The Broken Realm Page 21

  “Sounds more as if your lord has lost his courage. Perhaps he at last realizes that razing an entire Reach is not the quick work murdering a man in his nightclothes was.”

  Oakenwell dropped both hands onto the desk. “Tyndall. There is no love between our Reaches. There never has been. When this is over, there will not be then, either.” He pulled back, pointing at the vellum. “These are the words Mads Waters will have received as well. It is our responsibility to deliver the orders, he and I.”

  “So deliver them, and leave our sons and daughters alone.”

  “But these are not Aiden’s words, don’t you see? These are the words of a man under duress, a man whose mind is not his own.”

  Griffath laughed. “Oh, that you think I would care about the distress of Aiden Quinlanden.”

  “You should. For if they are not his words, then whose are they?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “It matters because there is something even more foul happening in this kingdom than any of us envisioned. I don’t believe these words of peace, and neither will Waters. If Waters believes our lord has been compromised, he will do as he believes Aiden would want him to. Aiden is volatile, but Waters, unrestrained by a reasonable master, is something else entirely. The worst is yet to come for the Westerlands.”

  “Why are you here? What do you want from me?”

  “I’ve come to you because I have heard you, of all the Blackwood stewards, are the most reasonable.”

  “The most gullible? The one most willing to walk into whatever trap you’ve laid?”

  “This is no trap. Not from me.” Oakenwell slipped the vellum back into his satchel. “And if you’re not interested in my aid in seeing this madness ended, then I’ll find another.”

  Griffath sighed, closing his eyes. “You are his best man, Oakenwell. You expect me to believe you’ve defected, seen the error of his ways, after all this time?”

  Oakenwell leaned in. “I was loyal to Aiden’s father, and I have tried to be loyal to the monster who replaced him. But the Easterlands deserves better. They deserve a man who draws his fealty with love, not threats. Not unnecessary wars. Lady Blackwood knew my true heart, that I was an ally long before Lord Quinlanden took the head of Lord Warwick and thrust us into this terrible place.”

  “How convenient for us both that she is missing and cannot confirm this.”

  “Steward Oakenwell,” Clarissant said from the door. Both men turned in surprise. “You ask for our trust, but must provide some in return. Tell us something that The Deceiver would not want us to know. No small thing will do.”

  Oakenwell looked at her, then back at Griffath. “You think what he did to Lord Warwick was an abomination, but that is nothing, nothing compared to what he’s done to the Medvedev, and what they will do to you, on his command.”

  16

  In Dreams

  Drystan watched his sister set out for her daily interrogation. He and Valen had been washing their knives at the stream after an early hunt when he caught a glimpse of her walking by, Kian on her heels, her red hair like a flame against the effervescent emerald and sapphire of the waking forest.

  He set his frown to the glare of the rising sun. It cut a hard line between the trees, setting the plum-colored leaves into a spray of colored light on the forest floor. A breeze sent some floral, pleasing scents their way, and he’d been here long enough to know precisely which flowers they’d come from. The ones in question were shaped like bells, with tiny arms and feet, like the little people of myth that his nan used to speak of. But it was their color that first caught his eye and still held it even now. A pink so vibrant, so unlike anything else he’d ever seen, and yet it was exactly like every other strange flora populating the Hinterlands.

  After all these weeks here, Drystan was no closer to understanding their captors. He should be grateful they’d been given this freedom to roam and hunt and prepare their own meals, to sleep in piles of soft furs. But he knew also that a nicer prison was still a prison. Until they understood their crime, there’d be no leaving it, either.

  “Why haven’t they released us? Why do you really think we’re still here?”

  Valen didn’t look up from his rigorous scrubbing. “I don’t know, Drystan.”

  “If they thought we would do them harm, we’d still be in those cages, but we’re not. We’re all but free, even if we’re not free at all. If we tried to leave, the magic would stop us, but I’ll bet we could walk for quite a spell before that happened.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “None of it makes any sense. We’re not a threat. We haven’t committed any crime against them. So why keep us?” Drystan said. “As I think about it, all I can come up with is that they keep us because they need something from us.”

