Chapter 12

Later, when valor’s chancellor met with Wyl and Romen he explained that the King wished to meet with General Thirsk privately. Romen said nothing initially, although his eyebrow lifted in its perpetually cynical manner.

“I shall wait outside,” he finally said to the man. “I am the General’s personal bodyguard on Briavellian soil. It is not worth my life to leave him—unsupervised.” he added, choosing his words with care.

Wyl grinned, once again wishing he and Romen might have met in a different time, a different place.

The Chancellor. Krell, pursed his lips as though gravely affronted. “General Thirsk is under no threat in Briavel while here as a diplomatic envoy, sir. We have laid out a supper for you—”

“No need, my friend.” Romen said, casually resting his hand on the man’s arm. “I mean no offense but I have my orders, isn’t that right, General?”

Wyl adopted a contrite expression, secretly delighted he would have time alone with the King. “Perhaps Romen could take his supper outside, Chancellor Krell?” He looked hopefully at the man.

“You mean outside the chamber where you are meeting the King,” Krell replied dryly. It was not a question.

“Well done, you have it right,” Romen said, now clapping the man on the back. “Thank you. A meal would be most welcome,” he said and dismissed Krell by turning to Wyl. “I shall be right outside, sir—if you need me.”

“Thank you.” Wyl answered and made to follow Krell, who had already shown Romen his back.

Romen caught Wyl’s arm and muttered under his breath. “No tricks, eh. Thirsk? Or the deal’s off.”

Wyl nodded.

Wyl was shown into a large, splendid chamber where a table had been set with a sumptuous cold supper. Awaiting him was a tall, and seemingly as wide. man. Wyl was announced and the two of them were left alone.

“Shar’s Balls, you look like your father, boy.”

Wyl bowed deeply. “I shall take that as a compliment, sire.”

“And my spies tell me you’re maturing into every bit the good man he was too.” King Valor took Wyl warmly by the shoulders and looked at him. “Welcome to Briavel, son.”

It was confusing. He liked this portly sovereign immediately. This was the enemy his father and Magnus had plotted against for most of their lives and yet he felt they should have all been the greatest of friends.

“I feel privileged, sire.”

“So what news from Morgravia that doesn’t break any secrets in the sharing?” Valor asked genially, pouring two cups of wine from an exquisite decanter. He held one out to Wyl. “Your health.” he added, raising his glass.

Wyl followed and they both took a mouthful. It was excellent wine and. looking at the spread before him, Wyl could see no expense was being spared for the Morgravian envoy.

“Some grave news, sire,” Wyl said and when the King raised an inquiring eyebrow he told him of Magnus’s passing.

Valor stopped drinking, putting his cup down. This had clearly come as a shock. “That is a sorrow. Was Magnus not in good health?”

“No. sire. He had been ailing for a few moons beforehand. I think it was the wasting fever.”

“Ah, a vicious thing it is too. I am deeply sorry to hear of this. Wyl. We were enemies but I respected him enormously—as I did your father. They were very good men. despite being Morgravian.” A small smile curled at the edges of his mouth. “I understand now, why news of your arrival came from Celimus. I thought it was the Prince getting more involved in royal duties. Shar strike me! I can’t imagine the old rogue’s body is even cool yet—the son wasted no time grabbing his new status?”

Wyl said nothing but his silence spoke volumes.

“I see. Let me drink to Magnus, then.” Valor said, raising his glass high. “May his soul speed to Shar’s Light.” They both drank. “Now sit. Wyl Thirsk. We have business to discuss and then supper to enjoy. My daughter. I hope, will join us shortly.”

Wyl’s expression must have been one of query because the King added that his daughter had been asked to attend but no one—just at this moment—could find her. Wyl decided not to pursue it. Valentyna. in truth, was all but irrelevant to an arranged marriage.

“Sire.” Wyl said, steeling himself, “did Celimus give you any indication of why I am here?”

“The messenger merely advised me to expect a delegation from Celimus. I have to tell you, Thirsk. I am not in the habit of being told to expect anyone in my own realm, least of all a Morgravian.” He noted Wyl nod and continued. “Your new King’s choice of words were a trifle condescending, to say the least, which is why I have insisted on seeing you alone. I trust it gave some offense?”

“It did, thank you, sire,” Wyl said, daring a grin.

Valor joined him. “Good. And I’ll tell you this: it’s purely on the strength of who your father is that I have even permitted entry for you and your companion.”

Wyl nodded again. “I think my King counted on this occurring, sire.”

“And what else did he count on?”

“Your Majesty?”

Valor leaned forward, his silver hair a halo about him. “Why are you here. Wyl? What is it your King wants of Briavel. son?”

