Part V: Dangerous Directions

XVI

                XVI

                Seeker approached Zar the following morning. She had left the company of the queen rather abruptly, promising only that she would return once she had had time to think.

                She caught up with the Cyrenian in the stables. He was stroking the nose of his leggy black stallion. Seeker admired the beast with the eye of a horse-trader. She’d been called upon to locate a horse or two in her line of work. It was important to know certain aspects of an animal before attempting to find it. It certainly wouldn’t do to end up accidentally stealing someone else’s horse.

                The black stallion had the build of a racehorse. He was clearly Cyrenian, with his delicate hooves and narrow face. His body spoke of speed and grace. “He’s a beauty,” she said.

                Zar looked up with surprise. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I did not see you.”

                “Oh, I’m… I’m not…”

                Zar contemplated her as she trailed off. “My dear Seeker, you are the heir to the Viridian throne and are therefore the princess. Certainly it is up to you whether or not you accept that responsibility. But you are the princess.”

                “How long have you known?”

                Zar chuckled. “Maddock came to me after Elspeth had revealed her secret. I was his captain at the time. I made the decision to tell Kynan that the missing princess of Viridia had taken refuge within our borders. That was a most interesting conversation.” He smiled in remembrance, but it didn’t last long.

                Seeker watched the melancholy flood his face. “Were you close to the king?”

                “Oh, yes. We’d been friends for years before Kynan became king.” Zar sighed with sorrow. “Curse that greedy, jealous man for murdering his own brother. Among others,” he added with a nod to Seeker.

                “Rhys only knows what Trillian found in the depths of the Hell of Anochel.”

                Zar looked up sharply, gauging her expression. “Excuse me?”

                Seeker cocked a brow. “The Rhydians have not all been lost to the ages, Zar. At least, one has survived, and he believes that destruction will rain down upon us because of something that Trillian encountered in that desert.”

                Zar stared at Seeker with astonishment. He then looked around the stables, searching frantically for someone who might have overheard the girl’s statement. Seeing no one, he turned to Seeker. “It seems we have much to talk about, Princess.”

                “It seems we do.”

                “Care for a morning ride? Nox could use the exercise. He’s been jittery in Whisper’s absence.”

                Seeker graced him with a small smile before turning to her horse’s stall. Meilyr was no racer. The gelding was perhaps a hand taller than Kirren’s little grey mare and built as sturdy as they come. He had been a gift from Elspeth. Seeker had named him Meilyr, meaning ‘prince,’ as a joke. Meilyr was the only prince she would ever meet, Seeker would say. She’d never meant it as a challenge to the world at large. She pushed Kirren from her mind.

                Meilyr’s chestnut coat shone a deep red in the shadows of the stables. He might not look like much, but Seeker loved him. Aside from his unshakable loyalty to her, Meilyr was the last evidence of a mother who had loved her. Well, not anymore, she supposed. A lot had changed.

                She let Zar take the lead as they exited the palace grounds and made their way through the city. She took stock of Zar’s back and tried to put together what she knew about the man. It didn’t amount to much. Normally, Seeker’s sense of self-preservation would not have allowed her to ride out of the city alone with a man she barely knew, but Kirren trusted Zar. That alone spoke to Zar’s character.

                Zar didn’t speak until the city lay far behind them and the trees rose up to meet them. He slowed Nox so that he and Seeker rode side by side. “So,” Zar said, “what do you know about the Rhydians?”

                “Honestly? Absolutely nothing. I received a letter from my father.”

                “Maddock. I should have known.” Zar thought a moment. “Do you know the story of Cyrene?”

                “Only the myths that Elspeth told me when I was a child.”

                “The history has certainly evolved into a tale to keep our children in line. Anochel is now portrayed as an evil demon and Rhys as the savior from on high. But it was not so grand as all that. In reality, the hero was only human, and the tale was centered, as is usually the case, on a woman.”

                “A woman?” Seeker had never heard about a woman in the tales of old.

                “Shocking, isn’t it? Figures long since elevated to deities were actually very human and possessed by very base feelings.”

                “Who was she?”

                “Oh, she was not so different from you, actually, in looks as well as attitude. There’s a reason she was known as the Fiery One, after all.”

                “The Fiery One!”

                “There’s no need to shout, my dear. Anyways, the Fiery One did have a name, surprisingly enough. Her name was Guenevere, and she was the very first queen of Viridia. She built her nation from the ground up, and a colossal struggle it was. At the age of eighteen, Guenevere accepted rule of her village. She had a way with people, and she quickly built that small town into a large city with great productivity and efficiency. If you look behind you, you can see what Guenevere’s efforts created.”

                Seeker obligingly craned her neck around and could just see the towers of the Viridian palace. She wondered at the strength of the woman who could rally a nation.

                “Unlike Guenevere’s successors, she was elected as leader of Viridia. She had elevated her little village within the borders of another kingdom. Her people wanted justice. They knew the horrors of a king without morals, as Cyrenians of today are well acquainted with. Guenevere looked to end the agony and traveled to the capital of Cyrene to confront the man who ruled with a reign of terror.”

                “But…”

                Zar looked over at her questioningly.

                “The old stories say that Cyrene wasn’t founded until after Rhys’ death.”

                “Like so many tales we tell to show ourselves in a better light, the old stories are wrong.”

                Seeker processed this for a moment, trying to reconcile this thought with her childhood wanderings, pretending to be Rhys, fighting off evil and creating the greatest nation in the modern world. “If Cyro didn’t lay the building blocks of Cyrene, who did?”

                Zar sighed. “That is a different story altogether. The world is old, Seeker, far older than your generation could begin to imagine. There were nations, people, peace, and wars long before Anochel supposedly destroyed Rhys and the world as it was known. History is written by the winners, Seeker, and they can shape it however they like. It should come as no surprise to you that there are secrets that have slept for over a century, and longer.”

                “What kinds of secrets?”

                “First and foremost, Rhys was no god. In fact, he was very human and neglectfully cruel.” Zar saw Seeker’s disbelief. “If you cannot accept that Rhys was just as human as you or me, you cannot hear the truth in any way that you will believe it.”

