was a horse with a rider, and a man, and an Elke, and blood...Did a man fall?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Was the blood his?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t...think so. I¡­I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Okay. It¡¯s okay.¡± Roakev pulled her into his chest. ¡°Here. Stand up.¡±


    He helped her to her feet and drew his cloak around her shoulders. Lyssia counted the seconds as he held her. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight...


    He pushed her away, back toward her horse. ¡°I¡¯m going to go find out what happened. Wait here.¡±


    Lyssia nodded, watching him stomp off after Magnor¡¯s men, who had thrown the man covered in blood onto one of their steads and were preparing to carry him off back to the stead.


    Magnor wasn¡¯t with them. Lyssia clutched the edge of Roakev¡¯s cloak, rubbing the edge between her fingers, and searched the clearing for the Dunival Kongr. He was standing beside the Elke that had been ripped apart. He held the reins to his horse in hand, but he didn¡¯t make any move to draw himself into the saddle.


    ¡°Magnor?¡±


    He looked up at her approach and stepped to the side, blocking her view of the Elke. ¡°Don¡¯t look. Trust me.¡±


    ¡°Magnor, what just happened?¡±


    ¡°He has it.¡±


    ¡°It?¡±


    ¡°The...fatigue.¡±


    ¡°Is that what Seaka called it?¡±


    ¡°She didn¡¯t know what to call it. It messes with the mind. Makes you confused. He felt warm. Like he had a fever. He wasn¡¯t sure where he was. I think he fell off his horse, got scared...It wasn¡¯t his fault. I¡¯ve been pushing them too hard.¡±


    ¡°The blood¡­¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t his. I don¡¯t know where it came from.¡±


    ¡°Maybe he fell...he fell on the Elke after he¡­shot it.¡± Her eyes searched the ground for an arrow. ¡°And his horse¡­¡±


    ¡°Got spooked and almost ran you down? Is that true?¡±


    ¡°Yes. You yelled at him.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, he had blood on him and you were...I didn¡¯t know...I threw him down. I hope I didn¡¯t hurt him.¡± Magnor glanced down at the Elke one more time and then reached out a tentative hand and took hold of Lyssia¡¯s arm, drawing her away.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    ¡°Go?¡±


    ¡°Yes, go. Away from here. Anywhere...anywhere but here. Somewhere...without..¡±


    Lyssia took in the haunted look in his eyes and the tremor in his voice, and she stood up straighter, placing her hand over his. ¡°I know a quiet place. Come with me.¡±