Wyl felt annoyed for giving such a dim impression of himself. He decided to be direct—the soldier’s way. “Your daughter, sire. He wants Valentyna.”

The Kins started, first at the shock of his words and then at the woman’s voice that came suddenly from a secret door behind them.

“Who wants me?” she said.

Wyl jumped up from his seat, also startled by the arrival of the striking woman, covered in dust and dressed in riding clothes—men’s riding clothes.

Valor sighed. “My dear, why do you continue to use that secret entrance into my chambers? You know it annoys me.”

“Because it is secret, darling father, and because it annoys you and has since I was a little girl” came the amused voice. She walked across the chamber on long, lean legs and planted a dusty kiss on the old man’s cheek. “You must be the envoy,” she said, turning to Wyl and eyeing him from her considerable height. “A bit short for a politician, aren’t you?” she said, deliberately facetiously. “Aren’t they normally bred to be tall and imposing in order to intimidate?”

“Valentyna, hush! This is Wyl Thirsk. He is no less than General of the Morgravian Legion. Do him honor please.” the King admonished but not without some private amusement between the two of them.

Wyl felt himself blush. She appraised him again and after a simple bow, finally held out her hand for him to kiss. It smelled of leather and horse.

He bowed and as neither of the familiar scents offended him. he gladly kissed her hand. “Your highness,” he said, feeling unbalanced by the dark blue gaze that impaled him from high.

“Apologies. General Thirsk. Princesses will have their jests.” she said, leaving her hand in his. “Forgive me. I shall clean up and then I shall remind you of the conversation you were having before I arrived.” She grinned at Wyl from a generous mouth. “By the way. Father, dear old Norma birthed the most beautiful black colt this morning. I’m still delirious with happiness he is alive and suckling. He almost didn’t make it. you recall?”

Her father nodded. “Yes, my dear, and I suppose you were there among all the drama?”

She hugged him. “I delivered him in the early hours. I want him too—I’ve already named him because I was first to touch him. He’s called Adamant. Thank you. Father.” She said all of this in a contrived rush to befuddle.

“Valentyna, he is a prize stallion, you can’t—”

His daughter had strode away and closed the secret door, leaving him mid-sentence.

“I think she can, sire.” Wyl said, gulping.

“That girl will be the death of me.” Valor admitted, shaking his head ruefully. “But she’s irresistible. Come, Wyl. She’ll be back quicker than you can imagine. Not one for taking long over her toilet or the usual primping of other women, you understand.”

Wyl nodded, not understanding at all, considering his sister took several hours to prepare even for a day without visitors. He still felt as though he needed to catch his breath from the whirl that was Valentyna but he forced himself to find his previous train of thought.

“Celimus wishes your daughter’s hand in marriage, sire.”

“I gather,” Valor said, appreciating his guest’s brevity. He refreshed their glasses. “I imagined it was something like that. Let us not speak of this yet, then. Valentyna must hear it too.”

Wyl was surprised but was happy to relax by the fire and let the delicious wine work its own particular magic while they waited.

“Tell me, Wyl, why Celimus sends you with mercenaries as escort and, more importantly, why you accept that.”

He had been ready for this. “Ah. Well, he believed it would be inflammatory to send any soldiers from the Legion.”

“And you are comfortable with this?”

“No, sire,” he admitted. “I am not comfortable with it.”

“So you are here against your will?”

“Some might think that.”

Valor’s eyes narrowed as he considered the young General’s obviously careful choice of words. “Would it be truthful to say that Celimus on the throne does not please you?” he asked, making it easy for Wyl to simply nod if need be.

“Yes.”

“And so you are here on a political mission under guard and you are being used because your name would open doors?”

Wyl nodded and put his finger to his lips.

“This room has walls twice as thick as our heads, son. They may hear voices but nothing we speak of in here can be eavesdropped with any clarity.”

“Sire. In spite of how I personally feel about Celimus, I am as loyal to Morgravia as my father was. I consider this offer to be a stroke of genius. It is how those of us who crave peace can win it bloodlessly for the two realms. More importantly, your majesty, is the threat of Cailech from the north. A marriage between our realms would stop our senseless warring between east and west, allowing both southern kingdoms to focus a joint effort on quelling the Mountain King’s potential to raid either of our lands. I think you’d agree, sire, that we’d all prefer the enforced company of each other to the barbarians.”

The old King smiled at the gentle jest but sighed. “In this you are correct. There are skirmishes on our northern border that, each year, seem to intensify. I’ve strengthened our forces up there but I worry for Valentyna when she reigns. I too wish peace for our nations—perhaps we can work together against the Mountain King. I’m not sure why we need to despise each other so much. The reasons go back centuries and Magnus and myself simply perpetuated the old hate. Young bloods do that, I suppose. We should have stopped it years ago and bound our two heirs to each other by plighting their troth. I’m sure neither of us wishes our youngsters to continue this senseless cycle of battle.”