                “I don’t have trouble believing he was human. I just can’t imagine that a person so long praised for his exceptional character could possibly have been cruel.”

                Zar glanced at her. “You really do only see the good in people.”

                “No, not at all. It’s more that I give them the benefit of the doubt.”

                Zar faced her, sadness evident on his face. “The world should aspire to be more like you. There are too many liars and thieves.”

                Seeker smiled, her expression a mixture of melancholy and hope. “The world is like me, deep down. But humanity is afraid to believe in anything and so pretends to believe in nothing.”

                “Perhaps you are right,” he mused. “I myself am a horrible example, as I have more secrets than the rest of the world combined.”

                Seeker looked at him curiously, but decided not to press the matter. “Tell me about Guenevere’s confrontation of the king of Cyrene. Who was he?”

                Zar accepted the sudden shift in topic. “He was a man ruled by a power so old that he had long since forgotten its existence. Guenevere traveled quite the distance to see him, as the capital of Cyrene was a massive city in what is today a massive desert. At that time, the city was surrounded by a lake of glass. It took nearly a week to navigate the twisted waves of glass to find the palace.”

                “Wait, you mean to say that the lake was actually made of glass? That’s impossible.”

                Zar grinned. “No, my dear, it most certainly is not. Thousands of years before, a drought robbed most of the land of water. When the atmosphere had absorbed every last drop of moisture, nature went a step further and swept the ground clean of the dead and dying with a massive lightning storm. The mountains were scorched, the forests set ablaze, animals and people sent into the beyond with cosmic force. When lightning hits sand, however, it creates wild glass in the most imaginative of shapes.”

                Seeker tried in vain to visualize anything so vast made of glass. She gave up on the endeavor. “Is it still there? The glass lake?”

                “I honestly don’t know. Nobody seems to have made it out of the Hell of Anochel alive since Rhys did.”

                “Maddock seems to think Trillian did.”

                Zar bowed his head, concern evident on his face. “That is a troubling thought. Not even Rhys knows what secrets hide in that desert. Guenevere certainly discovered that some things are best left alone, but not until it was far too late.”

                Nox jumped a little at that moment, sensing that a predator lurked amongst the trees. Zar quickly soothed the stallion as Seeker noticed Theria ambling along beside them. Zar looked around uneasily, unable to discern what had spooked his mount. Nox eyed the wolf, who was half-hidden by the trees and her coat.

                Theria peered up at Zar with an expression akin to surprise. It always amused Seeker how human the wolf could look. She wondered what it was about Zar that caught Theria off guard.

                Completely unaware of his audience, Zar patted Nox on the neck and continued with his tale. “Guenevere left her growing city to appeal to the king for justice. When she arrived, having traversed the Lake of Glass, she discovered that the palace glittered with an opulence that awed her as much as it angered her. The castle that she found embedded in the glass terrain was encrusted with diamonds.”

                “Diamonds!”

                “Oh, yes. Diamonds were scarce even then, and it turns out that Cyrene was the reason why. A king long dead had demanded his palace be priceless and unforgettable. Naturally, the resulting Clear-Cut Castle was such a structure. Any diamonds left today originated from the walls of Clear-Cut.”

                “Why didn’t the king distribute the wealth amongst his people?”

                Zar sighed. “Why, indeed? Guenevere’s anger was certainly justified. Her people were starving to death in the grasslands on the other side of the mountains while the nobility had their very floors inlaid with precious gems.”

                Seeker felt her own anger building at the injustice of it, knowing how Cyrenians today struggled to survive. The very thought of this ancient palace made her bristle with indignation, despite her inner optimist screaming that there must be a reason. “What a greedy monarch.”

                Zar shook his head sadly. “He was not greedy, only oblivious.”

                “Even worse,” Seeker mumbled.

                Her companion either did not hear her or pretended not to. “Guenevere arrived alone at Clear-Cut as the sun dipped close to the horizon. She saw the land and the palace at its prime, glinting in the reds and golds of sunset. The king learned of her arrival almost immediately, informed only that a maiden of fire had ridden into the courtyard on a horse of gold.”

                “So that is how she became known as the Fiery One.”

                Zar nodded. “Guenevere possessed a fire that went far beyond her appearance, but with hair as bright as yours and a cloak of scarlet, she certainly shone in the light of the setting sun.”

                “And the horse of gold?”

                “Aur, her stallion, was an unusually light chestnut. He simply completed the image of an otherworldly creature of spark and flame. She descended from her saddle and demanded an audience with the king. Not one person questioned her right to speak with him.”

                Seeker tried to imagine Guenevere’s entrance, but as she could not picture a castle studded with diamonds or a lake of twisted glass, the image in her mind seemed woefully barren.

                By now, the two riders were several miles from the outskirts of Vale. Theria continued to amble along beside the horses. Seeker had the impression that the beast was listening intently.

                “Did Guenevere gain justice for her people?”

                “It depends on your perspective, really.”

                “Explain.”

                “Guenevere made the acquaintance of the king of Cyrene, the lord of Clear-Cut, oppressor of the people. He was a handsome man and had his pick of all the lovely court ladies. But he was unmarried and childless. Unfortunately, he was also the man known today as the hero of the ages.”

                “Rhys was the oppressive king of Cyrene?!”

                “I told you that the old stories were wrong. I warned you that Rhys was only human.”

                Seeker waved him off. “There’s a difference between being human and being evil.”

                “Of course there is. Rhys was not evil, Seeker.”

                “Fine. Ignorant, then.”

                “Well, he certainly was that, until Guenevere kicked his front door down.”

                “I have a feeling I would have liked her.”

                Zar laughed aloud. “I am quite certain you would have.”

                “So what happened?”

                “Rhys fell in love with her.”

                “Typical.”

                “There’s no reason to be quite so cynical, my dear. After all, this is history, not a sordid romance told for your entertainment.”

                “Did Guenevere love him back?”

                “Not at first, no. Like you, she could only see the greedy king who refused to help his own people. But the more time Rhys spent arguing with the Fiery One, the more he realized that there was so much wrong to be righted in his nation. And gradually, she realized that there was more to him than the ignorant monarch. He quickly improved the lives of citizens all over the world. He ordered the diamonds to be chipped from Clear-Cut and sent to the major cities and villages, to be distributed equally amongst the people. This simple order raised the standard of living astronomically, allowing his people to feed their children and themselves, to make a living without dying in the process. For a time, everything was perfect, and Rhys proposed to Guenevere.”

