Chapter 35

   

Valentyna left instructions for Romen Koreldy with her Chancellor before ascending the palace’s central staircase to the first floor. She deliberately slowed her walk through the corridor toward what was formerly her father’s study and main reception chamber for important guests.

It was from here she tackled the daily business of running the realm, as her father and his father before him had.

She stroked the back of her father’s battered chair as she stood by the window in his old room. From this chamber she could look down into the main bailey and watch the arrival of Liryk and his men. His presence had been sorely missed but she understood his need to reevaluate security in the realm and bring many of their soldiers back to Werryl in readiness for the Morgravian visit…just in case. The King was apparently bringing only a light escort by his standards—but that still meant five score Morgravian soldiers on their soil. She would not be taking any chances. Should trouble occur or Briavel be duped, they would be ready for any eventuality.

She looked for Koreldy and. even though she had no idea of his appearance other than the description from Fynch, she picked him out with ease. It helped that he was dressed in civilian attire but even from this height she could tell that Fynch had drawn a supremely accurate picture of this man. Once again she marveled that such a young boy could offer such precise information.

I shouldn’t be surprised, she scolded herself silently. Fynch has a mind like a vise for detail.

Valentyna watched as her message of summons was delivered to Koreldy. He was to be brought immediately to her. A guard from the palace politely asked for his weapons, which he readily handed over, including two curious knives he pulled from within his shirt. She smiled to herself, not sure why, as she watched from her vantage. She presumed the guard must have apologized and asked if he could do a quick search—orders and all that—but Liryk stepped in and seemed to wave away the necessity for that.

A short discussion and the guard left, carrying the weapons. She noticed a friendliness between Liryk and Koreldy—that too was positive. She trusted Liryk implicitly and he would have made it his business to get close enough to this relative stranger to make an assessment. She remembered how dubious Liryk and old Krell had been about Koreldy. But it was Fynch who had persuaded them that he was very much on Briavel’s side. He could be trusted.

She watched the two men in the yard share a few words, a quick laugh, and then Koreldy took his leave, following the page.

Soon enough she heard footsteps and the only outward sign she showed of the sudden nervousness she felt was to touch at her wayward hair, wishing now she had taken a moment to comb it back at least. She was not one to pay much heed to vanity, however, and the thought was dismissed almost as soon as it had come.

A knock at the door and her Chancellor entered. “Your majesty, Romen Koreldy is here to meet with you.”

“Thank you, Krell, please show him in.”

He nodded. “I will have the refreshments sent up immediately, your majesty.”

She smiled her thanks. His intuition as well as his experience was precious to her.

Valentyna remained by the window, just a little unsure of herself. She hated that her normally effortless confidence had momentarily evaporated and she had only just begun to grasp the reason for its absence when Romen Koreldy finally stepped into her chamber. They stared at each other just a bit longer than protocol dictated. She noted that Romen’s eyes were sparkling—it was as if he already knew her and was gladdened to see her again.

A small smile of bemusement played at her lips as the silence lengthened. He had not made a step since the door had closed quietly behind him. Koreldy became aware of her gentle confusion and was now quick to stride across the room before kneeling and taking her hand.

“Queen Valentyna.” He kissed her hand, again lingering, she thought, for a moment or two longer than strictly necessary. “Your majesty, I offer my service, as promised.” His head remained bowed, her hand still resting in his, she noted. He was clearly not keen to let it go and if she was truthful with herself, she was in no hurry either.

“Be welcome, Romen Koreldy. It is a pleasure to have you among us.”

Now he stood up to his full height, taller than her, she realized, which was unusual. Most men she could look straight in the eye or down at; to reach his gray gaze, she found herself tilting her head just slightly. A rare and pleasurable experience.

Emotions she could not immediately pinpoint passed through her and threatened to unbalance her poise. In the same instant Valentyna recognized what had sapped her normally unflappable nature. It was him. For the first time in her young life Valentyna understood what it was like to be strongly attracted to a man.

Oh, she had experienced infatuation with older men when she was a girl. In fact she recalled having a crush on a tawny-haired stable boy when she was barely ten summers, and one of the squires in training had chanced kissing her once. She had kicked him. There was a tutor when she was twelve who made her breath catch when he smiled or leaned in close but since then no one. Not a single man to send her heart skipping out of control. The feeling unnerved her in truth, for it made her feel weak inside, like her knees felt right now. Weakness would not help her rule.

