A Clash of Honor (20 page)

“What is it that you are doing here?” he screamed in Thor’s face. “What is it that you want from me?”

Thor could feel his father’s anger coursing from his hands and into his shoulders.

But Thor’s shoulders were bigger and wider now than when he had left, and his hands and forearms were more powerful, too, twice as strong as they had been. His father always thought he could end an argument by grabbing Thor’s shoulders, by shaking him, by infecting him with his anger—but not anymore. As soon as his father’s hands dug into his shoulders, Thor reached up, lifted his hands between them and knocked his father’s hands away; then, in the same motion, he shoved his father with the heel of his hands, right in his chest, hard enough to send his father stumbling back a good five feet, and sending him so off-balance that he nearly fell.

His father looked back to Thor, shocked, as if wondering who he was. He looked as if a snake had bit him. His face remained red with rage, but this time, he stayed his ground and kept a healthy distance and dared not approach Thor—for the first time in Thor’s life.

“Don’t you ever lay a hand on me again,” Thor said calmly and strongly. “It is not a warning.”

Thor was being genuine. Something inside him would not tolerate this treatment anymore; something inside him warned him that if his father ever laid a hand on him again, he wouldn’t be able to control his reaction.

Something unspoken passed between them, and his father seemed to understand. He stood there and lowered his shoulders just a bit, enough for Thor to realize that he wouldn’t attempt it again.

“Have you come here to harass me then?” his father asked, sounding broken, sounding old, in that moment.

“No,” Thor said, finally remembering. “I’ve come here for answers. Answers that only you can give me.”

His father stared back, and Thor took a deep breath.

“Who was my mother?” Thor asked. “My
real
mother?”

“Your mother?” his father echoed, caught off guard. “And why would you want to know that?”

“Why
wouldn’t
I want to know?” Thor asked.

His father looked down to the ground, and his expression softened.

“Your mother died in childbirth with you. I told you that already.”

But he would not meet Thor’s eyes when he said it, and Thor sensed he was not being truthful. Thor was more sensitive now, he could feel things more deeply, and he could feel that his father was lying.

“I know what you told me,” Thor said, strong. “Now I want the truth.”

His father looked up at him, and Thor could see his expression change once again.

“Who have you spoken to?” his father asked. “What have they told you? Who has gotten to you?”

“I want the truth,” Thor demanded. “Once and for all. No more lies. Who was my mother? And why did you hide it from me?”

Thor’s father stared at him, long and hard, and finally, after several moments of thick silence, he gave in. His eyes drooped, and he looked like an old man.

“I guess there is no point in keeping it from you anymore,” he answered. “Your mother did not die in childbirth. It was a story I made up, to keep you from asking questions. Your mother is alive. She lives far from here.”

Thor felt energized. He knew it to be true, but hearing it from his own father made it real.

“In the land of the Druids?” Thor pressed.

His father’s eyes opened wide in surprise.

“Who told you?” he asked.

“She is a Druid, isn’t she?” Thor asked. “Which means I am half-Druid? I’m not entirely human?”

“Yes,” his father admitted. “It was not information I wanted spreading around this village.”

“And is that why you were always ashamed of me?” Thor asked. “Because my mother was of another race?”

His father looked away, frustrated.

“Tell me, then,” Thor pressed, “how did you know her? Why did you divorce her? Why was I not raised by her? Why was I raised by you?”

His father shook his head, again and again.

“You don’t understand,” he said. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Tell me!” Thor demanded, yelling, fists bunched in rage, using a fiercer voice with his father than he ever had in his life.

For the first time in his life, he saw his father afraid.

His father looked back, and finally, slowly, said:

“You are not mine.”

Thor looked back, trembling with rage, trying to understand his words.

“I am not your father,” he added. “I never was. I just raised you as my own.”

Thor’s heart pounded in his chest as the words sunk in, the words of this man whom he had once thought to be his father. His felt his world shaking all around him. And suddenly, it all made sense. For the first time in his life, it all made sense.

This man was not his father.

“Then who is?” Thor asked.