                Seeker chuckled. “Am I supposed to coo at the romanticism?”

                Zar rolled his eyes and continued. “They were married in the middle of summer. A year later, they had a strong baby boy.”

                “Cyro?”

                “Indeed. He was named for the city, not the other way around.”

                “Of course.”

                Zar fell silent, gazing at the trees around them. The sun had drifted high into the sky during their ride, and would soon begin its decent toward the horizon.

                “What went wrong?”

                Zar jumped a little. “Hm?”

                “Something had to have gone wrong.”

                Zar sighed. “This tale is going to destroy your inherent trust of people.”

                “Confirm what I already know, if you please. Did he screw up? Did she leave him?”

                “No, no. In this case, fate was working against them.”

                Seeker cocked a brow. “How poetically tragic.”

                “I’m afraid it was quite literal. All the actions in all the land are no accident, Seeker. There is an invisible hand guiding the course of the world.”

                Seeker snorted. The idea that someone, somewhere, was controlling every last decision made was positively ludicrous.

                “It’s true. Sometimes, they have more control. Today, they seem to be content with less interference. Back then, they were the authority on all things.”

                “Who are ‘they’?”

                “’They’ are a group of people you better hope you never have cause to meet.”

                “Are you telling me that there is a council of sorts deciding what I do with my life?”

                “Unfortunately, that is exactly what I’m telling you. Y Cyngor o Dynged, the Council of Fates, oversees the decisions that change the course of the world. Most people, they ignore, as the peasants in the fields and the minor nobility have little effect on the direction of nations and armies. You, however, have probably been watched since your very birth, being the sole heir to the throne of the most powerful nation in the modern world.”

                “But how on earth can they possibly do that?”

                Zar shook his head. “I do not know. They possess a mysterious power.”

                “I really dislike the idea of being controlled by some group of mysterious people.”

                “Of course you do. Why do you think so many people are ignorant of their existence?”

                Seeker conceded the sense in that, but she stopped mid-nod as a thought occurred to her. “How do you know of their existence?”

                “That, I cannot say.”

                She pursed her lips at this unsatisfactory answer but saw that Zar could not be persuaded. “Fine, tell me what they forced Rhys to do.”

                Zar took a breath, gathering his thoughts. “The Cyngor did not want Rhys to marry Guenevere.”

                “But why?”

                “Who knows? Somehow, it did not fit into their plan of the world. Regardless, Rhys would not listen to them. He refused to follow their instructions any longer. After all, he believed that the state of his nation was due mostly to the false information that they had been feeding him for years. But eventually he caved to their demands, albeit unknowingly.”

                “He gave in? He chose some group of self-righteous fate-givers over the love of his life, and his son?” Seeker couldn’t believe it. “You were right. I trust humanity less and less.”

                Zar shook his head. “You have no idea what kind of power the Cyngor had. They could end his life, his reign, his nation – all with a few simple actions.”

                “What did they want him to do?”

                “He was told he must choose between his wife and his son.”

                “… Choose?”

                Zar sighed, a heavy expulsion of air that clouded in the cold. “Rhys had to choose between the life of his wife and the life of his son.”

                “That is… barbaric.”

                “The Cyngor did not outright have Rhys murder his family. His wife and son became very, very sick, and the illness was one that had never been seen before. The Cyngor gave Rhys a cure and said that, because the disease was so rare, there was only enough antidote to cure either Guenevere or Cyro, but not both. Rhys faced a difficult decision, and he had very little time, as the disease rapidly progressed from bad to worse. He chose Guenevere, the most important person in his life.”

                Seeker withheld her confusion, as it was clear that Zar was going to explain how Cyro managed to survive.

                “The serum that the Cyngor gave him was no cure. It was, in fact, a poison. They tricked him into feeding the love of his life poison.”

                And now Seeker was silent simply because she could not comprehend the cruelty of that moment, when life should have returned and instead was snuffed out.

                “Rhys went mad with grief. Rumors, no doubt created by the Cyngor, spread throughout the land that Rhys had killed Guenevere purposefully, and the people’s love for the Fiery One erupted into revolution. Viridia was formed, Illyria followed, and Cyrene was pushed south of the river.”

                “The River Rhys,” Seeker whispered.

                “The Cyngor had a cruelty beyond the capacity of normal human beings. They cursed him to forever watch over the kingdom of Cyrene, to see them controlling the fate of the world and be unable to stop it. They told him, ‘Ydych chi wedi ceisio ymladd y anochel.’”

                “You tried to fight the inevitable,” Seeker translated. “Anochel.”

                Zar nodded. “I suppose the inevitable is a sort of demon. Rhys slipped into oblivion, unable to live with himself and what he’d done. He abandoned his people without so much as a backward glance. But then, they didn’t need him anyway. They had never needed him.”

                Seeker studied his face.   Thoughts flashed through her mind. Her father’s handwriting danced before her eyes, cautioning that Zar might be worried for his safety. A mysterious group called the Rhydians had survived the centuries. The man riding next to her knew information that had been buried long ago beneath a false history. His voice emanated pain for the long-dead king. He urged her to remember that even the worst people are only human, that Rhys himself was only human.

                “Rhys only knows…” she whispered.

                It was impossible, yet…

                “You were there, Zar.”

                Zar sighed. “Kirren warned me that you were clever.”

                Seeker shook off mention of Kirren, reeling with the implications of her realization. “Does he know who you are?”

                Zar chuckled. “Do you?”

                Seeker stared at him, searching his face for confirmation of what she knew but could not fathom. “It’s not possible.”

                “Anything is possible, Seeker. Some things are less likely, the chances of others are astronomical. But everything is possible.”

                Seeker surveyed their surroundings. The trees stood tall and silent, veiled by a light dusting of snow. Theria had disappeared and the woods were empty. They were alone.

                “And the Rhydians?” she asked.

                “I don’t know how they managed to escape the Cyngor. They were a small group of men and women who knew exactly what had happened, and swore to keep the truth alive for as long as possible. Your father no doubt faces serious repercussions.”

