Minstrel's Serenade (10 page)

Bron put the chain around his neck, his skin tingling at the cool touch of gold. “I will stay and learn how to fight.”

Fickle Winds

Danika woke to birdsong and the sweet fragrance of cherrywood blossoms in the late morning sun. Although her mother had offered a straw bed inside the cottage, Danika had chosen the creaking porch swing, allowing the wind to rock her to sleep.

Her first thought shot to Valorian and she jolted upright, causing the swing’s hinges to screech.

“Be calm, my dear.” Sybil sat on the top porch step holding two cups of steaming broth. Had she watched over her all night?

Stifling a current of irritation, Danika sat up, clinging to a quilt draped over her legs. Her mother must have placed the fabric over her sometime in the night. Shedding any peace offering came as her first instinct. However, the morning air had an edge of chill and her leggings were thin. “Is Valorian all right?”

“I checked on him not long ago. He sleeps, as does everyone else in your traveling party.”

Disbelief and mistrust still crackled in the air between them. She creased her eyes. “Even Bron?”

“Yes, the warrior needs his rest, too. He works hard to make sure you are safe.”

“Bron is an excellent bodyguard, aye.” Danika looked away, afraid her flaming cheeks would give her away.

Her mother tapped her shoulder. “Here, have a cup of braised hare.”

“You cook as well?” Danika hadn’t seen her mother lift a pinky finger in the kitchen, never mind gut and clean game from the forest.

“Necessity dictates my actions, dear.” She spread her arms over the wilderness stretching beyond her orchard. “How else would I survive?”

How her mother had survived one night in the woods without her satin pillows, Danika had no idea. She took the chipped cup in her hands and allowed the heat to warm her cold fingers. Eyeing the liquid skeptically, Danika blew the steam over the rim. Probably tasted like bathing water. She took a deep breath and sipped, tasting salt, rosemary and thyme. Her brow rose. “’Tis good.”

Sybil waved away her compliment. “It’s nothing like Jamal’s exotic maritime cuisine, or even Ebonvale’s fire-broiled venison, but the broth sustains me nonetheless.”

A day ago, Danika would have thought her mother would need an entire kitchen and wait staff to sustain her. Her mother’s new streak of resourcefulness impressed her.

Sybil sat beside her on the swing and they creaked backward with the redistributed weight. Trying to fathom this newfangled concept of her woodland mother, Danika dangled her legs in the air and took another sip of the broth.

Her mother held her own cup, unmoving. “You’ve always craved adventure over courtly balls. Now, your wish has come true. I should have let you follow your own path instead of pushing you onto mine.”

Danika stopped in mid-sip and swallowed hard. “If you’ve come to me this morn to apologize, I’m not ready to hear it.” She couldn’t hide the growl from her voice.

Sybil tucked a wayward strand of gray hair behind her ear and sighed sorrowfully. “Not to apologize--for I can never make up for what I’ve done.” The edge returned to her expression. “I need to warn you.”

Danika choked and coughed, almost spilling her broth. “Warn me?” What could her mother possibly know about her and her mission? How dare the former queen assume higher authority when she lived in a hovel, forcing Danika to run the kingdom alone?

“So you do not make the same mistake.”

“Which mistake?” Danika shot back with a glare. Abandoning her daughter, running away, placing her own needs before the kingdom’s?

“Marrying out of duty and not for love.”

Danika clamped her mouth shut. She hadn’t expected that answer.

Sybil set her cup of broth on the wooden planks of the porch and folded her hands in her lap. “I accepted your father’s marriage proposal as a young and naïve girl. Jamal needed an ally to protect the Bluefin channel from the pirates stalking the seas, and King Artemus’ growing army provided the shield Jamal needed to secure its trade routes to Ebonvale. I couldn’t argue with the logic. Ebonvale would protect my family’s domain and ensure its success.”

Danika ran her fingers over the rim of her cup. “Duty to one’s kingdom must come first.”

“Or so your father told you.” Sybil’s voice condemned. “I wanted more. Fifteen years my senior, the king remained kind but distant, treating me as a special pet. I could never replace his first wife, the beautiful Islador. She exhausted the treasury in the first six months of her reign and provided him with no heirs, dying of sickness a year after they were married. Yet, in his mind, she embodied perfection, and how can you compete with an ideal?”