  Valen stopped washing. “The Medvedev need nothing from man. They never have, and never will. There is no... no gift we possess that is greater than their own.”

  Drystan noted the subtle but clear shift in Valen’s tone at his last question. Valen was attempting to silence him, but that soft push back only made him want to press further. “Does everything have to be about magic? We roam the kingdom freely, and they do not. We have access to things they do not.”

  “Things they do not need. Look around you.” Valen waved the knife as he gestured around. “Would you ever want or need for anything if this was your home?”

  “It is our home, right now,” Drystan reminded him. “Possibly forever, if we cannot figure out why they keep us. As lovely as it is, I have needs beyond what they’ve given us.”

  Valen sighed in agitation. “Is this not what you wanted? You and Ravenna? To be free?”

  Drystan recoiled. “Do you see Ravenna? Because I don’t. I don’t think I’ll see her ever again, if I’m being honest with myself, and I no longer find any point in self-deception.”

  Valen returned to his work, but not before Drystan saw the flash of anger in his eyes. “No, I don’t expect you will, either.”

  “Did you know? That she would leave me?”

  “No.”

  “You hesitated when you responded. You did, didn’t you? Did you see what I should have seen all along, then?”

  The tensing started in Valen’s shoulders, flexing at the curve of his neck, traveling out through his limbs. It was as if he was exercising some great restraint. “You and your questions.”

  “Why are you angry with me? You once welcomed my questions. It was you who first fed my curiosity, and now you want to kill it.”

  “Did I say I was angry?”

  Drystan nearly laughed. “I don’t think giving voice to a thing is needed to draw attention to the obvious.” Whatever humor in him was quickly extinguished by a sudden sense of sadness. “Have you tired of me already? Is that what’s happening?”

  Valen dropped the knife on the blanket and jumped to his feet. He rushed to Drystan and took him by the shoulders. He gave him a gentle shake as he said, “You are my son. I could never tire of you. Forgive me.”

  It was Drystan’s turn to withdraw. He’d avoided, quite intentionally, any talk of father and son with this man, no matter what the truth might be. It was too much when his life had already been turned on its head. He had to hold on to what he knew to be true, not what might be. “Then what’s wrong?”

  Valen dropped his head. “I don’t know why they keep us, Drystan. I truly do not, and, like you, the not knowing is what gnaws at my heart and leaves me gutted and hollow. I came along to protect you and the others, and it’s as if I’ve been neutered. I’m powerless here, in a way I’ve never been, not even when I stood back as your mother was married off to a man she didn’t love. Even then I still had power. The understanding that I have no power here, not anymore, has been most difficult for me.”

  “I thought Yseult was your friend?”

  “As I, too, thought. Perhaps it is friendship that has stayed her hand from something more final. I don’t know. You may not know this, but man has before stray
ed from the Compass Roads, wandering into the forests not meant for them. The Medvedev judge the purity in their hearts, and if their intentions are innocent, they allow passage. Often it’s children who find themselves lost in these forests, having run from home, as you did. Gabi told us that her sister, Emberley, would have passed through these woods on her journey north, and we can only assume she made it through, for she’s not locked away with us. But if Emberley’s heart was judged to be true, why not Gabi’s? Why not Lisbet’s? Or yours? There’s no sense in any of it. In all my voyages here, she has never done anything like this, even when I’d overstayed my welcome and I was cast out.”

  “Then we should ask her! Can we not do that, Valen? Simply ask what has changed, and why she keeps us?”

  Valen shook his head. He dropped his hands back to his sides. “That is not Yseult’s way. It isn’t our place to ask the questions when we are in her lands, but hers.”

  “Like she’s doing with Lisbet?”

  “Yes. Like that.”

  “But Lisbet says Yseult asks her the same questions each day, and she gives the same answers.”