                Her eyes filled with tears. She had already lost her mother to a twisted cause. Now it seemed she would lose her father to a pointless one.

                She whipped Meilyr around and left him there. Rhys, King of Cyrene, Lord of Clear-Cut, stood alone amongst the silent trees and watched her gallop away.

XVII

                The thundering of one hundred sets of hooves reverberated on the still air. Soon, stealth would require that the company break into small groups. There would be no unit, no captains, and no orders. For now, though, two hundred hearts beat as one, consumed with purpose.

                At the head of the column, a sleek grey mare carried her head high, her strong legs and delicate hooves stretching across the grasses with poetic grace. Her rider led his soldiers with a stoicism that had been absent during their stay in Vale. His smile, a broad, open expression that lessened the sinister cast of his face, had disappeared as quickly as the palace on the horizon. Each league closer to Cyrene shortened his sentences and increased his agitation.

                The twins flanked their captain, accompanied by Morgan and Celyn. Of the hundred soldiers traveling for Cyro, only they four knew exactly whom they followed into enemy territory.

                Kirren called a halt just as the sun disappeared. They had been riding for three days, and the River Rhys would soon be roaring in their ears. It was time to rest and discuss the split. The soldiers quickly erected tents while the hunting party distributed what game they had shot during the day. The camp was soon filled with the smell of roasting meat and the crackle of fires.

                Ewan spent the better part of an hour tracking down his captain, by which time the rabbit leg he had snagged for Kirren had long since gone cold. Ewan finally found him atop a small rise a short walk from the camp, gazing at the stars as if he could unravel the mysteries of the world if only he searched long enough.

                “Captain?”

                Kirren’s thoughts slammed back to earth at the sound of Ewan’s voice. “Yes, Lieutenant.”

                Ewan proffered the meat.

                “Ah, thank you, Ewan. Have a seat with me, would you? I sought solitude only to find that it made me feel so horribly alone.”

                “I imagine that is as much to do with your rank as it does with your proximity to others.”

                Kirren sighed. “The longer you pretend to be something, the more it becomes a part of you, until one day, you can’t find what you were to begin with. I’ve spent ten years being an ordinary man with an ordinary life and a noble occupation. Being your captain has been the best part of my life.”

                Ewan chuckled. “With all due respect, I disagree. Your time with a certain female captain most certainly bests your time with us.”

                “That young woman is trouble.”

                “Well worth it, I’m sure.”

                Kirren shook his head, more a gesture of defeat than one of denial.

                “She’s smitten with you, Hawkeye.”

                The prince shook his head again, sighing

                “It’s the truth. Seeker and Eilis are very close, you know. Eilis came to me because she was worried that you were going to break the poor girl’s heart.”

                “I did break her heart, Ewan. I revealed who I am and then I… I left her,” he said regretfully.

                “Seeker knows what you have to do. And she doesn’t give a damn what you are, Kirren, any more than your men will. I hope you intend to tell them.”

                “I cannot hide any longer, Ewan. Hawkeye will always be a part of me. He is the man that I often pretended to be as a boy, when I could handle responsibility no longer. He was heroic only because he could be, not because he was obligated to be. He stood up to raiders and bullies because he had the ability to, not because it was his responsibility.” Kirren stood up, casting his eyes up toward the stars. “But I do have a responsibility, I have an obligation.”

                Ewan stood as well, clapping a hand on Kirren’s shoulder. “And you’re not alone.”

                Kirren nodded, a grateful smile gracing his face. “Please assemble everybody. They should be finished eating by now. Tell them I have an announcement to make.”

                Ewan gave a slight bow and headed back to camp, leaving his captain to draw what strength he could from the light of the heavens.

*              *              *

                “My friends, tonight is our last in company. Tomorrow, we will split into twenty-some groups and take multiple paths into the capital of Cyrene, meeting again in the den of this “White Raven” who seeks to topple Trillian. We will help him with this goal.” A spontaneous cheer erupted at Kirren’s words. He raised his hands for silence. “Before this happens, though, there is something that I must tell you all.”

                A hush crept over the camp, leaving no sounds but for the crackle of the fire and the occasional chirp of a nearby cricket. Kirren surveyed the men and women before him, feeling his past and present colliding. It was not a pleasant experience.

                “I have not been entirely honest with you. True, I have not lied to you. I have not deliberately given you false information. But I have allowed you to draw your own conclusions concerning my past, my identity, and my character. Your conclusions are false, and you have been operating under the pretense that I am a normal Viridian man with an abnormal scar and exceptional fighting skills.” Kirren shook his head. “I am sorry for not revealing this sooner. I can make explanations aplenty, but what it comes down to is that you followed me without knowing the truth, and for that I have no excuse.”

                The man they knew as Hawkeye seemed to grow before their eyes, straightening to a height much taller than they remembered. His mismatched eyes sparkled in the light of the bonfire. They reflected not the orange of the flames but instead flashed the silver of starlight.

                “Brothers- and sisters-in-arms, you have been lied to. Ten years ago, Trillian told his people of his brother’s tragic demise. He choked up as he described the queen’s last moments. And he could barely go on as he told Cyrenians how his brave nephew slew the monster responsible and died fighting his many wounds.” He took a deep breath before leveling his gaze at his audience. “This is a lie. Trillian killed his own family.”

                One of the Cyrenian archers stepped forward. “The White Raven believes as much, Captain. But to say it is not enough. The Cyrenian people are oppressed, certainly, but revolution will not occur just because a couple of unknown men say that their king is a murderer as well as a tyrant. And with no one to take his place, the commoners at large will be reluctant to accept the word of just anyone.”

                Their captain smiled a small, sad smile and said, “You are quite right, Owen. Cyrene will not follow just anyone. While the White Raven has been building his rebellion, his greatest advantage hid in the grasslands beyond the River Rhys.”

                “Sir?” Owen asked, speaking for the masses.

                “Ten years ago, Trillian sought to destroy the rest of Kenrik’s line. To this day, he believes he succeeded. To this day, he does not know that one boy escaped the slaughter. He does not know that his nephew lives.”

