WayFarer (5 page)

She closed her eyes to sleep again but curiosity drove her to speak. “Have you met him?”

“Prince Raefe? He’s dark and brawny and handsome with eyes of deep blue—all a maiden could want.”

“Then you are not glum on my account.”

Silence stretched between them until Caerla spoke at last, although her tone sounded a little strange. “I wish I were to marry instead, that’s all.”

“We both wish that, but you can’t marry before me, more’s the pity. I’m the oldest daughter.”

“You don’t need to remind me.”

She sighed. “Why snap at me? What have I done?”

Caerla rolled onto her side. “I’m sorry, Aewen.”

“You’ll have a husband of your own soon enough, Caerla.” But Aewen spoke without conviction. With her skin eruptions, frizzing brown hair, and wide-set eyes so pale as to seem colorless, Caerla did not inspire ballads of love in her honor. In fact, she had no admirers.

A small hiccup gave way to Caerla’s silent weeping. Aewen longed to comfort her although she knew nothing would ease Caerla’s pain, so she offered the only comfort she could by pretending not to hear her tears of humiliation. In truth, her own tears waited to fall. She should not give way to emotion, though, for she needed her wits about her.

She could tell from Caerla’s even breathing that her sister had fallen asleep. Aewen tried to follow her example, but slumber eluded her. The howling of the storm echoed her dark reflections. Being told she would marry was one thing. Actually doing so was another. She did not care whether Prince Raefe was the handsomest and worthiest of men. She doubted he, or any other man she might wed, would allow her to continue in service to the poor. Therefore, she could not ever marry. Wavery light leaked into the chamber before Aewen found refuge in sleep.

But not before she’d formed a plan.

****

Aewen pushed the wooden side door to and latched it with as much stealth as she could manage. She wanted no company. The garden’s fresh-washed heather and roses beckoned. She could not wander its paths now but moved with purpose toward the square herb beds at the rear of the chapel. Here, from long experience, she knew Brother Robb could be found every morning. She only hoped he’d not abandoned his home in favor of a steaming mug in Cobbleford’s kitchens. But, no. She came around the corner of the chapel and saw his brown-robed figure bent over a patch of parsley. Heaving a sigh, she closed the gap between them, her feet sinking into the fresh straw scattered across the paths.

Brother Robb straightened at her approach and a beatific smile wreathed his face above the fold of fat at his neck. “Good morn.”

She stopped before him and nodded in greeting, breathing in the sweet pungency of damp straw and moist earth. Making an effort, she returned his smile, but her own faltered. She launched into words, unable to bear the speaking of pleasantries. “I have much to discuss with you.” She hadn’t meant to jerk out her words like that.

Brother Robb’s smile fled, replaced by a look of concern. He set down his hoe and dusted off his hands. “What troubles you, child? Although, perhaps I know.”

At the kindness in his tone tears stood in her eyes. She had grown up at Brother Robb’s knee, tottering about the garden behind him as a child. He’d been tall and thin then, with a full head of nut-brown hair, not bald and comfortably rounded as now. In all that time, she had never seen a hint of any harshness in his manner except when the deer dined too freely upon his garden.

“Have you heard, then?”
Do all know?
Aewen could not fathom such a loss of privacy. She had spent too long doing nothing worthy of notice.

Brother Robb’s arm came about her shoulders, warm against the chill that penetrated her cloak. “
Whhst
then, child. You’ll make yourself ill. Such news carries, whether you will it or not. Now tell me why you seek me.”

Aewen’s hands found one another and twisted together. “I wish to take a vow of celibacy—to devote myself to the church.”

Brother Robb’s eyes widened, their blue clear as a summer sky. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“It’s law. A maid may take a vow of celibacy in order to dedicate her life to the service of others.” He shook his head before she even finished speaking. Clutching the arm he withdrew, she raised her voice. “I wish to give my life in service to the poor.”

Brother Robb lifted his hands as if in surrender. “You speak without thought. Such vows belong to those destined not to marry. You are young and comely and full of life, a rose ready for the picking.”

“Roses wilt and die the sooner when plucked.”