“I honestly don’t know,” he said. “I never met him. I only met your mother once. Briefly. She left you, as a baby, put you in my arms. I had been with the flock, at the top of the mountain. And she had appeared, holding you. She had said that I was to raise you. That you had a great destiny, and that I was destined to be your caretaker. She was the most beautiful and powerful woman I had ever laid eyes upon. She was not of this world. I went weak at the sight of her. I would have done anything she’d asked for. I took you in my arms. And then she disappeared.

“I was left holding you, alone on the mountaintop, and as soon as she’d left, I’d wondered why I had taken you. When she had gone, my senses cleared. But I was stuck with you.”

It hurt Thor to hear these words, but at the same time, for once in his life, it all rang true.

But this still didn’t explain who his real father was. Or why this man had been chosen to raise him.

“Before she left, she gave me one command. She told me that on the day you found out about her, I was to give you something.”

He turned and strutted across the small yard, to a shed, and Thor followed him inside.

He knelt down on its wood floor, used his big beefy palm to swipe it of dust, and revealed a hidden compartment. He blew on it, revealing a latch, then turned it and hoisted it with all his might. A foot thick, he slowly raised it, and ancient air came out, along with a small cloud of dust. It looked as if it hadn’t been opened in years.

He reached in up to his elbow, fished around, then grabbed something and pulled it out. Thor knelt there, opposite him, and he held a small leather sack in his palm, covered in dust. He blew on it, and handed it to Thor.

Thor gently opened and reached into the sack. He felt a piece of parchment, rolled up, and took it out and unrolled it.

He could not believe it. It was his mother’s handwriting. He felt a thrill as he read it:

My dearest Thorgrin:

On the day that you read this, you will already be a man. I am so sorry that I left you. But it was for a good reason. Fate has its own way of unfolding, and on the day that we meet, you will understand.

Inside this sack are two pieces of jewelry—both of which you will need to save your life. The first is a ring, which you must give to the one you love. The second is a necklace, which you must wear. It will lead you to your father. And to me.

I love you with everything that I am, and I weep every day I do not see you.

Your mother.

Hands trembling, Thor reached into the sack and first pulled out a ring. His breath was taken away: it was a large diamond ring, flawless, with rubies and sapphires all around the band. It was the most spectacular piece of jewelry he had ever seen. He then reached in and pulled out the necklace. The chain was bejeweled with diamonds and sapphires and rubies, and from it hung the emblem of a falcon, carved in black amethyst.

Thor reached back and put on the necklace, and he could feel its power throbbing immediately through his chest. He felt comforted by it. Protected. He felt, for the first time, as if he was close to his mother.

Thor tucked the scroll and the diamond ring safely inside his shirt, and as he put it away, his thought turned to only one person.

Gwendolyn.

Give it to the one you love.

 
“That is all I have for you,” he said, standing.

Thor stood, too.

“So you see,” he said, “you have no more business here. You have received what you’ve come to find.”

Thor looked back up at this pathetic man, who had once loomed so large for him. He felt a deep sadness.

“Before I leave, tell me one thing,” Thor said. “Did you ever have any love for me? Any at all?”

Thor needed to know. For his own sake. For some reason, it was important to him.

Slowly, sadly, the man shook his head.

“I wish I could say that I did,” he said solemnly. “But my life was my three boys. They are who mattered to me. You were always a burden to me. To this entire family. If you want the truth, there it is.”

Slowly, sadly, Thor nodded, realizing it was the truth, and grateful, at least for that. If this man could not give him anything else in life, at least he could give him that.

“Do not worry,” Thor said, preparing to leave. “I shall never burden you—ever again.”

Thor turned and walked out the shed, across the man’s yard, back to his horse.

As he mounted it and began to ride away, out of this village for the last time in his life, he could have sworn he heard something behind him, could have sworn he heard the man call out. He could have sworn he heard the man call his name, longingly, apologetically, one last time.

But as the noise of the horses’ hooves rose up, Thor could not be entirely sure.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Reece’s heart was pounding as he made his way across the small village of Sulpa, on his way to see Selese. He wiped his sweating palms on his pants yet again and realized he hadn’t been this nervous in as long as he could remember. He had procrastinated from seeing her for the better part of the morning, joining his brothers as they rebuilt the town gate. As the first sun had grown high in the sky, he had continued to lose himself in the chain line, handing off large blocks of stone, passing them down the line, then helping his brothers mortar them in the wall. By the time the second sun had risen the wall had grown nearly four feet high, thanks to all of their labor, and when they all finally took a break, he realized the time had come. He could put it off no longer. He had been distracted the entire time with thoughts of her, and he had to confront his fear.