“So, am I to take away from this meeting your agreement to the marriage, your majesty?”

“Yes, of course. However, that is not worth even a pinch of salt until Valentyna agrees to it.” The King smiled when he saw the surprise and confusion register on Wyl’s face. “Valentyna is my heart’s joy. Wyl. She pleases me immensely, not just because she’s my daughter but because she has turned into the person who is everything and more I could have ever hoped she would be. She sensed from a very young age that I might have somehow failed Briavel by giving them a female heir. She deliberately set her sights on becoming every bit as good as the son I didn’t give Briavel. She rides better than most men I know; she can shoot a deer cleanly with a single arrow and then skin that same beast faster and more adeptly than I could at twice her age. She has learned sword skills and battle strategy—neither of which I hope she ever needs to use.

“There is nothing soft or sappy about this woman. Wyl, and yet she is the most beautiful person with a gentle heart and a desire to rule Briavel firmly yet with a largesse only a woman can possess. She has genuine empathy for her people’s needs. She will make a fine ruler if she’s permitted to sit on the throne. Which is why I will encourage her to make this marriage and bring peace to Briavel at last. I fear without our agreement. Celimus will choose war again.”

Wyl nodded. “That’s my understanding too, sire.”

He felt relief flooding his body. As the King spoke, his mind returned to Ylena in the Morgravian dungeon, knowing she was now safe. He had no doubt that Romen would keep his word and rescue her from Celimus. It was Valentyna’s arrival once again that dragged him from his thoughts.

Both men stood and turned. Wyl’s breath caught in his throat. Gone were the men’s clothes, the dusty hands, and the mud-smeared face. Tangled hair that had been carelessly caught under a man’s hat had been smoothed and now gleamed dark and shiny past her bare shoulders. She had attired herself in a simple gown with no adornments, but its ruby color showed off her creamy skin and raven hair to their best advantage. She wore no coloring about her face, which was polished to a healthy glow from nothing more complicated than a vigorous scrubbing.

Valentyna was tall and willowy—too slim perhaps. Wyl thought, recalling the almost boyish physique in breeches. And yet she carried herself with supreme grace as she glided across the room to kiss her father once again.

“Ah, that’s better, now you look like a Princess, my love,” he said, smiling indulgently.

“But I prefer how I was before.” she said. She turned to Wyl. “This more glamorous attire is for your benefit alone, sir.”

Wyl. finding it hard to speak, mumbled something about how glad of it he was and then cringed at how awkward he felt and sounded.

“Shall we eat?” she offered brightly and the men joined her at the table.

Wyl spent the next couple of hours in a swirl of confusion. Beneath the table his body betrayed him frequently as Valentyna’s sharply swooped neckline showed off the alluring swell of her breasts every time she reached across to help herself to food. And when she turned her blue gaze upon him, Wyl’s breath caught in his throat. He realized he could feel his own heartbeat and the drum of blood through his ears. All of it creating a dizzying and yet a pleasurable sensation as Valentyna, always animated, talked about everything from her new stallion to her plans to check the fences on the northern end of some vineyards.

“Goats, sheep, wild horses, you name it. They just wander in and eat our fine grapes.” she complained. “I’ll be gone most of the day. Father.” she added.

He looked at Wyl with a pretend despair. “You see I have no control over her,” he admitted.

“You have come the closest, sire.” she answered affectionately, “but I have to tell you that no man ever will.”

And it was at those words that Wyl knew in his heart that he must prevent the marriage of Valentyna to Celimus at all costs. She was too bright, too beautiful, too headstrong, too talented, and far too much her own person to be wasted on the arrogant, cruel Celimus. They would hate one another and a new type of war would break out between the realms.

It would be as it was between Adana and Magnus, history repeating itself. Except Valentyna was neither cruel nor calculating. She would instead be smothered. He looked at the soft pulse he could see at Valentyna’s throat and he thought about Celimus touching that pale skin. It made him feel sick.

Wyl interrupted the conversation to ask whether there was a privy he could use. Valor, wondering at the General’s sudden paleness, pointed him to a small door cunningly concealed behind a tapestry. He gathered his wits in the privacy of the privy, dabbing his face with cool water from a pitcher and shaking his head ruefully at the position he found himself in. He was having to make a choice between Ylena and Valentyna. It occurred to him to bargain with Romen; perhaps he could still save Ylena?

“Are you well, Wyl?” Valentyna inquired, touching his hand as he returned to the table. Her warm touch sent a shocking thrill of pleasure through him.