                It seemed even the cricket waited on baited breath, so silent were the soldiers before him, waiting with anticipation so intense that the very air vibrated with it.

                “I survived. I am Kirren, son of Kynan, rightful king of Cyrene. I return to Cyro to reclaim my kingdom.”
                For a split-second, silence reigned and his soldiers simply stared. And then the cheering started, a throaty, emotional cheer that filled Kirren’s heart with joy. A single tear slid down his cheek as he smiled at them.

                They didn’t know why they believed him. He had given no explanation, had used no words of persuasion or tales of woe. They believed him because they trusted him. They believed him because they needed to. Every war has something to fight against, some evil that needs to be vanquished, some injustice that must be rectified. But all rebels are doomed to failure if they have nothing to fight for.

                The men and women working against Trillian had waited on this moment for years. The false king would have an unpleasant demise, but there had been no plan to follow it, no leader to follow afterward. They now had a leader.

                Now, they had a purpose.

                Kirren shook the hand of every soldier in his unit, accepting their fealty and commending their bravery. Finally, the line ran out and the warriors were urged to get some rest. The camp slowly quieted as everyone made their way to their respective tents.

                The Crown Prince of Cyrene returned to that isolated hilltop and looked to the stars. He wondered if Seeker had read his letter yet. He hoped she knew her own story by now. The queen had promised that Seeker would be told immediately after his departure.

                He hoped the truth made her happy.

                Suddenly, Kirren wondered what Trillian was doing at this moment. Did he know that the end was near? Could he feel that his tyranny would soon come to a close? Did he have any idea that his own nephew, whom he had ordered murdered over ten years before, was alive and making a move?

                A part of Kirren, the sensible, stealthy part, hoped that Trillian was utterly clueless to the events occurring north of the River Rhys. Surprise was their greatest advantage.

                But another piece of Kirren wanted Trillian to know. He wanted his uncle to know that he had failed to kill every member of his family. Kirren wanted Trillian to know that retribution was near. More than anything, he wanted Trillian to be aware that he would soon pay for the all of the wrongs he had committed, against his own family and against his people.

                And by Rhys, Kirren would make Trillian pay.

XVIII

                By the time Seeker returned to her rooms, the sun was high in the sky. She discovered Calder hovering outside her door. He bowed and handed her an envelope.

                A sigh escaped her. “Another letter?” she asked.

                Calder chuckled. “I imagine Your Highness is tired of correspondences, but I believe that this particular letter may cheer you up.”

                She looked at him curiously and glanced at the envelope, but she didn’t recognize the handwriting that spelled out her name in a rounded script. She thanked Calder and shut herself in her room for the remainder of the afternoon.

                The letter was unaddressed save for her name on the envelope, and it wasn’t signed. But she very quickly realized who had written it.

          I told you once that you would one day understand my struggle. You no doubt believed that referred only to hearing the violence of my past, the truth of my identity, and the difficulty of the task before me. Unfortunately, I knew that this was not the case. I would apologize again for keeping it from you, but I cannot take responsibility for secrets that are not my own.

          If I know anything about your grandmother, I know that you were given a choice. You probably haven’t yet chosen whether or not to accept this role, this responsibility so far beyond what you believe to be your abilities. Do not be daunted by the task, Seeker. Do not be afraid that you are not up to this, because you are ready for it.

          You know what it is like to have no control over what happens in the carpeted rooms of the tallest towers. I grew up in that world and was thrust into anonymity. My entire purpose in life is to reclaim what I believe to be rightfully mine. In all honesty, I cannot decide if that makes me any better than my uncle.

          But you had a different purpose, up until now. Your purpose was to live. That was it. “Live in the moment,” you said to me. You know what it’s like to be a normal person with no other goal in life except to earn a living and be happy. You can relate to the people. You are exactly the type of person they need, Seeker.

          I will say no more on this subject, as the decision is yours and yours alone. If I may, though, I would like to address the issue of distractions.

          Moments ago, you told me I could not afford distractions, especially in the form of a girl like you. And yet, minutes before, you accused me of taking life too seriously, even knowing who I am and what I must do. My dear, you are a filthy hypocrite.

          If you have no feelings for me, I will have to live with that. But you should know that I fell in love with you a long time ago. I fell in love with your fire and your certainty and your view of the world. And if I did not have a responsibility to my people, I would never have left Vale, for a part of me fears that I will never see you again.

          We live in complicated times. As it so happens, we both have nations to take care of. I have a troublesome family member to deal with. You have a decision to make. But if you have taught me anything, Seeker, it is this: Don’t be afraid to live.

          We can make excuses about why this wouldn’t work. Many of them would be valid. For me, it’s not good enough. Life without you is no life at all, and I refuse to accept some ghostly existence without your fire to fuel my soul.

          I cannot fathom why I wrote this to you and then disappeared, as there will be virtually no way to contact me and I will no doubt torture myself with all sorts of imaginings as to your reaction to this letter. But it had to be said, because I needed you to know that whatever definition you have of yourself, a “girl like you” is the only girl for me.

          I needed you to know this because the coming months will be difficult in Cyrene, and truthfully, I may not survive them. After all, no one knows what the fates have in store for them. Perhaps I am not meant to win. If that is the case, I hope that my people at least treat my uncle with the same respect that he has bestowed upon them.

          Before I end this letter, there is one thing I must express to you, and you must forgive the presumption that you would do such a thing, but if I die, don’t you dare seek to avenge me. Revenge is a bitter calling and it will destroy you, Seeker. It will destroy your soul, your love of life, and your view of humanity.

          Accept that these were my choices. Know that I regret none of my decisions, as they led me to love, but I would wish this existence upon no one, least of all you.

          You are the best thing that ever happened to me.

          That is the truth.

          Bydd y Gwirionedd yn gosod am ddim I chi

                Seeker had to read the letter multiple times, and finally concluded that it was, in fact, from Kirren. Aside from the multiple references to their private conversations, he had signed the letter with the inscription on his sword: “The truth will set you free.”

                She couldn’t determine exactly how she felt about this note, this extremely personal soul-baring that had magically appeared after he’d left. She never really believed he had feelings for her, especially two nights ago when she’d found out who he truly was.