Reece finally broke off from the group and made his way through the dusty streets of the village, his palms sweated as he neared her cottage. She had done her job masterfully—the wound in his shoulder barely hurt anymore, and he felt as if he had never been infected. Yet he needed an excuse to approach her, and figured maybe somehow that could be it. After all, he could say that he was there for a checkup. And then if it did not go well between them, he would have an excuse to leave.

Reece breathed deep, doubling his pace, and strengthened his resolved. He knew he should have nothing to fear. After all, he was a prince, son to a King, and she was a mere commoner in a remote village on the outskirts of the Ring. She should be thrilled by his advances. But even in his delirium, he had sensed something in her eyes. She was willful. Noble. Proud. Independent. So a part of him wondered how she would react.

Reece stopped before her door, and hesitated. He breathed deep, and realized he was sweating, and wiped his palms again. His heart pounded as he stood there, and a part of him did not want to go through with this. Yet he knew that if he did not, he would think of nothing else.

Reece steeled himself, reached up, and slammed the knocker. Several passersby turned and looked at him, and he felt self-conscious, especially as the iron knocker echoed way too loudly.

He stood there, shifting, not knowing what to do with himself, as he waited and waited. Just as he decided she wasn’t home, just as he was about to turn around and leave, suddenly, the door opened.

Reece’s throat went dry. She stood there, proud, confident, staring back at him, her blue eyes aglow in the rays of the second sun. It took his breath away. She was even more beautiful than he had remembered. Her black hair dropped down on either side of her face, framing it, her cheeks were high, her chin proud, and she had the bearing of someone from a royal court. He could not understand what a girl like her was doing here, in this humble village. She seemed too big for this place.

Reece realized he was staring, and he cleared his throat and shifted, as she looked back, waiting. She was expressionless, maybe slightly amused. She was not making this easy on him.

“I…um…I,” Reece began, stopping and starting, looking down, then up, “I have come to check on you.”

She burst out laughing.

“To check on
me
?” she asked quizzically.

Reece reddened.

“I meant…um…to check on me.”

She laughed harder.

“What!?” she asked. “You have come here to check on yourself?”

“I meant…um…,” he said, reddening, “for you to check on me. I mean—on my wound.”

She looked at him, her eyes aglow with laughter, and smiled from ear to ear. He felt like an idiot. He had already messed things up.

“Have you?” she asked skeptically, clearly not buying it. “And why would you do that? I told you yesterday that your wound was healed.”

Reece reddened even further, toeing the dirt, looking down, not sure what to say. His entire life, being at the center of King’s Court, he had encountered thousands of people, and had felt comfortable speaking to anyone. Girls had always sought him out, and he had always had to deter their advances—and he had never felt nervous before. He was not used to pursuing girls. And this one was different. There was something about her that kept him off-balance.

“I um…I…guess…well, it was hurting a bit,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

She smiled, clearly not buying it.

“A bit?” she asked. “Well, if your wound was infected, it would hurt a lot. And it’s healing, so a little bit of pain is normal. Aren’t you a big strong warrior of the Legion?” she asked with a laugh.

Reece was flustered, not imagining it would go this way.

He turned to go, embarrassed, when suddenly she stepped out and laid two hands on his arm. She held up his arm and examined it with a professional eye, studying the wound. She ran a hand along it, then rolled back his sleeve.

Despite everything, the feel of her hand on his arm electrified him. It made it hard for him to think clearly.

“Your wound is just fine,” she said. “I am proud of my handiwork, in fact.”

“I came here to thank you,” Reece said softly. “For saving my life.”

“I thought you came because your wound hurt?” she asked, smiling, her eyes twinkling, clearly enjoying this.

Reece flushed.

“I didn’t save your life,” she added, finally rescuing him. “Your friends did. They got you here quickly. If they had waited any longer, nothing would have saved you.”

Reece nodded back, not knowing what else to say. He was stumped—and was impressed by her humility.

“So was there something else you wanted?” she asked, still smiling.

She was not going to make this easy on him. He looked into her eyes, playful, intelligent, and he felt that she was too smart for him. She saw right through him, and she had from the second he walked up to her door. She clearly wanted him to say what was on his mind, and would not let him off the hook until he did.