Danika shrugged, wondering why she’d never heard her mother’s side of the story.

“He showed more attention to the handmaidens than me. I wanted a youthful man who honored me for my true self, someone to grow old with and experience life together. Not a man closed off by grief, hungry for battle and the long leaves his war campaign provided.”

Danika shifted on the swing to face her mother. If she didn’t ask now, she’d never know the truth. “What happened to him?”

Sybil’s gaze dropped to her hands. She unwove her fingers and wove them again as if casting a spell or undoing one. Many emotions passed through her good eye: fondness, melancholy, pain. “I met Crescenti when he came to Ebonvale’s court to sing of King Artemus’ lofty deeds. His voice wooed me with its sweetness and I admired his clever wit. When the king left for the border to quell a recent spate of undead attacks, Crescenti consoled me. He stole my heart and I thought I’d taken his in return.”

Thought? Danika’s mind raced. Did fate twist her mother’s wrong against herself? Did Crescenti betray her mother in love?

Sybil wrung her hands together as if grinding wheat. “After we left Ebonvale, Crescenti took me back to the House of Song. He thought we’d be welcomed with open arms, able to live with the minstrels for the rest of our lives. However, our arrangement horrified King Troubadir. Not only did he condemn our pairing, he exiled us from the House of Song forever.”

Danika bit her lip. King Troubadir sided with Ebonvale? She thought the minstrels had planned the pairing, like conniving thieves. But, Valorian’s father didn’t stand for her mother’s indiscretion. She’d been wrong about Valorian and his family. Prejudice had misled her in a great many things.

Sybil’s hand motions ceased, and she sat back in resignation, studying her weathered skin. “Crescenti couldn’t handle the infamy and the embarrassment our love caused. He left me in these woods. I couldn’t go back to Ebonvale, or Jamal, so I decided to stay here and make a life for myself. I’ve lived in these woods ever since.”

Danika’s emotions swirled with confusion between her love for her father and a new compassion for her mother. She’d never heard the tale of a husband absent both in mind and body. She’d only seen her doting father weaving daisies through her hair and reading her bedtime stories of Helena’s and Horred’s conquests. Still, her mother hadn’t fulfilled her duty, and she had shirked her responsibilities for a handsome face. Underneath Danika’s newfound sympathies lay an undying loyalty to her father. She tightened her fingers around the cup. “My father saved our kingdom by sending the dead army back to Sill.”

Sybil fingered the horn around her neck. “Yes, his precious crusade. Do you truly believe everything he sacrificed will hold them back forever, or has he only angered a force beyond any man’s control?”

Disquiet shot through Danika’s heart. Surely the dead army wouldn’t attack again. With King Artemus dead, who would lead Ebonvale’s Royal Guard to victory?

Bron. The certainty soothed her worrying heart. Bron’s strength rivaled her father’s by twofold. Could they fend off the dead army and the wyverns at the same time?

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, my dear daughter.” Sybil put her wrinkled, knobby-knuckled hand over Danika’s arm. “’Twas only a thought to keep in the back of your mind so you don’t grow smug in that lofty castle. I merely aim to warn you against my pitfalls. You have a weighty decision to make, and I see two worthy suitors in your future. Make certain the one you choose is the one you love.”

Sybil’s words left Danika speechless. Two suitors? Valorian’s intent was clear as the surface of a lake, yet how could her mother possibly know the furtive cravings in her wild heart? Danika met her mother’s gaze in confusion and desperation.

Sybil patted her arm and stood. “Perhaps you do not yet see it and this conversation is premature. When the time comes, think of my recklessness and let my actions be a warning…” She swung her arm out to encompass the landscape around her cottage. “To guide you to a better path than this dead end.”

The door creaked open, and Bron emerged, breaking the thick atmosphere of woe her mother’s tale had spun. He bowed to the queen and then to Danika, his eyes averted from her simple underdress. “My Queen and Princess, I apologize for any interruption.”

Mortification froze Danika to stone. Had he overheard their conversation?

Sybil touched Bron’s shoulder, gesturing for him to rise. “Nonsense, Bronford. Our talk has come to a natural end.”

Bron nodded, then looked to Danika. “Valorian awakes. He wishes to speak with you.”