                But for him to write, in no uncertain terms, that he loved her…there was no denying it now. There was no hiding from it. “I fell in love with you a long time ago…” Spoken words can seem so fleeting, slipping out before the mind can process them, often rescinded as soon as they are uttered.

                But in black ink and Kirren’s steady handwriting it felt much more permanent.

                Her eyes filled with tears as she reread his musings about his chances of survival. He was right, of course. There was no telling if he’d succeed. If a certain ageless gentleman was to be believed, he was scarily accurate at his assessment of the fates and their plans. But the thought of living without him… well, it would be a ghostly existence, without his fire to fuel her soul.

                Her thoughts turned to her father, and the task he had set her. He had said that Cyrene was in danger of destruction and that she alone could find the key to stop it. The only way she could keep Kirren alive was to travel into the Hell of Anochel, to find whatever it was her father said would help their cause. For that, she needed to talk to Zar.

                She needed to talk to Rhys himself.

*              *              *

                The sun already sat low upon the horizon when Seeker ventured forth from her rooms to continue her discussion with Zar.

                “So, tell me something.”

                Zar jumped, dropping the pen that he had been scribbling with. “My dear Princess, you have an uncanny ability to materialize out of thin air.”

                Seeker grinned, standing in the doorway to his rooms. “My mother said the same thing. She called me her little wraithling.”

                “An apt nickname, as you are not unlike the sneaky little ghosts that lurk in the Hell of Anochel.”

                “That does not sound like a compliment,” Seeker teased. “Wait, there actually are wraiths out there? What are they ghosts of?”

                “People, mostly, though many loyal and intelligent animals sometimes find their way there as well. It’s a kind of purgatory, where departed souls wait until the Cyngor can pass judgment on their sentence.”

                “That sounds an awful lot like prison.”

                “I cannot give you all the answers, Seeker. However, I believe you had a question when you snuck up on me.”

                With difficulty, Seeker put thoughts of ghosts trapped in limbo from her mind. “Yes, I did. I want to know how it is that you are alive.”

                “A group of mysterious people can control the fate of humanity through the actions of the people in it, keep souls in this world for an indefinite period of time, and you question their ability to refuse one tired man his last, long sleep?”

                “Perhaps the better question is why you are still alive? What did the Cyngor hope to gain by prolonging your life?”

                Zar sighed. “Why not?”

                “Answering my questions with more questions is no answer at all.”

                “But that’s all there is, Seeker. There are only questions. There is no answer but the one that we create for ourselves.” Zar’s voice was light, but Seeker felt the evasion.

                “Very philosophical, but in this case, I think not. In this case, there is what happened and what didn’t happen.”

                “I don’t know what happened, Seeker. Clear-Cut was abandoned in the wake of the rebellion led by Guenevere’s little sister, and soon after the land north of the river and west of the mountains became known as the Hell of Anochel. I followed my son to Cyro. What else could I do? No one recognized me, and I was hired as a manservant to the baby king. I tried to teach him the things that I never knew, the important things that I so grievously lacked.”

                Seeker mulled that over for a bit, trying to feel what Rhys must have felt. “Did Cyro ever ask about you?”

                “Not that I know of. Oblivion was already spreading across the land. By the time Cyro was old enough to rule Cyrene, his father was a martyr and his mother erased from all but the stars.”

                “But why? Why destroy you so utterly only to make you the symbol of the success of a nation?”

                “For the same reason that I will probably never die: to punish me. Guenevere awakened my conscience and became my very reason for living. Now, I live only because I have no other choice and I have only guilt to keep me company. There is no memory of the love of my life and I am seen as the savior of my land rather than the destroyer of it.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “If I could, I would surely die from the pain of it.”

                She tried to imagine that kind of emotion, the bitterness, anger and sorrow that plagued him daily, but could not manage it. She sighed. “I am so sorry, Zar.”

                The hero of Cyrene shrugged half-heartedly.

                “Did Kynan know?”

                Zar contemplated his fingers before answering. “I don’t know for sure. I believe Fiona knew, though I cannot imagine how she could have discovered it. I just always got the sense that she could see into my very soul. But then, Fiona was like that with everyone.”

                “She sounds like my mother.”

                A smile flickered across Zar’s face. “Every Viridian princess possesses some of Guenevere’s best qualities. I imagine that Lorna has some idea that I am much more than a dead monarch’s loyal steward. Somehow, I felt like you knew the moment you met me, knife and all.”

                Seeker remembered it well, and if she had to guess, she would have to agree with Zar that she had known, on some level, that he was much more than the simple farmer he had first appeared to be. “Perhaps,” she conceded.

                “You remind me most of Guenevere,” Zar commented. “Of all the Viridian princesses, you look and act most like her.” He paused before adding, “You have also fallen in love with a dangerous man.”

                Defensiveness rose up to take the bait. “Kirren is only dangerous to Trillian.”

                “Kirren is a danger to anyone and everyone who gets in his way.”

                “How can you say that? You know him better than anyone. He has seen just as many horrors as you have, in a much shorter period of time.”

                “Exactly. And how has that destroyed his belief in humanity? How has that blinded his view of what is right and just?”

                Seeker’s thoughts briefly slipped into her pocket to join the letter there. “He has faith in humanity. He knows that there is still good there.”

                Zar shook his head. “You are blinded by your own faith in humanity.”

                She opened her mouth in indignation, but slowly closed it again. Zar watched her carefully as she tried to phrase her answer. “He believes in me.”

                Zar frowned in confusion.

                Seeker tried to elaborate. “Kirren has faith that I will be a good monarch because I know what it’s like to be nobody, because I know what it’s like to watch those in power destroy the lives of good people without a second thought. And he knows that he does not have that quality. He fears that he is no better than Trillian, because his entire life has been devoted to regaining what he believes to be rightfully his.”

                Zar’s mouth had gone slack with surprise. “I would not have expected the boy to be so intuitive.” He looked at Seeker with puzzlement. “What about you?”

                Seeker mirrored his expression. “What do you mean?”

                “Do you think he is better than Trillian?”

                She refused to justify that question with an answer, and instead said, “I want to find the Cyngor.”

                “Excuse me?”

                Seeker simply stared him down.