He was watching her closely with that sardonic expression, those knowing eyes. She had expected someone more arrogant. Krell had met Koreldy briefly on his first visit and had described a swaggering, confident sort of fellow with an easy laugh—someone used to getting his way. She did not sense much of this right now but it was too early to be making judgement. Koreldy cleared his throat and she realized the silence between them had stretched too far. She should say something.

“Thank you for coming back.”

Now he smiled broadly and it changed him. lighting a fresh spark in his eyes and handsomely wrinkling the skin of his tanned face around his eyes and mouth.

“I could not stay away,” he replied.

I could get lost in that smile, she thought. Valentyna was rescued by a knock at the door; Krell announced refreshments, which a servant brought in on a large tray.

Relief flooded through her. “You must be thirsty after your ride,” she said to her guest.

“Please forgive my appearance, your majesty; we have been on the road for several days.”

“Don’t mention it.” she said, thanking the servant with a small nod as he left the room. “I too have been out riding this morning.” She wanted to tell Koreldy that she liked his dusty look, the smell of horse about him, his unshaven chin and the unruly dark hair falling near his shoulders.

Here’s a man to lose one’s heart to.

As Valentyna cleared her throat with embarrassment at her private thoughts, Wyl was feeling very glad for Romen’s unflappable manner, for he was sure without that he would be stammering like a youth. He wondered at how intriguingly unpredictable Romen’s essence was, sometimes fading to nothing and at times, like now, potent. Looking at Valentyna again lifted his spirits and filled his heart. He could not imagine ever being happier than this precious moment. Just the two of them. Both a little awkward, his heart hammering in his chest and that familiar sensation of shortening breath. He recalled it from the first time they met. She is so lovely, he thought, and just as I remember: her unaffected manner, her hair easing from its clasp, her man’s riding clothes.

I have missed you, Valentyna. I love you more than I can begin to explain, he so desperately wanted to say. Instead he nodded at her gesture to be seated and joined her at a small table and chairs by the window. He hoped Romen’s cheeks did not flush as easily as his own used to.

She grinned. “I’m still trying to get used to this room. It was my father’s, you know. I can often feel his presence.”

He could tell she was uncharacteristically nervous. “He was a brave man. We were outnumbered, I’m so sorry, your majesty, for letting you down…”

“Don’t,” she said, instinctively reaching to touch his hand reassuringly, only to be thrilled once again when he did not hesitate to cover hers with his own. She did not shrink away. She allowed the dry warmth of his palm to seep through the back of her hand. It was the most sensuous moment of her life. She caught her breath; those flinty eyes held her too directly.

Valentyna resisted the temptation to clear her throat again and begged her voice not to tremble. “I know that you and Wyl Thirsk fought valiantly to save him. I owe you heartfelt thanks…a Morgravian and a Grenadyne fighting for a Briavellian. It’s ironic.”

Wyl remained quiet. Her pain was evident. The silence stretched.

“There’s a small boy and a huge dog eager to see you,” she said brightly, forcing herself to move away from the subject of her father’s death and from Koreldy’s touch.

“Fynch—is he well?”

Taken off guard momentarily by his earnest manner—which certainly did not fit with the description Krell had given her of this man—Valentyna liked him all the more for it. “He seems well.”

It struck Wyl that the Queen did not sound so sure. “But?” he asked, releasing her hand and she instantly felt the loss.

She covered her disappointment by handing him a goblet of wine, wishing she had not cast doubt in his mind. He spoke to her as if they were old friends, such was his easy manner, but she did not know this man well enough yet to share secrets. “No ‘but.’ He is well,” she confirmed, favoring him with a heartbreaking smile. “Please,” she said, encouraging him to taste the wine. “This was one of my father’s favorites.”

Wyl sipped, Fynch forgotten momentarily as he allowed the warmth from that smile to wash over him. “It’s superb. Thank you.”

Valentyna enjoyed the compliment. “Father always counseled that this wine is best when young.” she admitted, sipping from her goblet. She took a deep breath. It was time to move on from the pleasantries. “Romen, may I be candid?”

He nodded. “I’d prefer you to be.”