  Valen sighed. “I don’t know what is in Yseult’s mind, Drystan, but I will tell you what I do know. I, too, was on the other end of Yseult’s questions, and it was not until I gave her my truth—the one that is known deep within, and only there—that she at last released me and treated me as kin.”

  Drystan let this roll over him. “But... if it’s only known deep within, how could Lisbet know what Yseult wants from her?”

  Valen’s shoulders dropped as he exhaled. “She will first have to surrender herself.”

  * * *

  Eavan sent Gabi and Meadow off to pick berries for their breakfast when she saw Lisbet and Kian in the distance. Lisbet walked a pace ahead of Kian, which piqued Eavan’s suspicion. Before when she’d seen them walking to visit Yseult, he’d kept Lisbet fastened at his side, his distrust for her most obvious in every step, every hard glance and stiffened pivot if she should veer even slightly off course. The only bond between them had been gaoler and prisoner.

  Now, Lisbet walked ahead of him, no longer measuring her pace but moving with sprightly vigor. Kian’s pace had slowed, gained a more casual feel. His hands were no longer at the ready to bind her, lest she run, but instead, shoved inside his vest, elbows bent at lazy angles. He might as well be whistling into the wind, gazing longingly at the deer-kind frolicking in the woods.

  But whatever was or was not happening between Kian and Lisbet was the least of her concerns, she thought, as she turned toward the stream and heaved the last of the prior night’s supper.

  * * *

  Lisbet knelt in her usual spot, preparing for the usual questions. The hard-packed dirt from the floor of the hut no longer made her knees ache. She’d been coming long enough to form protective callouses, which were not unlike the ones formed around her heart to keep the fear away every time she came before the chieftainess.

  “Who are you?” Yseult demanded.

  “I am Lisbet Dereham, eldest daughter of Lord Holden Dereham and Lady Gretchen Dereham.”

  “Who sent you?”

  “No one. I sent myself.”

  “Why did you come?”

  “Idealistically, perhaps foolishly, in search of a place where I could be free from being wed to a cruel king and my brother could be safe to follow his heart.”

  Lisbet resisted the urge to tap her thigh in impatience for the final question, what do you want, ready to return and aid Eavan with the making of breakfast. This refrain had been old for weeks, but she understood it was necessary, even if Yseult’s reasons for doing so were beyond her comprehension. The sooner they finished, the quicker she could get on with her day.

  “Lisbet Dereham, why did you come?”

  Lisbet’s impatience froze. “I... I’m sorry, Chieftainess, if my voice did not carry, but as I said, idealistically, perhaps foolishly—”

  Yseult held up her hand, and Lisbet stopped speaking. Both sons turned sharply toward their mother, looking as surprised as Lisbet felt.

  “I have grown weary of false answers. I am older now, and have not the time I had before to endure them,” Yseult said. “I see your weariness in me as well. You think I am an old fool, asking aimless questions to tire you.”

  “I don’t think that.”

  “You seem afraid to think, Lisbet. One who is afraid to think is not alive.”

  Lisbet shifted her knees on the soil. She suddenly didn’t know what to do with her hands. She wondered what must be written upon her face that the chieftainess would seize upon and use against her. “I’m not afraid to think. If I was, I’d be the king’s wife right now.”

  Kael made a clicking sound, like a snicker. Kian silenced it with a twitch of his fingers.

  “Fleeing is not thought. Fleeing is action,” Yseult countered. “Lisbet Dereham, why did you come?”

  “I’ve told you—”

  “LISBET DEREHAM, WHY DID YOU COME?”

  The force of Yseult’s commanding pitch sent Lisbet backward, landing on her hands. She scrambled away reflexively. “I was afraid! For myself, for...”

  The pressure in the air diminished as fast as it had appeared. “Who were you afraid for?”

  “For Eavan, for—”

  Kael moved as if to come apprehend her, but Yseult stayed him. “She will answer. Who were you afraid for, Lisbet?”

