Myrren's Gift (58 page)

“We shared a few words before the fire was lit. She said she wanted to give me a gift and that I was to use it wisely; she asked me to fetch her puppy from her home and raise it.”

“And you thought that Knave was the gift,” Fynch added, now freely joining in, both of them silently acknowledging that the man sitting here was Wyl and not Romen.

“Yes. I didn’t understand it; I was a child trying to find my way, trying to grow up and be the General I was born to be. I just accepted her words, terrified that I had to witness her death after so much torture.”

“And?” Fynch quietly said.

“Then she began to scream, as I recall, and”—he shook his head—“after that it’s all a blur. The next thing I knew Gueryn was hovering over me looking frightened and I do remember you briefly nearby.”

“I saw your eyes change color.” Fynch said in a determined voice now. “We never spoke about it but your friend saw it and exclaimed as much at the time.”

Wyl nodded sadly. “It frightened me when he told me about it—I wasn’t sure what to believe. He didn’t dwell on it—I suspect he was uncertain if that’s what he’d really seen—but I imagine it never stopped worrying him.”

“That was her true gift, wasn’t it?”

It was painful to have this all brought back to him so vividly. “Yes. She was accused of being a witch for no reason other than her oddly colored eyes, and according to Gueryn and now yourself, my eyes echoed her strange coloring at the moment of her death.”

Fynch said nothing but his gaze was direct. He wanted the full story—he knew there was more and he knew this was difficult for the man sitting before him. He would be patient until his question had been fully answered.

Wyl continued. “After that event everything was normal—well, as normal as it can be when you’re being constantly baited and ridiculed by Celimus. You know what you heard that day while hiding in the drophole? He wasted no time setting up the situation whereby I could be murdered along with Valor. He had me brought before him—Koreldy was present—and he told me of the mission he needed me to take on. I agreed readily when I heard about it for it was the move of a far-sighted King aiming to achieve peace. Except I was to travel with mercenaries and. of course. I sensed a trap was being laid. When I refused to accompany anyone but men from the Legion he had me dragged to the window to witness the beheading of Captain Donal.”

Fynch showed his shock at hearing this. He had no idea that Alyd was dead, although he had wondered where the Captain had been when he had met Koreldy with Ylena at Stoneheart. Now he knew.

“It was worse, though, Fynch. When Alyd was killed it just made me more resolute, more determined to overthrow this man who now called himself King. But he knew me as well as I knew myself and he had taken brilliant precaution to also hold my sister. She too was dragged into the same courtyard where her husband had just been murdered. He would have killed her too in a blink if I had not capitulated. Cunning indeed; his plan was beautiful in its simplicity and perfection. Use those I loved to coerce me into doing precisely what he wanted—and that was to win Briavel for him. Then kill me, as well as the King who might stand in his way; then kill my assassin, Romen. as well, no doubt, as all the other mercenaries connected with the mission. Ironic that Romen and I managed to kill off the mercenaries for him. So perfect!” He said the last two words with savage bitterness.

Fynch nodded, stunned by the information he had learned. “I know everything to the moment Valentyna and I escaped the palace. From then I believe I have been fed your lies.” Wyl held his head. “Not intentional. Fynch. I had to protect you.”

“You are Wyl.” the boy stated firmly.

“Yes.” Wyl admitted looking up, suddenly drained.

A chilling silence lengthened between them.

Finally Fynch spoke. “That’s her gift? I mean, that you did not die when Koreldy killed you?” Fynch’s voice was choked—as much as he believed this was what had happened, it was still distressing to have such a terrifying notion confirmed.

Wyl nodded. “We made a pact. If we both lived after the assault from the mercenaries, then we would duel honorably. Whoever remained standing would protect Ylena and Valentyna with his life. We made a blood oath.”

“And Koreldy killed
you
?” the boy asked, astonished.

Wyl grimaced. “A lucky pass with his sword. I had him but misjudged. Koreldy’s a brilliant swordsman but not as brilliant as I.” He smiled at this. It seemed Romen’s confidence was infectious. Wyl shrugged at the question on Fynch’s face. “I suppose I had more to lose and so I took more risk…and paid dearly for it.” he said.

“And then…how did it happen?”