“Well, it’s just that I find myself in a precarious situation. You tried to save my father’s life—with no reason for doing so—and you fought alongside a man we trusted. A man you had been sent to kill. I’m assured. Wyl Thirsk died that day and we have no one’s word but yours as to how that happened. The saving grace, of course, is that you could have simply left him and fled. However, you returned his body to Morgravia and then took his sister to safety, which we can only assume is a sign of your honesty in this matter. And now I have to trust that your pledge to Briavel…and to me”—she felt herself blush—“is true.”

He moved to say something but she held her hand up. “No, please. Let me say this. It needs to be said. I must have honesty from you in this because I cannot fathom what you have to gain, whereas I have everything to lose by putting my faith in you.”

“Your majesty.” Wyl took her hand again—how he wished to caress it. “I wrote in my letter that I am yours to command. I meant it then and I mean it now. I am true to you, Valentyna. Queen of Briavel.”

“But why?”

“Because Celimus is as faithless as a snake. His loyalty is to himself alone. I have no people, your majesty,” Wyl said, hating to hear himself say it. “I no longer have a home. I have no roots I care to claim. I liked Wyl Thirsk. He wrung a blood oath from me that I would protect you with my own life.”

“So I’ve been told,” she admitted. “Why would he ask that of you?”

It was his chance. Perhaps as Romen he could say what he never could have uttered as Wyl. “Because he was in love with you, your majesty.”

Her mouth opened to speak but no sound issued. She closed it again, eyes wide with surprise. “We were strangers,” she finally said softly, in disbelief. “Knew each other for only a couple of hours.”

“Have you never felt the stomach-churning, heart-stopping sensation of meeting someone for the first time and knowing they were the only person in the world for you?” He said it lightly for fear of sounding condescending, and followed it up with the dazzling smile he knew Romen did so well.

Valentyna blushed instantly. She hoped he could not read her thoughts. “I have heard of it happening,” she said, not daring to admit the truth.

He continued, ignoring her discomfort. “I liked Wyl from the moment I met him.” Now he fashioned the lie. “I witnessed Celimus’s brutality toward the Thirsk family firsthand and decided then that I would not be Wyl’s murderer but I was in too deep to pull away from the mission. I could not allow Celimus to know that I had turned traitor. Wyl knew of my instructions—he heard of them through Fynch.” She nodded. “The more I got to know of him on the journey to Briavel, the more I knew I could not execute him. We hatched a plan. Of course he did not know you then, your majesty, or the plan would have been very different.”

“Go on.” she said, embarrassed but intrigued.

“Well, of course, once he had met you. it all changed. He no longer wanted to encourage you to marry Celimus, even though to fail would threaten his sister’s life.”

She nodded. “Yes, he said as much to us. He told us everything. His hatred for Celimus was the reason he was prepared to fight for Briavel’s King, I presume. He was the bravest of men, for to turn traitor takes the hardest courage of all, especially with the name Thirsk.”

“Very true,” Wyl said, touched by her perceptiveness. “Thirsk had witnessed his closest friend killed ruthlessly. His sister, wife of that friend, was made to kneel in her husband’s remains. The length of their marriage could be counted in hours.” Wyl’s tone was so raw he had to clear his throat. “Ylena was imprisoned, held as ransom against her brother’s success in persuading your father to agree to the marriage. His guardian and mentor. Gueryn. had been almost certainly killed in the north, he was told. He suspected foul play on the part of Celimus and I have since discovered he was right to believe this. But he was cornered. Wyl had more than enough reason to hate the new King and after meeting your father and you. your majesty, it was easy for him to choose Briavel’s cause despite his loyalty to Morgravia.” He rushed toward the end of his emotional speech. “After you and Fynch had fled the palace, Wyl let me into the chamber and told me what he could about the ambush. That was when I realized I had been double-crossed. He asked me to fight alongside him. I had no choice.” His tone became tentative, not wishing to reopen old wounds. “After your father was slain and we thought we had killed his attackers, Wyl admitted his heart was already lost to you. One last man murdered Wyl, I’m sorry to admit.”

A small choked sound escaped from the Queen. “We had shared a brief meal together—that was all. How could he claim to be in love with me?”