  “My brother!” Lisbet cried. Tears burned her eyes, but she didn’t know where they’d come from. “For Drystan!”

  Yseult settled back in her wooden chair with a smile. “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand you!” Lisbet sobbed. “I already told you I left for my brother!”

  But Yseult had more questions to ask. “Why were you afraid for your brother?”

  “He was in love with the wrong woman, and I feared for his life.”

  “Why were you afraid for your brother?”

  Lisbet gasped for breath amidst her tears. “I don’t know what you want from me!”

  “Why were you afraid for your brother?”

  “Because he loved her! Ravenna. And... and I knew he would never leave her, even if they killed him!”

  “Why were you afraid for your brother?”

  “Because he’s a fool with all heart and no sense, like my father!”

  “Why were you afraid for your brother?”

  “He has so much more to give than he knows!”

  “Why were you afraid for your brother?”

  Lisbet rolled forward. She was now on all fours but found she had no desire to return to how she was before. She had to extinguish the desire to crawl toward Yseult and wind herself around her feet in submission, like a tamed wulfling. “Because I love him. And he can’t see what I see.”

  Yseult paused. “What do you see in your brother?”

  “Greatness.” Lisbet crawled forward despite the screaming within her to halt. Her tears landed in the dirt, creating small drops of mud, which her knees sluiced through as she moved toward Yseult.

  “What do you see in your brother?”

  “I see him saving us all.” Lisbet inched closer.

  Yseult reached her hand down and pet Lisbet, running her hands over her hair. “And where did you see this?”

  “In dreams,” Lisbet panted and then she gave in to the darkness.

  * * *

  When Lisbet awoke she was lying supine upon a soft bed of pelts. She strained against the light streaming in through a nearby door, and when she tried to sit, her body resisted. A cool hand ran down her brow, and she craned her neck back to see it was Yseult soothing her.

  Nothing about this made sense. How she got here. The tenderness from a woman who had spent weeks mired in her distrust. She couldn’t see them, but she sensed both Kael and Kian in the room, too. From Kael she felt a charged anger, and from Kian, kindness. Maybe something else from Kian, also, but she was too exhausted to read him.

  Yseult settled onto a stool fashion
ed from a log. “At last we understand one another, Lisbet Dereham.”

  Lisbet’s voice croaked. “I understand less now than I ever did.”

  “You are beginning to recognize that which is known deep within you, and nowhere else. Something has awakened within you. Do you feel it?”

  Lisbet nodded, for she did feel it, even if she couldn’t identify it.

  “You have seen your brother in your dreams.”

  The tears again. Lisbet wanted to fight against them, but they seemed to be a part of this, whatever it was. “Yes, I have.”

  “What have you seen?”

  “They are only dreams.”

  “What have you seen?”

  “I saw... I saw him swallowing his fears. I saw him facing down great evil.” Lisbet was shocked by the words, as if she was speaking of someone else’s experience, though she knew, she knew it was her own. She remembered this dream now. She must have buried it, and Yseult had helped surface it.

  “Where?”

  Lisbet shook her head. “I don’t know. Not home. Not here.”

  Lisbet flinched in anticipation of Yseult’s insistence she remember where, but it didn’t come.

  “That wasn’t a dream. It was a vision. Sit.”

  This time when Lisbet tried to sit, the effort came with ease. She pulled herself up and let her feet fall over the side. She was now face to face with Yseult, but she didn’t dare allow herself the indulgence of taking her measure. “It cannot have been a vision, Chieftainess. I have no magic in me. Only my brother, Christian, does.”

  “There is a magic waking all over the kingdom,” Yseult said. “The long slumber ends.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It wasn’t a dream. It was a vision. Your brother is here for a reason.”

  Lisbet rubbed at her bleary eyes. She saw now the brothers, perched at different corners of the room. Dark and light. “But it was Eavan’s idea to come here, not mine.”

  “Your path would have led you here either way,” Yseult said. “For Drystan was always meant to be here, when the magic awakened.”