Wyl looked up confused. “Oh how did I become Romen? Hard to explain. He entered my dead or

;

;

perhaps dying body—I could not tell because I had already moved into his. I am fully myself. My soul is here. His has gone.”

Fynch’s eyes were sparkling with wonder now. He spoke one word. “Magic.”

“Indeed.”

With that, Fynch launched himself at Wyl and clung to him. It took Wyl so by surprise that he only had time to catch the tiny lad and hold him close before he could feel Fynch’s tears against his neck. And then he too was weeping. It was as though Fynch’s interrogation had opened the floodgates of emotion as well as memory and they both poured out as boy and man held each other.

The boy finally pulled back but his arms were still around Romen’s neck. “And Knave?” Wyl grinned. “The strangest dog to ever roam Morgravia or Briavel.”

“He’s part of the magic, though, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know. Fynch,” Wyl said with honesty. “But I believe he is enchanted somehow and. yes. our lives are definitely linked through Myrren. You know that vision you had of me?”

“It was horrible.”

“It is also true. Knave saved my life. I was in the north, in Orkyld then. How he reached me or even knew where to find me is beyond my comprehension.”

“He was gone for three days.”

“And he sat with me for one full day of that, waiting to see that I would recover. How could he cover such ground?” Wyl said, astonished.

“Magic, that’s how,” Fynch replied gravely. “Were those men sent by Celimus?”

“Yes. His intention was to kill Romen Koreldy. It still is. I know too much. They won’t be the last who make the attempt.”

“There’s more.” Fynch told him about the second vision.

“Valentyna married to Celimus?” Wyl said, aghast.

“No, I’m not saying that, I couldn’t tell from what I saw—I was more interested in the odd circumstances of the execution.”

“And you don’t know who the victim was?”

Fynch shook his head. “I described him to Valentyna but she didn’t know either.” He gave Wyl the same description: “Large man. sun-weathered face, rugged features.”

“It could be so many men,” Wyl said, thinking of the Mountain Dwellers. “It reminds me of at least two I know personally. There’s only one certainty here—I can’t let her marry Celimus. He will destroy her.” Fynch shrugged his tiny shoulders. “It was only a vision, Wyl. It doesn’t make it real,” he offered, hoping to find some comfort himself in the words.

“Mmm. But yours have a way of being true, my friend. By the way, you have to call me Romen.” The boy smiled and Wyl was amazed at how it changed his demeanor. “I’d prefer to call you Wyl.”

“Then they’ll definitely have you and the dog carted away!”

“What do we do?” Fynch said, sitting in Wyl’s lap. Suddenly he was just a little boy looking to the grownup to make decisions.

Wyl wrapped Romen’s long arms about his tiny friend and held him close. “We must protect her.

Valentyna is the only obstacle to Celimus getting what he wants. And only you and I know how ruthless he will be.”

“He arrives soon.” Fynch warned. “You cannot be seen.”

“That is true. And we are going to sit here until we have a plan. We alone share the truth of Myrren’s gift.”

“You won’t tell Valentyna?”

“No! She is the last person who must know. Briavellians are more suspicious of talk of magic than any Morgravian could ever be. We are scared of it because we quietly believe it. The people of Briavel dismiss it. She would not trust us.”

“She trusts Knave.”

“She trusts you and now. hopefully, me. But Knave frightens her.”

“Well, she believes he is somehow touched.”

“That’s a fairly tame word. Fynch. She’s hardly admitting to having an open mind on the subject. To start explaining that a witch gave me the gift of a second life and that I am really Wyl Thirsk will push her too far. As it is she is frightened and confused. No, we tell her nothing of this. Can I rely on you to keep our secret?”

Fynch nodded. “Can it happen again?”

“No.” Wyl snorted. “She’s gifted me a second chance at life; I have to protect this one.” He suddenly remembered Lothryn and Elspyth. “Fynch, I did tell two other people, to be honest. One might already be dead. The other, a woman who helped me greatly these past few weeks, is. I hope, protecting Ylena.

She is true to us.” He gave Fynch her name.

“She believed you?”

“Yes. She and the man of the Mountains have strong spiritual beliefs. Magic is part of their lives—at least, I should say, they accept it. Elspyth will tell no one.”