                “You cannot be serious, Seeker,” Zar said incredulously.

                Her expression assured him of her seriousness.

                “What could you possibly want with the Cyngor?”

                “I have to stop Trillian.”

                “Kirren’s doing that. He’s not traveling to Cyro on vacation.”

                “My father said that Cyrene was on the brink of destruction, all because of something that Trillian found in the Hell of Anochel. Even if it wasn’t the Cyngor itself, that council can tell me exactly what it is.” Seeker’s determination clearly scared Zar.

                “Seeker, there is a difference between ‘can’ and ‘will.’ The Cyngor are not in the habit of letting mere mortals in on their cosmic decisions, and if I know anything, I know that they wanted Trillian to find whatever it was he found.”

                “It makes no difference to me what they want. And if what you say is true, they could stop me, change the very course of my destiny without a second thought. So explain to me why I am still perfectly certain that I will be departing for the lake of glass in the morning?”

                Zar thought about that a moment. “Perhaps they intend to kill you. Wouldn’t that be an honor? You are so important that the very fates want to kill you themselves.”

                Seeker held up a finger. “Ah, but I am important. I’m the last surviving heir to the Viridian throne. They cannot kill me without crippling a nation that their actions forced into existence. Now that would certainly complicate their plan for the course of the world.”

                That thoroughly stumped Zar, as he could come up with no response. As far as he could tell, she was correct. “It’s still dangerous.”

                Seeker laughed. “Changing the world always is.”

               

XIX

                It took less than three weeks for the entire unit to infiltrate Cyro, each pair and trio finding the rebellion with little trouble. Each member of the group relayed a single message to the leader of the rebellion: “The hawk is landing.”

                Members of Seeker’s archer unit were streaming in on a daily basis, accompanied by soldiers of the Viridian army, each one greeting the White Raven with respect but refusing to elaborate on the cryptic message.

                Finally, the White Raven gave up asking.

                As the last of the snow melted from the streets of the city, the final trio of the Shadows made their way into the Raven’s nest. Hawkeye told Ewan and Eilis to wait for him in the market. There was someone he needed to find.

                “You haven’t been in this city in over ten years, and you’re dead. Who could you possibly be looking for?”

                Ewan shook his head at his sister and led her away down the street. “You really can’t hold your tongue, can you?” Hawkeye heard Ewan ask as they disappeared around a corner. He smiled to himself as he strolled in the opposite direction, toward the keep.

                Hawkeye stopped about a block from the gate, leaning up against a wall and munching on an unidentified fruit that he’d bought at the market. It looked rather like an apple but tasted much more like a cherry. He stood contentedly in the sun, juice dribbling down his chin, waiting for a certain captain to emerge.

                The noonday had come and gone, and Hawkeye had almost given up when Maddock stepped into the street, alone. Hawkeye couldn’t believe his luck. The redheaded captain walked right by him and headed down toward the market. Hawkeye followed at a safe distance.

                Maddock had aged much more than the ten years that had passed since Kirren had last seen him. His copper hair was streaked with grey, his blue eyes were tired. He walked like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

                Hawkeye had always thought he’d been alone in carrying it.

                One captain followed the other into the market, where the Maddock bought very little and spoke to no one. He had already headed back toward the keep when he whipped around and shoved Hawkeye into a nearby alley.

                “Why are you tailing me?”

                “If I were tailing you, you would never have known I was there.”

                Maddock glared at him. “What do you want?”

                Hawkeye grinned. “I’m here to shake the hand of the man who saved my life.”

                Maddock’s blue eyes raked Hawkeye’s face, trying to place him. Their gaze landed on his scar. “Rhys almighty,” he whispered. “It’s you.”

                Kirren put a finger to his lips and pulled Maddock deeper into the alley. “How have you been?”

                “Rotten. Trillian’s a ruddy fool, and a bloodthirsty one at that.”

                “I have heard,” Kirren said grimly.

                Maddock looked him in the eye. “Where have you been? Are you here to claim what belongs to you?”

                “Tyranny can only endure for so long, Captain. Someone has to step in.”

                “Someone has. Have you met the White Raven?”

                “Not yet. My unit has already joined the rebellion. We’ve been making our way here from Vale. I’m on my way there now, but I had to say hello to an old friend first,” Kirren said with a smile.

                Maddock returned the smile and clapped him on the shoulder. “Do you have the support of the Viridian queen?”

                Kirren nodded, saying, “And her granddaughter.”

                “You’ve met her granddaughter?”

                Kirren laughed. “Indeed, I have. When I first saw her, she had a knife to Zar’s throat and was demanding my cooperation in the takeover of my village.”

                “She sounds like a cheeky young woman.”

                “I would expect nothing less from your daughter, Maddock.”

                Maddock grinned. “Ah, so you know.”

                “I knew her first as your daughter. She looks an awful lot like you.”

                “Rhys, I hope not,” Maddock joked.

                Kirren laughed. “Well, her coloring is just like yours.” He paused. “She’s a beautiful, strong woman, Maddock. You should be proud.”

                “I am proud. It sounds like she’s won the admiration of a good man.”

                Kirren blushed slightly. “Of course I admire her.”

                Maddock’s eyebrows rose. “You’re not going to ask me for her hand in marriage, are you? It isn’t mine to give, you know.”

                Kirren sputtered. “I might not make it out of this city alive, Maddock. And she has a decision to make.”

                Maddock nodded thoughtfully. “That she does.” He peered at Kirren. “Does she know how you feel? Did you tell her?”

                “I didn’t do it justice. I left her a letter because I had to leave. I had to come here, and I knew that if I stayed and told her, face to face, I would never have left.” Kirren looked at Maddock hopelessly.

                Maddock smirked. “That isn’t true, lad, and you know it. You think Seeker would have let you stay in Vale and twiddle your thumbs, once she found out who you were?” He paused, a dangerous look forming on his face. “She does know, doesn’t she?”

                “Oh, yes, she most certainly knows. She found out who I am before she found out who she is.” Kirren sighed and added, “I kept it from her for far too long.”

                “You had a responsibility to stay alive, and that couldn’t happen if everyone knew who you are, Kirren. I imagine she understood just fine.”