“Your majesty, when love’s arrow bites hard into the flesh, there is no escape, no preferred length of time for its delicious poison to take effect. For some, its magical potion can be instant. There is no doubt in my mind that Wyl spoke from the heart. He was prepared to die for you—and he did. But he made me promise over a blood oath that I, of no loyalty to any crown, would protect you with my blade and his sister with my connections.”

Wyl deliberately stopped himself from biting his lip or betraying any other sign of anxiety over the cleverly crafted lie. Would she take it? Would she accept him?

“I sensed he was a good man,” she said, turning to stare out of the window as she considered all that she had heard. “I believe my father trusted him, even though they were sworn enemies.”

“There can be true honor between enemies, your majesty, although I can assure you Celimus has none—he is so much less than his father was.”

“Oh? Did you know Magnus?”

“Er, no.” Fool! “I heard much about him and Wyl Thirsk convinced me the old King was everything his son is not.”

She smiled sadly. “My father highly respected Magnus, though he hated him—does that makes sense?” Wyl nodded. “And he held Fergys Thirsk in enormous regard. They fought many battles,” she said, a wistful note in her voice. “I should tell you that my father also approved of the marriage. The union will bring peace.”

“It no doubt will—but a peace weighted heavily in favor of Morgravia,” Wyl cautioned.

She turned away from the window and regarded him steadily now. “Go on.”

“Celimus wants to rule Briavel. Once you have agreed to this marriage, you will relinquish any hold over your own realm.”

She balked. “I would only agree to rule together.”

Valentyna watched Romen shrug. He sighed. “Yes. and he would promise you the world until you had taken your vow. Be warned, your majesty, Celimus will not keep his word to you on anything. Look through the handsome exterior. A serpent lives beneath.”

She stood, pacing distractedly. “He will be here soon. I have no doubt he comes in person to make a proposal of marriage. I have kept his advances at bay, as you suggested, but now I cannot avoid him. There are no more excuses…unless I wish for war, which I cannot put my people through again so soon. They crave peace.”

“I’m sure the Morgravian people feel the same,” Wyl admitted, knowing it to be true.

“What am I going to do?” she said, swinging around. For the first time Wyl saw beyond the regal facade and sensed how alone she was.

Wyl stood and approached her. He wanted to kiss her but he fought the impulse. “Valentyna, will you trust me?”

She cast her blue gaze at him. It was direct, unwavering, strong. He loved her for it. “You have pledged your sword to us…your life to us. Yes, I must trust you because I love Fynch and he does trust you…and Wyl’s strange, unfathomable dog trusts you. You are surrounded by mystery, Romen Koreldy, which troubles me. but yes. I must believe you are true.”

He bent and kissed her hand, relief flooding through him. “I am true to you. Valentyna. Let me ponder the situation with Celimus. We will talk later, if that suits your majesty?”

She nodded. “Perhaps you will join me for a walk at dusk? We can talk then.”

He bowed, hardly wanting to leave her but knowing he must. He had been lucky this time but she would be more focused during their next meeting. He needed private time to gather his thoughts and find a solution. He was a master strategist—it was what he was born to do—and Wyl knew he would never rely more on that talent than now.

He had only a few days to foil Celimus’s plan. @Wyl was escorted to his chambers and the young maid who blushed, curtsied, and stammered a few words as she opened his door was horrified when a huge dog barged past from behind her and leapt toward the handsome guest, knocking him backward. Although he had not anticipated Knave’s welcome, Wyl did not lose his footing completely.

“Shar’s Wrath, my lord. I’m sorry.” the maid shrieked.

Predictably. Knave now had his forelegs up on Wyl’s shoulders and had pinioned him against the wall.

“Don’t upset yourself.” Wyl said to the pale and panicked servant. “I know this dog. This is his most friendly hello.”

“Shar preserve us,” she begged, calling mightily on the god’s indulgence. “That dog of Fynch’s will be the death of us.”

“He’s fine. Please don’t worry on my account. We go back a long way. Incidentally, have you sighted Fynch today?”

“Er, yes, sir,” she said, hardly daring to move her eyes from the dog. She knew she would be blamed if their guest was in any way harmed or his clothes ruined—not that they could get much dirtier, she decided. “He was riding with her majesty earlier but I have not seen him since.”

“Thank you. I’ll be fine from here.”

“There’s warmed water in the basin, sir, and fresh linens. Her majesty requested some garments be laid out too. I hope all is to your liking. I believe young Stewyt has been assigned to you. sir. so he will run any messages for your needs.”

