Page 3 of Keeper of the Word
Tolvar knelt, his fists clenching a small leather moon cuff, a prayer wristlet worn by keepers of the faith in the moon goddesses of Deogol. The Capella Realm did not practice this same faith, but the moon cuff was more than a mere spiritual trinket to Tolvar. After all, he was not a praying man.
He’d held it together. He’d returned to Thorin Court as lord and master. To his steward, commander, and servants, all was right in Askella.
But they had not known Sloane.
True. The tale of Sloane the Unsung had already traveled to the Capella Realm. Patrons in the pub in the port city of Seabeckon crowded Tolvar to retell the magnificent hero’s tale again. And he’d told it. He’d told them of the bit of woman who’d become the Unsung through sheer faith. Who had bravely faced the dark forceof the Befallen alone. Who had walked courageouslyintothe Befallen, sacrificing herself to save the kingdom of Deogol.
What he omitted was that he had loved Sloane. With as much fire and fervor as the knight called the Wolf could love, Tolvar had loved Sloane.
And now she was gone.
Tolvar squeezed Sloane’s moon cuff in his palm, begging himself to halt the tears, to bar the emotions, to not remember how truly extraordinary Sloane had been.
But grief was a monster he’d already suffered for years after the attack here at Thorin Court, and it won again as Tolvar clutched the moon cuff and sobbed.
Chapter
Two
TOLVAR
The next week was a quiet affair. Tolvar rode Valko, his Ashwinian roan stallion, to Thorindale to meet with the town constable and then to the surrounding countryside to survey Askella’s new crops and check on the welfare of his people. Sir Bernwald and eight of his guard, including Dame Joss, Sir Barrett, and Sir Gus—the two other knights from the first day of his return—accompanied him.
Hux, who Tolvar would have relished leaving behind, also joined them. He couldn’t very well be left unattended.
Stars.
Everywhere Tolvar went brought out gawkers who wished to see the famed knight connected with the tale of Sloane the Unsung. He took it in stride. It was the role of being earl. It was part of being the Wolf. It was his duty to honor Sloane’s memory.
But, privately, Tolvar knelt in the Priva each night, letting out his pent-up grief. He could make it through the days. He could repeatedly retell Sloane’s glory as long as he had these solitary moments. He could fool an entire province. He was the Wolf.
But Hux had been there in Deogol with him. He had knownSloane and made his own pledge to her and her quest. Tolvar could not fool the former Ravyn.
One afternoon, as they rode back to Thorin Court, Hux finally commented.
“I miss my brother. And I do not pretend that I do not. I face my grief.”
Stars.
Brinley, Hux’s brother, had died before the Solstice Moon in the encounter they’d faced with a group of shadow cats in Ayla’s forest. Despite Tolvar’s detestation of the Ravyns, he and Ghlee, as well as Sloane and her friend, Alvie, would never have survived that attack without their aid.
And then there was the Battle for Sloane,Tolvar reminded himself in annoyance.
Blast! Why did it have to be Hux who had saved Tolvar’s life from—of all people—his ownbrother, Crevan?
Tolvar flicked Valko’s reins.
What a messy affair the last years have been.
He exhaled the scent of late spring’s soil. ’Twas good to be out riding with naught to do but oversee his lands.
Although, he supposed this could not continue every day. After tomorrow, he’d have made the rounds to every surrounding village and farm.
Then what shall I do with my blasted time?
Next to him on that monstrous black stallion of his, Hux snorted.
“I know that look,” Hux said. “The great Wolf has come to rest and discovered rest to be quite the bore.”