“Well…um,” he said, swallowing. This was not easy. He did not remember it being this difficult to speak to girls before.

“I suppose there was something else,” he said. “I guess…I am wondering…what you think of me? I mean…of us?”

“Of us?” she asked, laughing.

Reece reddened. He just could not get his bearings around her.

“I mean—I guess—I was wondering—if—do—you have a boyfriend?”

Reece finally got it out, feeling relieved that he did. He hadn’t felt this anxious in years. He had rather be back fighting that Forsyth than putting himself through this torture.

But now that it was out there, he looked up and met her eyes—now the ball was in her court. Now it was her turn to be flustered.

Selese blinked several times and looked away, then looked down and fidgeted with her hands.

“And what business is that of yours?” she asked.

“I mean you no offense, my lady,” he said. “I was just wondering—”

“I do not have a boyfriend,” she said.

Reece looked at her with renewed hope. But she still looked back at him proudly, standoffish.

“Nor do I wish to have one,” she added.

He looked back, puzzled.

“And why is that?” he asked.

“Because I’ve not found a man suitable for me in this village.”

“And what about from outside your village?”

“Travelers rarely pass through here. And when they do, I am too busy with my healing arts.”

“Well…I am passing through here,” Reece said.

She looked into his eyes, smiling.

“And?” she said.

Reece looked back, flustered. Why was she making this so hard? Was she not interested? It appeared as if she wasn’t. He was becoming exhausted.

“I am the son of a King,” he said, and immediately regretted it. He hated boasting; it was not who he was. But he was desperate and found himself flailing, and he did not know what else to say. It just came out.

“And?” she prodded. “What difference does that make?”

Reece did not understand her.

“To most women in this kingdom, that would make a great difference,” he said. “All the difference in the world.”

Slowly, she shook her head.

“I’m not most women,” she said. “I am not impressed by titles, or land, or riches. I will leave that for other women.”

He studied her, trying to understand her.

“What does impress you then?” he asked.

She seemed to think for a moment.

“Honesty,” she said. “Loyalty. And maybe…perseverance.”

“Perseverance?” he asked.

She smiled coyly.

“And what of your love life?” she asked.

Reece stumbled.

“I’m not presently engaged to any woman,” Reece responded, trying to sound noble and proper. “If I were, I would not be speaking with you.”

“Wouldn’t you?” she asked, smiling, clearly enjoying this. “And then why would a King’s son take an interest in a simple villager?”

Reese took a deep breath. It was time for him to tell her how he felt.

“Because when I look into your eyes, my lady, I see far more than a simple villager. I feel something that I’ve never felt for any woman. When I look at you, I cannot look away. And it takes my breath away to see you. My lady, I am in love.”

He was shocked and proud of himself. For the first time, he had stopped stumbling and had managed to get it all out, to say how he really felt. He could not believe the words had escaped. But they were all true. And now that they were out, it was her turn to react as she wished.

For the first time in their conversation, she seemed truly caught off guard. She blinked several times, and shifted, and he could see her cheeks flush.

“You speak strong words,” she said. “How am I to know they are true?”

“My lady, I never lie,” Reece replied, earnest.

She looked down and toed the sand.

“Words are just words,” she finally said. “They don’t mean anything.”

“And what does mean something?” he asked.

She shrugged, silent. He could tell that she was guarded, slow to trust.

“And then how do I prove my love to you?” he pressed.

She shrugged again.

“You have your world, and I have mine,” she said. “Sometimes worlds should stay that way.”

Reece felt his heart falling, and couldn’t help but feel as if she were telling him to leave.

“Are you asking me to go?” he asked, heartbroken.

She looked into his eyes. They were soulful, knowing eyes, and he felt himself getting lost in them. He could not tell what her expression said.

“If you wish,” she replied.

Reece’s heart dropped.

He turned and walked off, feeling crushed. He was confused; he wasn’t sure if he had been rejected—but he certainly had not been embraced. Selese was a mystery to him; he wondered if he would ever understand her.

He increased his pace, heading back towards his Legion brothers, towards a world he did understand, and wishing he had never come here. If this was the girl who had saved his life, a part of him wished it had never been saved at all.