She curtsied.

“Thank you again.” he said, disengaging himself from Knave and stepping into the room. The dog followed, much to her disapproval. “I’ll let him out later.”

The maid nodded and. mercifully for Wyl, left. He closed the door and turned to his dog, who was sitting on his haunches and staring up at him. “What are you, Knave? You’re no normal hound, that’s for sure.” The dog lapped up the affection, panting happily. His master shook his head and stood. “I’ll clean up and go in search of our young friend,” he said to his companion, who slumped noisily to the floor to wait.

Wyl left his boots outside the door, hoping when Stewyt showed up he would take the hint. In the meantime, the basin, as it turned out, was actually a large metal bath. The water was hot, scented, and inviting. Instead of a simple wash he was soon luxuriating in soapsuds and the decadence of soaking. Tension and pain floated away with the grime gathered over many days and when he finally stepped out from his haven he felt like a new man. The notion amused him. He was a new man. Koreldy had certainly appealed to Valentyna—he was sure he was not reading her wrongly. But there was little of Romen left now, except his attractive shell and those fleeting sensations of his essence; the rest was all Wyl Thirsk. That made him smile. Perhaps there was hope that he might become more than just loyal blade to Valentyna?

He pushed the thought aside and shaved, wincing at the pain it provoked in his sore rib. After trimming his moustache back to its precise line, he tackled his hair, combing out its dark tangles, glad to feel it clean again, and then bound it back tightly into a single club.

“Ah, that’s better, Knave,” he said and the dog pricked his ears at his name. Wyl snorted. He had begun to believe that Knave could hear thoughts—he needn’t have bothered speaking.

He inspected the fresh clothes that had been laid out for him and was pleased they were of a simple cut and neutral hue. Romen would have preferred them more colorful perhaps. Wyl grinned wryly to himself: when you grow up with orange hair and the plainest of faces, the last thing you want to wear is bright clothes and attract more attention. He would never shake the tendency, even though he now boasted such fine, dark looks. His boots had been polished and returned to his chamber while he bathed in the small side room and, just as he wondered where the elusive Stewyt might be, a soft knock was heard.

“Enter,” Wyl answered.

A lad stepped in. “Good afternoon, sir. I’m Stewyt.”

“Thank you for the boots.”

Stewyt grinned. “Is there anything else I can help with right now?”

“I wonder if you’ve seen Fynch around the palace recently?”

“Ah. yes. sir. I have a message for you. Fynch asks if you could meet him down by the stream.”

Wyl nodded as he pulled on his second boot, hair still dripping.

“Apparently Knave will be your guide,” Stewyt offered, shrugging.

“He can always find Fynch,” Wyl replied casually, deflecting any suggestion that there might be something mysterious about Knave. The fewer people who picked it up, the better.

“And her majesty has asked you to join her by the herb gardens later.”

“Dusk?”

“After the evening bell from the chapel.”

Wyl stood, stamping his feet into his boots. “Excellent. Well, Stewyt, I’m all done here. If you care to have the, er…basin removed, that would be fine.”

The lad bowed and departed. It occurred to Wyl that the boy had sharp eyes, taking in everything in surreptitious glances while they spoke. He dismissed the thought that Stewyt was deliberately spying on him but he had little doubt that Valentyna’s trusted Chancellor had ensured his best page was on the job. Wyl presumed the lad had been taught well to absorb as much visual information as possible should he ever be required to report back. It did not bother him. He had nothing to hide other than his identity and that was already in perfect disguise. Knave was whining softly at the top of the small landing, waiting for Wyl to follow him down the narrow staircase.

“Lead the way,” Wyl said.

Wyl enjoyed the walk through beautiful woodland. This was where Valentyna liked to ride, he remembered. He could understand her desire to be here among the elms and their shady peace, especially now that duties to the realm were making such demands on her. He thought about Fynch and wondered why he’d chosen such a secluded place for their meeting. Perhaps he was frightened or he wanted to pass on some information in private. Whatever it was. he was not ready to be greeted by his friend—one of the few true ones he had, he realized—with hostility.

The small boy was standing by the stream, hurling pebbles into the rushing waters. It was the first time Wyl had noticed him do anything so childlike and carefree, and yet when Fynch turned he looked anything but.

