Page 4 of Fate of Echoes and Embers
So be it.
The ride back was as terse as I expected. While my men returned the stolen sheep to their owner, we passed through the gatehouse and spoke again only when both Warren and I dismounted in the courtyard outside Hawthorne Manor’s great keep as the steward hurried toward us, blurting, “You have guests.”
That was not unusual. Hawthorne Manor often entertained guests. Warren immediately joined me. Though we did not always agree, my commander, once my father’s commander, was as loyal as they came.
“Who?” I asked, handing the stableboy the reins of my mount.
“Prince Kael and Princess Mevlida.” His eyes darted between Warren and me which made little sense. I adored Kael and was glad to see him. I’d only met Mevlida once, but the spark between the two of them was undeniable. Even so, I was surprised when rumor reached us that they were partnered. Their fathers were bitter enemies. Kael pledging himself to King Galfrid had been a shocking development indeed.
I removed my riding gloves and took a step toward the keep. “I’ll be glad to see them both.” When my steward cleared his throat, I stopped. He was acting unusually odd.
“There is another guest.”
Master Edric, the son of a tenant farmer who my father befriended as a young boy, had been the steward of Hawthorne Manor for as long as my memory served. As loyal as Sir Warren and sharp-witted as any man or woman I knew, he and his family had served me well, especially after the sickness that spread through Estmere claiming both of my parents’ lives.
The look on his face now was typically reserved for the direst of news.
“Who?” I asked.
“The Thalassarian Navarch.”
If Edric punctured my leather armor with a broadsword, it would have been less painful. I knew it for a fact since I’d experienced it once in an unfortunate training accident.
“Marek is here?” I asked. “With the others?”
I couldn’t even manage their names. Or remember my own. If not surrounded by my men, I’d have easily succumbed to the desire to sink into the ground. Instead, I channeled the woman who’d once told me, “You’re stronger than the storms that seek to break you.” My mother’s voice echoed in my mind, steadying the whirlwind of emotions swirling around inside me.
“He is, my lady. They await you in your solar.”
Resisting the urge to rearrange the errant strands of hair that had escaped my braid, or, worse, hurry to my chamber to change from riding clothes into something more presentable, I thanked him. Telling Edric I had no need of his assistance, I made my way into the keep.
Hawthorne Manor could have been called a castle as it was built for defense, but for some reason that neither my parents nor my grandfather, when he was alive, could explain, it had always been named as a manor house.
Such was the way of things in Estmere.
Our ancestors who first came through the Gate brought their ways with them. Over the course of a few hundred years, some were replaced by more modern human traditions and ideals, but more of Estmere remained the same than it had changed. Elydor was a strange place for humans, its requisite need for balance allowing very little technology to pass through the Gate reminding everyone that this world was made for immortals, and humans were their guests.
Some of us, myself included, never quite believed that. If native Elydorians simply accepted we were a part of their world, we would have less cause to worry for our safety from their elemental abilities.
Each step I took toward the solar chamber was heavier than the last. Why could I face a band of Gyorian reivers but the thought of seeing Marek again made me want to lose my last meal? My leather boots crushed the newly replaced and scented rushes beneath my feet. Standing in the corridor, my gaze focused on the light of the wall sconce as it flickered against the weathered stone wall behind it.
The last time I saw him, the meeting hadn’t gone as planned.
My entire journey to Thalassaria, I imagined seeing him again, not knowing if it would even happen. Though I planned a detour to the tavern he frequented whenever in port, there was every possibility he would be out to sea. But instead, Marek was right where he’d once told me he spent much of his time when home: seated at The Moonlit Current, ale in hand. Also unsurprising, he was with a woman. A beautiful one at that. What happened next was not something I could have predicted.
I looked down at my hand, remembering the slap as clearly as if it was this morn and not years ago. The rage that had built up, seeing him again, was as unexpected as my action. I’d never struck another man, or woman, in my life, outside of training. But the look he’d given me… it had been worse than the flippant smile Marek so often wore.
It was one of regret.
Anger welled inside me. He had no right to feel regret when he’d been the one to leave, without a word. It had taken the entire journey home for me to calm myself, to wonder how I could have actually been in the same room with him but not spoken a word to the only man I’d ever loved.
What a fool I had been.
Not for loving him. Marek was an easy man to fall for. But to hear his stories, laugh at his conquests and bad behavior, and then believe I was different? If Kael and Mevlida were not in that chamber, I’d not be reaching my hand out toward the door. But they were, and the reason all three were together had me curious enough to turn the knob, take a deep breath, and step inside.
3
MAREK