“Of course.” Danika bolted up and used the quilt to cover herself. “Allow me to freshen my appearance. I’ll be there in a moment.” As she walked by her mother, Sybil grabbed her arm with a knowing look. Her mother’s eyes darted to Bron and back to her. “Remember what we spoke of.”

Danika pulled her arm away. Bron’s proximity tingled the hairs on her neck. If only he knew. The result would be disastrous. She shot her mother a reprimanding glance. Why not shout to Bron how she considered him in the running for her hand? “Dear mother, how could I forget?”

Danika washed her face and arms using the cold well water. Wanting a more thorough bath, she beat the dust from her riding tunic and pulled the leather over her head. She checked her reflection and smoothed her blond hair. As a reigning princess and ruler of Ebonvale, she refused to start looking ragged like her mother.

Danika entered the cottage and joined the others. Nip and Bron sat together, sipping broth. Valorian lay propped against the wall, his legs spread before him. He smiled when she entered and beckoned her with a wave of his hand.

Danika sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. “How are you this morn?”

“Healing.” He winced as he tried to lean closer to her. “Sore, but alive thanks to your mother’s talents.”

Embarrassment rose, and she shrugged the emotion away. Valorian would see her for who she was--warts and all. He already knew her family history if his father had exiled her mother and her minstrel lover. Yet Valorian still wanted her. Even now, sore from an arrow wound, he risked discomfort to be two inches closer. Was it from duty or something more?

Danika pulled away. Bron sat in the corner, watching their every move like a raven hawk. She couldn’t bear to show Valorian favoritism in front of the warrior who’d pledged his life to protect her and her family. Her mother had spoken the truth. She did have a weighty decision on the horizon.

But not this day.

Their quest to Darkenbite hung over their heads, shadowing every move as a perilous, unavoidable fate. Only after they had defeated the She-Beast would she confront the truth within her heart.

Farewell Bidding

“En garde!” Nip lunged forward and his wooden sword clacked against the tree branch Bron held in his hand.

Bron allowed the boy to push him back against a cherrywood, pretending to be taken off guard. “Excellent. Now, what must you do next?”

“Go for the heart!” Nip swung his sword toward Bron’s chest. The warrior deflected the blow, and the sword swung skyward, the hilt flying from the boy’s hands. Nip swore and scrambled after it.

When Nip turned back to Bron, the warrior had extended the branch so the leaves at the end tickled Nip’s nose. He yearned to let the boy win every time, but a false sense of triumph would teach him nothing, and real battles loomed. “You’re dead.”

“Horred’s Gambit.” Nip pushed the branch away and kicked a rock.

“Never sacrifice your guard for a venture as risky as extending your entire reach to pierce another’s man’s chest. You’re taking the bait like rainbow trout in a stream.”

Nip nodded and sniffed. “I’ll never be a warrior like you. I’ll never kill a wyvern or avenge my family. Or Thunderhooves. I couldn’t save them.”

“Hold your griffon’s tails, little one.” Bron ruffled his hair, thinking back to his own training and his reasons for choosing the warrior’s life. “If you become a warrior, you’ll save more people than you could ever count. You may even save someone you love. All you need is courage and someone to believe in you.” Bron crouched down to eye level. “You have both.”

The boy wiped his eyes. “Who believed in you?”

Bron’s gaze lingered on the cottage hugging the hillside. “A very special lady. Someone who recognized not only who I was but who I could grow up to be.”

“Who’s gonna do that for me?” Nip swung his sword at an overhanging branch and the tree rained pink blossoms around them.

The hairs on Bron’s arms stood on end. This moment meant everything to Nip. His actions would define the course of the boy’s life with a push in the right direction. This orchard was Nip’s tournament coliseum, and he needed a figure that mattered to lend him hope. Bron walked over and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. If a queen could bother herself with a farmhand, then a warrior could kneel before a lost boy. “I am.”

Bron knelt before him in the piles of pink blossoms as though he knelt before a future king. “A warrior’s life is one of selfless sacrifice. You swear to protect and defend without retribution, giving your life to keep those around you safe. ’Tis not an easy path, but it holds great worth and satisfaction. If this is what you desire, I’d like to offer you an apprenticeship.”

Nip chewed on his lower lip. “What would I do?”