Shadeborn: A Book of Underrealm (24 page)

“Your Grace . . . I hardly think my words could be any more useful than theirs. I am a simple forest girl.”

“I am beginning to think, as the Lord Prince has told me often in the last few days, that there is nothing simple about you. And in this case, I am afraid I must insist, for the fate of the nine lands may well rest upon it. We stand at the brink of a great and terrible time. The bravery you have thus far shown might be the only thing that saves us in the end. But I must ask you to be brave again, and lend your wisdom to our plans, for they will need every ounce of help to succeed.”

Loren hardly knew how to refuse such a request. She felt Chet’s hand close around hers where it rested on the bed. He spoke to her gently. “Go. I shall be fine and will eagerly await your return. But for a short time, I think Gem can get me drunk enough on his own.”

“And happily will I apply myself to the task,” he said.

Loren looked to Xain, the only one who had not spoken. He gave her a solemn nod.
 

“Very well,” said Loren. “I serve at your pleasure. Your Grace.”

“Thank you. And you may be assured of his safety—I will leave two of my royal guard here to watch him, and they will remain on post for as long as his healing requires.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”
 

With a final squeeze of Chet’s hand, she set off and into the palace halls, trailing in the High King’s footsteps with Xain at her side.

Enalyn led her back to the throne room. Being her second time through, Loren wanted to appreciate the finery, but it passed in a blur before the High King’s urgency. They passed through the throne room in a rush, though it still took an age to cross the sprawling room. There was a door behind the dais. Enalyn led them through it into a small chamber beyond.

It appeared to be some sort of war room. Upon a great table in the center was laid a map of the nine lands, which Loren marveled to behold. She had seen but one map in her lifetime—a small, crude thing that Bracken had carried with him. This was drawn in exacting detail, with the names of all the great cities inscribed with perfect penmanship. But her attention soon went from the map to the men above it, for waiting in the room were the Academy Dean and Lord Chancellor of the Mystics.

The Dean looked at Xain with anger when he stepped through the door, while the Lord Chancellor cast a dark look upon Loren. Clearly, neither man thought they should be there, and yet she could see they were not eager to speak up about their displeasure. Instead, as Enalyn bid them to stand at the table over the map, the Dean and Lord Chancellor endeavored to stand as far as they could without fleeing the room.

First, Enalyn made them tell their tale, in brief, and point out where each event had occurred on the map. Though Loren loathed to recount her journey yet again, she found it more bearable this time, for the High King was understanding and let her skip briefly over the darker memories. She seemed chiefly interested in the battle of Wellmont, the fall of Northwood, and the location of the Shade stronghold in the Greatrock Mountains. But the map clearly showed where the battles had taken place, and so they spent the greater part of their time trying to pinpoint the spot where they thought the Shade stronghold had been, for of course it was not marked on the map.

“It is as I suspected,” she murmured. “All their activities are concentrated in the west and have likely been strengthened by Dorsean troops.”

“It seems that way, Your Grace,” said the Lord Chancellor.

“Your Grace does not think the battle of Wellmont was the beginning of some petty border war,” said Xain. It was not a question.

“No, I do not,” she said. “I think it is a conflict motivated by the Shades, who seek to sow discord among the Kings in preparation for an assault on Underrealm. If we are correct, then you have saved the nine lands by bringing me this information.”

“What do you mean to do with it, then?” said Xain.

“The High King will put forth her strength, and the Mystics shall do the same,” said the Lord Chancellor. “Together, we will quell this uprising and unify the kingdoms to prepare for war.”

“The Academy will send some of its strength as well.” The Dean sounded like a child who did not wish to be excluded from a game.

“I am grateful we discovered it this early,” said Enalyn. “And that you survived your journey to the Seat, Loren. Good fortune has blessed your travel, though I am certain it does not seem that way looking back upon it.”

Loren thought of Jordel, of Albern and Mag and Sten. “Thank you, Your Grace, but it does not.”

“Then there is only the matter of what to do with all of you,” said Enalyn. “Certainly, I cannot continue to treat you as prisoners, if for no other reason than your actions to save the Lord Prince. But neither can I allow Xain to leave.”

Loren balked, but when she looked to Xain he was eyeing Enalyn with grim understanding. “Your Grace? I do not understand. Has he not proved himself?”

“Perhaps,” said Enalyn. “Yet you are still a criminal by law, Xain, and I cannot discount the possibility—however remote—that this is all a deception for the purpose of clearing your name. If indeed we uncover a plot by the Shades behind the war in Wellmont, then I will consider your crimes paid for in full and grant you pardon. You will be returned to full honor, and I will find you a place in my court, or in any you wish across the nine lands.”

“Your Grace,” said the Dean. “You cannot mean to pardon his blatant—”

“That is enough,” snapped Enalyn, and she stared at him until he subsided. Then she returned her attention to Xain. “You may go wherever you wish inside the palace, though you must walk with an escort outside your chambers. And while under my care, you may see your son.”