“Fynch! It’s good to see you again.”

Hollow-eyed and obviously under some strain, Fynch did not respond. He simply stared back.

“A warmer welcome would have been nice but I’ll settle for a handshake,” Wyl said carefully, approaching slowly, unnerved now by the boy’s attitude towards him. What is scaring him?

He continued with slow but steady steps until he was close enough to see that the little boy was shaking. Knave sat on his haunches by Fynch’s side. What a strange pair, Wyl thought, my only allies.

He bent down, kneeling on one leg so that he was on eye level with Fynch. Perhaps Koreldy’s height was too imposing but he doubted it. Fynch was not scared of him. The real reason for this cool welcome was in his eyes. Fynch did not trust him.

“Speak to me…please.” Wyl said.

“I have a question for you,” Fynch said, voice somber.

“Ask it.”

“Will you be truthful?”

Wyl nodded carefully. “I promise.”

“Promise on something you care about.”

“On my life, then… What is this about, Fynch?”

“No. Your life is worthless. I think. Swear it on her life.” Wyl was taken aback. This was more than simply strange behavior. Something had rattled Fynch, made him doubt their friendship. “Who do you mean by ‘she’?”

“You know who. Swear to tell the truth on Valentyna’s life.”

Wyl cleared his throat; he had a good idea now of what would be asked. Intuition told him that Fynch had somehow guessed his dark secret. The boy was sharp and extremely perceptive—although how he could have pieced it all -together, Wyl had no idea. Nevertheless, the terrified expression on Fynch’s face left him in no doubt that he would have to be honest now. It was no longer time for guises or half-truths. Fynch deserved more. He spoke clearly, gently ensuring the youngster understood that he was being taken seriously. “I swear on Queen Valentyna’s life to answer your question truthfully.”

Fynch stopped trembling and took a deep breath as he reached out to lay his hand on Knave’s head. “I suspect you are not Romen Koreldy, even though you look like him. I believe you are Wyl Thirsk . and I must know the truth, are you the General?”

“Why do you ask me this?” Wyl said, trying to avoid answering immediately.

“I’ve been having visions.”

Wyl digested this carefully. Myrren’s gift is perhaps reaching out further. “Oh?”

“One occurred only this morning.”

“What have you seen?”

“In one I saw you injured but hacking a man’s head off before being dragged by Knave to somewhere—he does not know where.”

Bells of alarm. Surely not. How could Fynch know this?

“Is it true, Romen?”

Should he tell the truth? What would that do for Fynch, especially if—Shar forbid!—Celimus were to follow in his mother’s footsteps and encourage the Zerques to find a foothold in Morgravia once more.

“Fanciful,” he declared.

“Answer me!” There was a hint of desperation in this little boy’s tone and it hurt Wyl to hear it.

“How would you ever believe me if I told you the truth?” Wyl could hear the resignation in his own voice.

Fynch frowned. “Knave will help me to understand. Tell me.”

Wyl’s shoulders slumped and he let out a sigh. He sat down and pulled his knees to his chest. “You were there, weren’t you, when Myrren was burned?”

The boy nodded gravely.

“And you were also by my side when I passed out at her death?”

Fynch forced himself not to overreact to Koreldy suddenly speaking as Wyl Thirsk. His question was already answered then and Fynch felt his throat constrict with tension at the truth about to be revealed. “I had some water with me and gave it to your friend Gueryn. He was frantic.”

Wyl nodded now, recalling what he could of that confusing time. “I remember very little of those moments. But I need to take you back before that event, back to where it began in the torture chamber. Are you up to hearing this?”

Fynch sat down, his face a mask. Knave lay down by his side and the little boy’s arm instinctively reached toward the dog. Wyl saw it, was reminded once again of the prophetic words of the old widow. He told the boy everything he could remember about Myrren’s trial and how he had interfered with proceedings.

“We shared a few words before the fire was lit. She said she wanted to give me a gift and that I was to use it wisely; she asked me to fetch her puppy from her home and raise it.”

“And you thought that Knave was the gift,” Fynch added, now freely joining in, both of them silently acknowledging that the man sitting here was Wyl and not Romen.

“Yes. I didn’t understand it; I was a child trying to find my way, trying to grow up and be the General I was born to be. I just accepted her words, terrified that I had to witness her death after so much torture.”