“Give it a chance, child. I cannot encourage you to dishonor the word your father has already given.”

Aewen eased her clasped hands and massaged the little circles in her palms her fingernails had dug. Tears rolled down her face. “I thought you would help me—that you cared about my happiness.”

His arm went around her shoulders once more. “I do, but we have different ideas of what will bring your happiness.”

“You know how giving alms to the needy and watching over the children gladdens me.”

“Just as it will bring you joy to watch over your own children. Trust those in authority to guide you, Aewen.” He shrugged. “I cannot give what you ask. I will not sanction your taking such a vow.”

She dashed her tears away and tore herself from his embrace. “You could if you would. You pretend to know my heart better than I do. You think by refusing me this I will marry as my father has rashly committed me. But I won’t. It would have been easier with your help, that’s all.”

“Aewen—”

“There’s nothing more to discuss.” She backed away as fresh tears fell.

He called after her, but she fled to wander beneath the green forest canopy until nightfall. She emerged then from the shadows and crept around the dark hulk of the chapel and into Cobbleford Castle through the side door.

Torches burned in their brackets at intervals along corridor and stair. Light pooled beneath the torches but did not penetrate the darkness between. Aewen climbed the stairs, moving freely across the lighted stretches but slowing to feel her way where darkness found her. At the top floor her chambers waited. The sound of weeping bristled the hair on the back of her neck. Cobbleford had its share of specter stories, but upon entering her outer chamber, she learned this sound came from among the living.

4

Rejection

Elcon swept into his outer chamber, unsurprised to find Benisch admitting him. Without greeting his steward, he continued into his inner chamber, where he cast off his robes. Anders emerged from his own chamber and gathered Elcon’s discarded garments from the chair where he’d flung them. At the tinkle of bells, the servant lifted his head and widened his eyes. Elcon paused while removing the circlet of Rivenn, but then set the circlet on a side table for Craelin to return to the strongroom. He didn’t have to look to know Benisch had followed him into his inner chamber. He kept his voice quiet. “What do you want with me here?”

“I came to see if there is anything I can do for you.” Benisch spoke after a small pause.

Elcon shook his head and faced Benisch, who hesitated near the door. “Anders sees to my needs. It’s not your place.”

Benisch recoiled as if wounded. “I thought only to see to your comfort, Lof Shraen.”

“There’s no need, as you can see. I’m well-tended. Now, if there’s nothing else…” He suspended his sentence, hoping Benisch would take the hint.

“Wait!” Benisch pressed forward into the chamber.

Elcon raised his eyebrows.

“I wonder…I wonder if I might have a word with you, Lof Shraen, in private?”

Elcon sighed. He needed to take Benisch to task but weariness dogged him now. “Very well, come into the outer chamber and you may speak that which weights your mind.” He slipped through the door behind Benisch, seated himself on a bench angled before the hearth, and then sent his steward what he hoped was a quelling look. “If you are long-winded, I do not promise to attend.”

Benisch, when he had arranged himself on the bench opposite Elcon’s, tilted his head to one side. “Have you decided what you will do with the Elder boy?”

“I don’t know at this point.”

Benisch sent him a sage look out of watery gray eyes. “Tongues wag in Torindan—throughout Faeraven, for that matter. I deal with the merchants who travel between the ravens. I hear things.”

Elcon eyed him, repelled by his gossip but drawn to make the inquiry that Benisch must await. “What do you hear?”

“There are those who question your authority to sit upon the throne of Rivenn and to wield the scepter of Faeraven. They say you are too young to carry such authority. Freaer and the three shraens who support his claim will vie again for the alliance of Faeraven. There are those who say he takes his cause to the Elder nation. And now some of those who supported you at the siege of Torindan watch and wait.” Benisch drew close, and his breath rasped near Elcon’s ear. “Don’t misstep regarding the Elder youth.”

Elcon backed away and looked into Benisch’s face, which had settled into lines of asperity. “What would you have me do? From what you say, if I do nothing I may lose supporters. But, if I charge him with treachery, I risk turning the Elder nation against me.”

“I say, banish him. Take him into the mountains and leave him there.”