“You must tell me of your northern adventure. Wyl.”

Wyl nodded. “It is a long story—when we have the time I will share it with you. For now, though, you must call me Romen.” he corrected. “You cannot let it slip, my young friend. I am Koreldy, although that name too is not to be murmured around Celimus.”

Fynch nodded solemnly.

Wyl could not help taking the tiny hand in his. “I thank you for your trust and friendship, Fynch.” They spent the afternoon in deep discussion, building and tearing down each other’s ideas, and Wyl was once again grateful for the brilliant mind for detail Fynch brought to their final strategy. He would take their fragile plan to the Queen and hope she might go along with it.

Chapter 36

A light breeze carried the scent of mint and basil and the seductive fragrance filled the mild early evening air. He loved this light most of all. dusk descending upon the soft, dying sunlight. Wyl knew he would forever associate Valentyna’s radiance with sunset and the perfume of herbs and lavender.

“Forgive me. am I late?” she asked, approaching quietly. She was dressed in a simple and unadorned gown of soft, dark blue velvet that matched her eyes in this evening light. The bodice was cut low. She was ravishing.

Wyl felt his throat go dry. “No. I was early, long before the last bell,” he admitted, silently amused by her long boyish stride, which even her formal skirts could not disguise.

She arrived at his side and he bowed. “I love it here at this time of day,” she said, allowing him to gently kiss her hand.

“You keep a wonderful herb garden.”

“Not me,” she admitted sheepishly. “I’m hopeless at any sort of gardening. It’s fortunate my mother is not alive to despair of me. for I’m told her fingers were ever green.” She bent to pick a flower from the lavender bushes that edged the garden. Crushing the head to release its oil, she held her hand up so he could smell the perfume.

He held her slightly self-conscious gaze as he leaned toward her palm and inhaled. “Do you miss her?”

“Not really,” she replied, beginning to stroll the path that would lead them to a magnificent sundial. “She died when I was still very young. And you? Do you have family?” Wyl did not know why he lied—or was he being truthful? It was hard to distinguish. He so badly wanted to be Wyl with her and not Romen. “My father died not so long ago but my mother died when I too was very young. I still miss her, though.”

“You must have a rich memory.” And she knew that this was true by his nod, which seemed weighted with sorrow. “Do you have brothers?”

“No, just a sister. Mother died at her birth.” This was dangerous, telling his story and not Romen’s.

“Then we are kindred spirits, Romen. We both know the same loss of family.” He offered his arm and she took it. much to his delight. “Did you feel pressured being the only royal child?”

“Yes, of course. After my mother and brother died. I worked out early that I must be more of a son than a daughter to my father, even though everyone was determined to treat me like the finest of glass.”

“Is that what he wanted?…I mean, for you to have been a son?”

“No. If his son had survived. I don’t believe he would have loved me any less—just differently perhaps. I only strove to please. I always wanted to make my father proud of me,” she said and then added in a sad voice, “I still do.” She walked on, picked some rosemary to twirl in her fingers and continued more brightly. “In the early days I felt I had failed him for not being born a boy, especially as he had been too enraptured by my mother to consider remarrying, starting afresh with the possibility of a male heir.”

“He was enormously proud of you…you do know that, don’t you?” She shrugged, a little embarrassed. “Yes, I am very lucky that my father never found it hard to share his love and his emotions. He told me every day how much joy I brought to his life, although I’m surprised he would share this with a stranger.”

Wyl realized he must be more careful. “We knew it was a hopeless fight. All three of us shared thoughts we normally would not.” he lied.

She nodded gently and then pointed toward a small copse. “There’s a beautiful summer house in there that my father built for me. I still like to go there often. Shall we walk in that direction?”

“Please. I would be privileged to see it. I was admiring your woodland today.”

“My woodland?” she laughed. “I suppose I have made it mine in a way. Did you meet Fynch there?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“Let me just say that I have put his mind at ease and given a promise that I am here to stay.” He hoped he had said the right thing.

“Good. He has seemed withdrawn lately.” she said carefully, not wishing to reveal anything further about the boy’s visions—they had such personal meaning for them both. “No doubt your arrival will cheer him,” she added, “so I can stop fretting over Fynch and worry about the King. How serpent-like is he?”