Xain tensed, his spindly knuckles going white where they held the table’s edge. Tears welled in his eyes, though he blinked furiously to hide them.
 

“Your Grace . . . I . . ." his voice broke, and he shook his head as if to clear it.

“No gratitude is necessary, Xain,” said Enalyn. “Go now and see him. You have both waited long enough.”

He tried again to speak but sobbed instead. He turned, wiping his eyes, and ran from the room.

twenty-eight

The palace fell to busy preparations as the High King’s army readied for war. Eamin could not visit Chet so often, but he still came daily. Xain spent most of each day with his son and was reticent to bring him to their quarters where guards at the door marked him as a prisoner. Loren saw him but once, a small, wide-eyed boy not half Gem’s age, who looked at her green eyes in wonder and blushed as he hid his face in his father’s pant leg.
 

Loren stayed with Chet always, even when Gem finally grew bored and went to practice swordplay as Eamin had promised. When he was finally able to sit up in bed, she would help him each morning, and lay him down every night. When at last the healers let Chet try walking, she would take his arm as he hobbled out to the balcony, and there they sat watching the sun making its journey through the sky.
 

For Loren, it was enough to simply stay with him.

Then at last, the day before the armies marched forth from the Seat, the healers came to remove Chet’s bandages once and for all. The High King came with them. Chet hastened to sit up, and Loren took his arm to help him stand then kneel. But Enalyn seized his shoulders as he tried and made him stay his feet. Xain stood to the side, watching alongside Gem.

Slowly, layer by layer, healers unwound the bandages from his wound. Soon, he stood bare chested, clad only in his breeches, and Loren could see his embarrassment by the color in his cheeks. A scar marred the right side of his chest—an ugly and twisted knot of flesh, treated as best the healers could, but not quite enough.

“Now you must still treat yourself with care,” said the healer, tilting her greying head at Chet as if he were a wayward child. “Engage in nothing too strenuous, and you will be fine.”

“Thank you,” he said. The healer bowed and backed away.

“It is you who are owed thanks, Chet of the family Lindel,” said Enalyn. “You stand before me healed, and yet scarred by a blade that was meant for my son. Only two men in this room can claim that.”

She looked at Xain, and he bowed his head.
 

“For that I owe you a great deal. Any service I may give, so long as it does not break my vows to serve the nine lands, I will grant you. Ask for land or a lordship, and it shall be yours.”

Chet swallowed and gripped Loren’s shoulder tighter. He shook his head.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I have never longed for anything so grand. I only wish to go forth and see a bit of the nine lands, and find a better place to live than my home. And if I fail, then there I mean to return, for the woods are good enough for me.”

Enalyn smiled then reached forward to tilt his eyes toward hers. “That is well. But the young heart may seek to wander, while old bones wish to rest. So long as you roam the nine lands, you shall do so with my blessing. And if the day should come when you wish for a home, only say where, and so long as I sit upon my throne, it shall be granted.”

Chet bowed, with Loren’s help and many words of earnest thanks. Enalyn smiled again then left them alone. The excitement had left his knees weak, so after Loren helped him don a tunic, she slowly walked him to the balcony where they spent the rest of their day.

As they sat in the afternoon sunlight, Loren found herself studying Chet from the corner of her eyes, heart pounding in her ears. To see him there, so happy and carefree, overawed by the High King’s grace, was a far greater thing than she had hoped for just a week ago.
 

And Loren knew at last, and for certain, what she had long suspected.

They ate an early supper, alone, for Gem was wandering and Xain was with his son. She walked Chet to his bed for support, but he did not reach for Loren, except to grip her fingers with his.
 

He sat at the edge of his bed, and she helped him remove his tunic. But when he lay back and reached for his covers, she stopped him. With trembling fingers, Loren undid the strings that held her own tunic closed at the top then lifted it from her body. When the cloth came away, she saw Chet looking at her, his eyes wide.

“Loren . . ." he murmured.

She shushed him and undid her belt before climbing onto the bed, and then reached to undo the strings of his breeches.

From the palace walls, they watched the armies march forth. All in a row they stood at the ramparts, Loren and Chet and Xain and Gem. Mystics were gathered in rank and file below in the streets. They wore shirts of mail and carried shields on their backs. Blades of castle-forged steel hung at their hips. Then came the High King’s army, not so great as any of the standing armies of the nine kingdoms but better trained and equipped with the finest arms and armor. Their boots shook the ground so they could feel it upon the wall, a deep shudder that struck them long after the soldiers had vanished around the road’s first bend.

“The army will grow bigger as it proceeds south and west,” said the Lord Prince, who stood with them to watch the march. He had already told them, with some disappointment, that he would be staying upon the Seat, along with the High King herself, and a token force to guard the island. “More Mystics shall join them from every city, and all the Selvan army—at least that portion which was not already committed to the war in Wellmont.”