“Pardon my mentioning it. but that is the widest drophole I’ve ever seen,” he said, trying to make light of his sudden departure from the table and overcome his desire to take her hand and kiss it. The King and Valentyna laughed, surprised by his turn of topic. “Well, the dropholes in Morgravia are far narrower.” He shrugged, embarrassed.

“Very savory chatter at supper, I must say,” Valentyna quipped, her bright eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Forgive me,” he said, and meant it but she waved his apology away.

“No. don’t. I much prefer that to the usual stuffy conversations I have to suffer through with Father’s friends. I like you. Wyl. I like your discomfort at being here.” she said and he felt her smile drift over and through him like sunlight.

“I am but a soldier, highness.” he said truthfully. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Valor cleared his throat. “Which brings us to why you are here, Wyl. Valentyna, my dear, the General has brought an offer of marriage to you from the new King of Morgravia. That’s what we were discussing earlier.”

Wyl noticed she stopped chewing but that was the only sign that gave away her startlement.

“And what did you both decide about this?” she asked levelly, again disguising any personal feeling.

“Only what you’d expect us to—that such a union would bring peace to two long-warring realms, both in need of a release from the cycle of battle and death.”

Valentyna put down her fork and eyed the King. “I have not met him, Father—unless you count that one occasion all those years ago.”

“Oh, come now, child. You were just an infant and—”

“Very fat yes. I know.” she interrupted. “But—”

“I was going to say…and easy to tease. You’ve come a long way since then, child. You are a most remarkable young woman and highly accomplished in ways I would never have dreamed. You make me proud and you will make a dazzling Queen for any King.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes softened. “But we don’t know him. Father.”

“Well, here we have the perfect person at our table to tell us more. Come on, Wyl, explain to my precious girl why Celimus might make her happy.”

Wyl reached for his goblet and took a long draught. In that brief moment he asked Ylena to forgive him what he did. “I cannot, sire,” he said, putting the goblet carefully back in its place.

“I beg your pardon?” It was the King’s turn to be startled.

Valentyna’s gaze landed with weight on Wyl’s profile. He felt the side of his face burn with its intensity and he felt his heart hammering with desire. It made his breath shorten and he felt suddenly lightheaded. Was it possible to fall in love with someone so instantaneously? His mother had believed so. She had told him as much, smiling every time she recounted to Wyl of her first meeting with Fergys Thirsk.

“I was so young, Wyl. Not quite sixteen—” she would begin.

“My three sisters and I had heard such tales of King Magnus—we knew he was tall and dashing with golden locks. We could hardly contain our agitation for the two days leading up to his visit. And the food! We roasted an ox in his honor but there were also delicate fish dishes and meats, pigeon and duck. On and on the list went, Wyl. I thought the kitchen would explode from all the hysterical activity.”

And then she would sigh. “All of us girls wanted to attend the King, but Mother said it was appropriate that I do so, as youngest. We didn’t know, of course, that he was courting Adana by then. I think we all had starry-eyed hopes of Magnus taking one look at any one of us, falling hopelessly in love, and making her his Queen.” She would say this dramatically and Wyl would always laugh.

“And now to Father,” he would say, eyes shining, knowing what was coming.

“Yes, to Fergys,” she would reply. “When the royal party arrived on that bright afternoon in summer we were only permitted to watch from a distance. We could see the stories were true, though: Magnus was every bit the handsome King. That evening we dressed in all our finery and we were presented to the royal party. When my name was announced, I was so nervous that I caught my foot in the lining of my gown and stumbled.”

“It wasn’t the King who caught you, though!” Wyl would chime in.

Helyna would smile indulgently. “No. When I gathered my wits sufficiently to look up and thank him. it was not the King I saw but his stocky, red-headed General, a man with genial eyes and a smile that lit my world.”

“And you knew, didn’t you, Mother?” Wyl would say at the end of the story.

“Yes, son, I knew. This was the man I would marry. My heart was already his at the first gentle sound of his lovely voice and his shy smile.”

Wyl came out of his thoughts and realized there had been an awkward silence while King Valor and Princess Valentyna awaited his response. If his mother could fall instantly and helplessly in love with his father, then why could not he with Valentyna? She was an impossible dream but one he would permit himself.

Wyl took a steadying breath, looked first toward Valor and then at his daughter, both waiting expectantly. And he found the courage.

“He is no match for you, Valentyna.” He turned to the King with an expression of deep regret. “I’m so sorry, sire, I came here today to win your daughter’s hand in marriage for King Celimus but, having met her, I realize such a union would be a grave mistake.”

Wyl blinked into the initial shocked silence before being brave enough to return Valentyna’s grateful and just a little bemused gaze. Valor began to splutter his surprise.