“And?” Fynch quietly said.

“Then she began to scream, as I recall, and”—he shook his head—“after that it’s all a blur. The next thing I knew Gueryn was hovering over me looking frightened and I do remember you briefly nearby.”

“I saw your eyes change color.” Fynch said in a determined voice now. “We never spoke about it but your friend saw it and exclaimed as much at the time.”

Wyl nodded sadly. “It frightened me when he told me about it—I wasn’t sure what to believe. He didn’t dwell on it—I suspect he was uncertain if that’s what he’d really seen—but I imagine it never stopped worrying him.”

“That was her true gift, wasn’t it?”

It was painful to have this all brought back to him so vividly. “Yes. She was accused of being a witch for no reason other than her oddly colored eyes, and according to Gueryn and now yourself, my eyes echoed her strange coloring at the moment of her death.”

Fynch said nothing but his gaze was direct. He wanted the full story—he knew there was more and he knew this was difficult for the man sitting before him. He would be patient until his question had been fully answered.

Wyl continued. “After that event everything was normal—well, as normal as it can be when you’re being constantly baited and ridiculed by Celimus. You know what you heard that day while hiding in the drophole? He wasted no time setting up the situation whereby I could be murdered along with Valor. He had me brought before him—Koreldy was present—and he told me of the mission he needed me to take on. I agreed readily when I heard about it for it was the move of a far-sighted King aiming to achieve peace. Except I was to travel with mercenaries and. of course. I sensed a trap was being laid. When I refused to accompany anyone but men from the Legion he had me dragged to the window to witness the beheading of Captain Donal.”

Fynch showed his shock at hearing this. He had no idea that Alyd was dead, although he had wondered where the Captain had been when he had met Koreldy with Ylena at Stoneheart. Now he knew.

“It was worse, though, Fynch. When Alyd was killed it just made me more resolute, more determined to overthrow this man who now called himself King. But he knew me as well as I knew myself and he had taken brilliant precaution to also hold my sister. She too was dragged into the same courtyard where her husband had just been murdered. He would have killed her too in a blink if I had not capitulated. Cunning indeed; his plan was beautiful in its simplicity and perfection. Use those I loved to coerce me into doing precisely what he wanted—and that was to win Briavel for him. Then kill me, as well as the King who might stand in his way; then kill my assassin, Romen. as well, no doubt, as all the other mercenaries connected with the mission. Ironic that Romen and I managed to kill off the mercenaries for him. So perfect!” He said the last two words with savage bitterness.

Fynch nodded, stunned by the information he had learned. “I know everything to the moment Valentyna and I escaped the palace. From then I believe I have been fed your lies.”

Wyl held his head. “Not intentional. Fynch. I had to protect you.”

“You are Wyl.” the boy stated firmly.

“Yes.” Wyl admitted looking up, suddenly drained.

A chilling silence lengthened between them.

Finally Fynch spoke. “That’s her gift? I mean, that you did not die when Koreldy killed you?” Fynch’s voice was choked—as much as he believed this was what had happened, it was still distressing to have such a terrifying notion confirmed.

Wyl nodded. “We made a pact. If we both lived after the assault from the mercenaries, then we would duel honorably. Whoever remained standing would protect Ylena and Valentyna with his life. We made a blood oath.”

“And Koreldy killed you?” the boy asked, astonished.

Wyl grimaced. “A lucky pass with his sword. I had him but misjudged. Koreldy’s a brilliant swordsman but not as brilliant as I.” He smiled at this. It seemed Romen’s confidence was infectious. Wyl shrugged at the question on Fynch’s face. “I suppose I had more to lose and so I took more risk…and paid dearly for it.” he said.

“And then…how did it happen?”

Wyl looked up_; confused. “Oh_; how did I become Romen? Hard to explain. He entered my dead or perhaps dying body—I could not tell because I had already moved into his. I am fully myself. My soul is here. His has gone.”

Fynch’s eyes were sparkling with wonder now. He spoke one word. “Magic.”

“Indeed.”

With that, Fynch launched himself at Wyl and clung to him. It took Wyl so by surprise that he only had time to catch the tiny lad and hold him close before he could feel Fynch’s tears against his neck. And then he too was weeping. It was as though Fynch’s interrogation had opened the floodgates of emotion as well as memory and they both poured out as boy and man held each other.