Elcon pushed a hand through his hair. “I’ll consider your words, Benisch, although I don’t well regard them.”

“Consider your own position, and you will make the right choice.”

“That’s enough.” Elcon abandoned any attempt at politeness. “Leave me.”

Benisch’s face settled into cordiality. “Good night, Lof Shraen.” He bowed. The outer chamber door thumped behind him with force.

“Latch the door behind him, Anders.”

****

Arillia won this time, but only just. Elcon found her waiting at the edge of the kaba trees that stretched from Rivenn through Westerland and Darksea to the shining waters of Maer Ibris. They laughed together as Elcon pulled his charger up beside her. “Vixen! You’ve been practicing. I’ll warrant I could leave you behind every time until now.”

The late summer sun, coming bold at this hour, glinted off the gold of Arillia’s hair and backlit her pale skin. Elcon’s laughter died. “You look stunning.”

Her smile gave way to a look of desire. Their eyes locked, and he bent to place a kiss upon her cheek. He meant only to brush her skin with his lips, but she turned her head and their lips met and clung. Elcon drew back, narrowed his eyes against the sun, and took a calming breath. She looked so luminous he wondered if, to enchant him, one of the Fiann had changed places with the Arillia he knew.

She fixed her pale gray eyes upon him. “Do you remember, Elcon, how in our early days we promised to marry one another?”

He tilted his head and looked at her, trying to connect a memory to her statement, but his mind went blank. “Yes?”

Her smile faltered. “Oh, that you would forget your promise to me.” Her voice changed, took on warmth. “I cherished it, you see.”

“Pray remind me.”

“I should let you suffer longer, but I’ll not. We only agreed to wed one another because our parents wished it and to protect ourselves from other suitors.”

“I remember something, now that you mention the matter.”

Her gray eyes took him in. “I think it, now, not so bad an idea.”

“Have you a suitor you despise?”

She chortled. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then you have no other suitor? I shall take comfort in that knowledge, although I can scarce credit it.”

“I want no other suitor, Elcon. You are quite enough.”

He raised an eyebrow to let her know he did not miss her irony and he knew that she gave no direct answer. He turned his black charger upon the trail. Torindan, fortress of Rivenn and high hold of Faeraven, rose pink and graceful in the near distance. They passed through a long meadow painted in shades of gold and green. Birds sang and flitted from bush to bush or winged across the dome of sky. Beyond the meadow, southern mountains thrust up their peaks. Weild Aenor edged the meadow to the north, its sparkling waters foaming as they combed through rocks poking above the surface.

Arillia drew alongside him, demure in her gray riding garb, or, she would have been demure, did not her hair escape the edges of the feathered cap she wore. He preferred her hair unfettered, not braided and coiled as now. He knew a sudden desire to tear the cap from her hair and free it from its constraints, but he did not. Arillia had worked hard to reach adulthood, and he would not take it from her.

His brows drew together. Why had she mentioned their childish promise to marry? Did she view the prospect of marriage to him as a protection against undesirable suitors? Or did she desire him? The thought of a union with Arillia brought a queer feeling to his stomach.

Her gentle voice called him back. “Stop scowling so. What dark thoughts burden you?”

“I’m wondering who your other suitor might be.”

“Perhaps I have none but only wish to make you jealous.”

“Then you may congratulate yourself.”

Her laugh danced in the air. “It seems I won twice this day.”

****

Blue crobok wings fluttered in the stand of weilos that shimmered down the hill and bent at river’s edge to wash their long tresses. The river sucked and sloshed against its banks and, further from shore, eddied into whirlpools. Kai skimmed a flat pebble across its bright surface. The stone arced once, twice, thrice before sinking.

He sighed and straightened. Although he did not blame Elcon for wanting time alone with Raena Arillia, he thought it a poor choice for the Lof Shraen to go out without a guard. Elcon would no doubt call for him upon his return, but for now Kai was free to climb the earthen path that skirted the hill, a trail no doubt made by deer. The sun beat on him as he emerged from beneath the trees
,
but he didn’t mind it. Soon enough they would trade summer’s warmth for the cold, overcast days of winter.