Page 161 of Keeper of the Word
Dashiell toyed with his sleeve. “I cannot believe—truly believe—that I am ne’er supposed to return to Asalle. To rule this empire.”
“Do you wish to marry Aven?”
“More than anything.”
Elanna sighed, letting her shoulders drop. “Then Your Highness must trust that your line will find its way back to Asalle someday.”
Dashiell rubbed his forehead. “Meaning?”
“Events are set in motion. Too many have now made choices toward doom, Your Highness. Even if you returned to Asalle,”—Stars, she loathed to say this part—“it cannot be the same. Not now. Those who would deem to take control of it shall not cease. And if they breach its walls, it will fall.”
Dashiell studied the ground. “This is all my fault.”
“There are a great many people at present who claim fault, but the truth is, you have no control where others’ choices are concerned. There is naught you could have done to stop Chancellor Griffith and the others. I am certain of that. Their path was already set in motion. You would have died like…”
Dashiell caught his breath.
“And my mother’s fortune?”
“I have not Seen her fate as of yet. But Lady Tara is there with her. And she will be safe as long as they are together.”
The prince nodded. “But what am I to do now? I do not exactly know a trade.”
Elanna scanned the dark horizon. “You cannot stay here. Eventually, Renn will be overrun, too. You and Aven must go deep into the southeast of Grenden. Buhr, mayhap.”
The prince chuckled. “Buhr. I cannot say I even know where that is.”
“You and Aven will find it together. But no one can know where you go.” Dashiell paled. This was becoming all too real. “And you do know a trade.”
“Do I?” His forehead wrinkled. “What is that? Decorum?”
“Defense. You will earn your living by teaching those who would ne’er otherwise receive training to defend themselves. And there will be many who will be in want of that skill. I assure you.”
Elanna’s heart hurt, laying the prince’s fortune out for him so decisively. But ’twas the only way. Prince Dashiell was headstrong, and although Elanna knew that ultimately, aye, Dashiell would grow to be an old man—his lineage passed to children and grandchildren and even great-great-great-grandchildren—he had lived a life as she had. Isolated. A greenhorn. She must give him direction.
“I like that. I like the idea of teaching common folk.”
She knew.
“One last thing, Your Highness. I’ve told you this because this is a way of survival. A way of happiness. But the choice isalwaysyours. If you wish to return to Asalle, let no one dissuade you from doing so. There is always a choice.”
He nodded in understanding. “I choose Aven.”
She knew.
“Then, henceforth, you may no longer be Prince Dashiell. You must seek a new identity with those who are strangers. You will ne’er stop being hunted. The power of the Curse is too strong.”
Dashiell winced and leaned to the side. “Give up…everything.”
“’Tis a choice, but one that shall safeguard you. Keep Aven safe. Keep your future children safe.” Fatigue challenged her. “Last, even in faraway Buhr, news will reach your ears. You must not pay heed.” Elanna paused. “Because if you do make the choice to walk this path, once you leave, you cannot backtrack. ’Twill change the course of the future for the entire realm itself if you do. Do not attempt to return to Asalle, no matter how painful.”
The agony across Dashiell’s face made Elanna avert her eyes.
“Very well. I shall do as you say.”
The next eveningwas a flawless late summer’s night in which the shift between the Rainless and Prodigal Moons sprinkled down blessings of fortitude and generosity. The group stood in the same open field with the whole of the village and witnessed the marriage of Prince Dashiell Edgard Ferik of the House of Sidra to Aven of Renstown. The constable performed the ceremony.
Aven wore starglows in her hair, the effect of the pure white flowers against her black locks enchanting. She wore a simple, honey-colored gown and was barefoot. A contrast to anyone’s ideal portrait of a princess. And yet Aven appeared most royal.