The boy finally pulled back but his arms were still around Romen’s neck. “And Knave?”

Wyl grinned. “The strangest dog to ever roam Morgravia or Briavel.”

“He’s part of the magic, though, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know. Fynch,” Wyl said with honesty. “But I believe he is enchanted somehow and. yes. our lives are definitely linked through Myrren. You know that vision you had of me?”

“It was horrible.”

“It is also true. Knave saved my life. I was in the north, in Orkyld then. How he reached me or even knew where to find me is beyond my comprehension.”

“He was gone for three days.”

“And he sat with me for one full day of that, waiting to see that I would recover. How could he cover such ground?” Wyl said, astonished.

“Magic, that’s how,” Fynch replied gravely. “Were those men sent by Celimus?”

“Yes. His intention was to kill Romen Koreldy. It still is. I know too much. They won’t be the last who make the attempt.”

“There’s more.” Fynch told him about the second vision.

“Valentyna married to Celimus?” Wyl said, aghast.

“No, I’m not saying that, I couldn’t tell from what I saw—I was more interested in the odd circumstances of the execution.”

“And you don’t know who the victim was?”

Fynch shook his head. “I described him to Valentyna but she didn’t know either.” He gave Wyl the same description: “Large man. sun-weathered face, rugged features.”

“It could be so many men,” Wyl said, thinking of the Mountain Dwellers. “It reminds me of at least two I know personally. There’s only one certainty here—I can’t let her marry Celimus. He will destroy her.”

Fynch shrugged his tiny shoulders. “It was only a vision, Wyl. It doesn’t make it real,” he offered, hoping to find some comfort himself in the words.

“Mmm. But yours have a way of being true, my friend. By the way, you have to call me Romen.”

The boy smiled and Wyl was amazed at how it changed his demeanor. “I’d prefer to call you Wyl.”

“Then they’ll definitely have you and the dog carted away!”

“What do we do?” Fynch said, sitting in Wyl’s lap. Suddenly he was just a little boy looking to the grownup to make decisions.

Wyl wrapped Romen’s long arms about his tiny friend and held him close. “We must protect her. Valentyna is the only obstacle to Celimus getting what he wants. And only you and I know how ruthless he will be.”

“He arrives soon.” Fynch warned. “You cannot be seen.”

“That is true. And we are going to sit here until we have a plan. We alone share the truth of Myrren’s gift.”

“You won’t tell Valentyna?”

“No! She is the last person who must know. Briavellians are more suspicious of talk of magic than any Morgravian could ever be. We are scared of it because we quietly believe it. The people of Briavel dismiss it. She would not trust us.”

“She trusts Knave.”

“She trusts you and now. hopefully, me. But Knave frightens her.”

“Well, she believes he is somehow touched.”

“That’s a fairly tame word. Fynch. She’s hardly admitting to having an open mind on the subject. To start explaining that a witch gave me the gift of a second life and that I am really Wyl Thirsk will push her too far. As it is she is frightened and confused. No, we tell her nothing of this. Can I rely on you to keep our secret?”

Fynch nodded. “Can it happen again?”

“No.” Wyl snorted. “She’s gifted me a second chance at life; I have to protect this one.” He suddenly remembered Lothryn and Elspyth. “Fynch, I did tell two other people, to be honest. One might already be dead. The other, a woman who helped me greatly these past few weeks, is. I hope, protecting Ylena. She is true to us.” He gave Fynch her name.

“She believed you?”

“Yes. She and the man of the Mountains have strong spiritual beliefs. Magic is part of their lives—at least, I should say, they accept it. Elspyth will tell no one.”

“You must tell me of your northern adventure. Wyl.”

Wyl nodded. “It is a long story—when we have the time I will share it with you. For now, though, you must call me Romen.” he corrected. “You cannot let it slip, my young friend. I am Koreldy, although that name too is not to be murmured around Celimus.”

Fynch nodded solemnly.

Wyl could not help taking the tiny hand in his. “I thank you for your trust and friendship, Fynch.”

They spent the afternoon in deep discussion, building and tearing down each other’s ideas, and Wyl was once again grateful for the brilliant mind for detail Fynch brought to their final strategy. He would take their fragile plan to the Queen and hope she might go along with it.