Page 13 of Fate of Echoes and Embers
His response was a deeper scowl than he’d already been giving me.
Though I did have one more question, since the commander was being more loquacious than expected. “Is she happy?”
His eyes met mine. “It is not my place to discuss such a thing,” he said finally.
And there was my answer.
It had been only a sennight, my previous stay at Hawthorne Manor. But it had been enough, Issa and I spending every waking moment together during that time, to have guessed the answer without having Sir Warren confirm it.
She craved adventure. Issa’s parents’ untimely death forced her into a life not of her choosing and she sacrificed herself to keep Hawthorne’s people safe. I didn’t need her commander’s answer to know the truth of it.
“Shall we return?” he asked, likely uncomfortable with my line of questioning.
If your intentions are to find forgiveness with Lady Isolde…
Of course I wanted her forgiveness, and if I wasn’t headed to my likely death, I’d want much, much more. But that would have to suffice.
“Tell me,” I asked as we turned back toward Hawthorne Manor, “why you mistrust Draven. And why Issa does not.”
I thought the commander might not answer.
“Draven was born a farmer’s son. He rose through the ranks and was knighted by my lady’s father, who was not much older than him at the time. He was given the title of Warden of the Borderlands, tasked with defending Hawthorne’s southern territories against Gyorian raids.”
Our slow trot allowed Sir Warren and I easy conversation. “Has he been effective in this role?”
Sir Warren’s expression gave me my answer. “Just this morn, we were hunting when a herd of sheep was reported stolen by Gyorian reivers. So nay, he has not. To my mind, at least.”
“A dangerous proposition, to tangle with them.”
“These are dangerous times,” he said. “As for Lord Draven, he was fiercely loyal to Lord Hawthorne when they were boys. But power changes men. Over time, whispers grew. The taxes he collected from the border towns never seemed to match what was recorded in the ledgers. And more than one who spoke too openly against him… disappeared.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You think he betrayed her father?”
“No. But he walked the line too closely for my liking. Lord Draven is an opportunist but has always been clever enough to hide behind loyalty and duty. Issa trusts him because her father did and because he saved her once when a band of Gyorian raiders breached the southern pass. He rode through the night to warn her father.”
“And yet you mistrust him?”
“I was there that night. He was the hero, aye. But he didn’t issue the warning until the last possible moment. When I confronted him, he had an excuse for the lapse, but I think he wanted the breach to happen so he could be the one to save her.”
The silence stretched between us.
“And now?” I pressed.
Sir Warren looked up toward Hawthorne Manor, which now appeared in the distance, its walls imposing to other humans but less so to any Gyorian who truly wished to breach it.
“He waits. Bides his time, playing the loyal knight, and whispering in Issa’s ear. But men like Lord Draven don’t serve forever.”
6
ISSA
I left instructions with Warren and Edric. Packed my saddlebags. Spoke to the staff. There was no other reason to delay except that Marek’s suggestion of riding back to Valewood Bay with him made sense. Stabling my mare there was an option, but not a desired one. Worse, Marek seemed to be enjoying my discomfort.
Of course he is. The Thalassarian smuggler is as ungracious as they come.
Kael and Mev were mounted already, as was Marek, but as I prepared to reluctantly do the same, my companion’s smile slipped. I looked back to the entrance of the keep where he was staring to discern the reason.
Lord Draven stood there, watching us. We had spoken at length about everything from border security to crop rotation but perhaps he wished to speak to me further? As I walked toward him, a flash of a younger Draven kneeling beside me in this very courtyard, where I had fallen and scraped my knee, gave me pause. I realized what disconcerted me about the memory. It was his smile, the same one he wore now. There was nothing remarkable about it. Draven was as even-tempered as any man I knew, rarely given to fits of anger, or bursts of joy.