                “And yet, I’m not sure she’ll ever forgive me for it.”

                “Well, you have to make it out of this alive to find out. At least now you have good motivation,” Maddock said with a wink.

                Kirren gave a short laugh but sobered quickly. “Tell me what chance the rebellion has.”

                The mirth faded from Maddock’s face as well. “It isn’t good. From what I hear, and I hear quite a bit, they have the manpower. But they don’t have the oomph, if you catch my drift. Trillian’s bad, make no mistake, but having a man to get rid of is nothing without a man to follow, and the rebellion has no one to follow.”

                “The White Raven?”

                “He’s nothing but a coward, if you ask me. Raven won’t show his face to no one, no how. And without a face…” Maddock trailed off with a shrug.

                “He’s no more than a ghost,” Kirren said, nodding. “Do you think I can get the people behind me?”

                “That won’t be the problem. The problem will be legitimizing your identity. You’ve changed much these ten years, and even those who knew you well will have trouble matching that boy with this man,” Maddock said with a gesture at Kirren.

                “Well, I have Gwirionedd,” Kirren said, patting the hilt of his sword. “I also have this,” he added mischievously, pulling the glove from his right hand.

                “The Ring of Rhys!” Maddock breathed with awe when he saw the hulking ring. “How on earth did you get that?”

                “My father gave it to me the day he died, as a reminder of the sacrifices that must be made for the good of a kingdom. As a reminder of who I am,” Kirren added.

                “It’s proof of who you are, that and those unnaturally silver eyes of yours.” He leaned in, taking a closer look at the scar traversing Kirren’s face. “Is that from Larkin? Can you see out of it?”

                Kirren nodded. “When the light’s good. I’d like to say I returned the favor, but instead he is sitting in Lorna’s dungeons right now.”

                “You caught the bastard?”

                “He showed up in Vale with what was left of the Third Battalion, including Morgan and Celyn.”

                Maddock smiled. “How are the lads?”

                “They’re good. They’re here, somewhere. They came with me from Vale.”

                “Good, good. You’ll need all the help you can get. Do you have a plan?”

                Kirren shrugged. “If I had my way, I’d barge my way into my palace and arrest Trillian right now. But I must meet up with the rebellion. I need support or Cyrene will crumble.”

                Maddock looked at him strangely. “You mean to arrest him? Not kill him?”

                The prince paused, phrasing his answer. “If things were different, and I had arrived here a year ago, I would have killed him without a second thought. But that was before I met Seeker. That was before I realized that more bloodshed is not the answer. And death… Death would be too easy an end for my uncle.”

*              *              *

                Hawkeye left Maddock with promises to stay in touch as best as possible and met up with Ewan and Eilis, who had somehow been tricked into buying several rugs. They gave them to a stunned young couple on the street and headed for the tunnels.

                Per Maddock’s instructions, the trio knocked on Seren’s door in Cyro. The three warriors were led down the same tunnel that Seeker had traveled, meeting Howell at the door to the rebellion’s epicenter.

                The two Viridians greeted the guard, saying, “The hawk has landed.”

                Howell’s eyes narrowed, staring at the tall man behind his companions. Howell politely asked them to wait outside the door while he announced them. Moments later he ushered them into the high-ceilinged chamber where Trillian’s doom was being plotted.

                Ewan and Eilis parted to let Hawkeye through. The room was bustling with activity, men and women rushing from one end to the other, consulting maps and charts and Rhys knew what other documentation. With Howell on his heels, Hawkeye walked purposefully toward the center of the chaos, the mysterious man masterminding the end of a monarch.

                The White Raven faced them from across the room, arms crossed. “So,” his voice hissed through his helm. “You are the hawk.”

                “Indeed.”

                “The messages were very theatrical, but rather disappointing. I was expecting someone more important.”

                “I was expecting someone taller.”

                “It’s rude to insult your host, given that you are a guest here.”

                “It’s also rude to insult your guest, but I’ll let that slide.” Hawkeye stood face to face with the rebellion’s leader now, close enough to see his eyes behind the helmet.

                “How fortunate for me.” The sarcasm was reflected in the green eyes hidden in the dark of the helm, and Hawkeye watched them with trepidation. Something nagged at him from the back of his mind.

                “It is, actually,” Hawkeye replied, “for a multitude of reasons, first and foremost that I am an excellent swordsman and do not like being insulted.”

                The White Raven rolled his eyes. There. Shock scorched through Hawkeye as he realized what was bothering him. He knew those eyes. He knew that tone. It can’t be. Gwirionedd leapt out of its sheath to attack the White Raven. The room went silent. Howell loosed his sword from his scabbard, taking half a step forward.

                “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Hawk.” The warning was there, a threat lurking behind the words. If Hawkeye was right, he wouldn’t win this battle. But he had to know. Howell took another step forward, but the Raven waved him off.

                He smirked. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Raven.”

                The White Raven hesitated. Ewan and Eilis glanced at each other. They were all on the same side here, but their captain had put them in a precarious position. If the White Raven bested him, they would probably have to slaughter everyone in the room.

                “Are you afraid you can’t beat me?” Hawkeye goaded.

                The rebellion’s leader responded by drawing his sword and attacking Hawkeye with a yell.

                Sparks flew as their blades met, and Kirren had his answer. You can disguise your voice, he thought, ducking under a swipe. You can cover your face. He danced backwards from the White Raven’s blade, parrying this way and that.

                But you can’t hide from me.

                The battle continued fiercely, seconds dragging into minutes. Neither of the swordsmen showed signs of giving in, though, and they fought on even as fatigue conspired to stop them. Then, as both of their strength threatened to fail, the White Raven executed a simple flick of the wrist.

                Kirren had anticipated it, but could not stop his sword from being ripped from his grasp. He watched Gwirionedd skitter across the tiles, the cloth around the hilt unraveling, revealing just a hint of the mother-of-pearl hilt. It came to a stop so that the engraving on the blade was perfectly visible.

                He coolly met the green gaze of the White Raven, who thrust his sword up against Kirren’s throat. “Where did you get that sword?” he demanded. “What is the meaning of this?”

                Kirren kept his face emotionless. “It was a gift.”

                “A gift? That sword belonged –“

                “It belongs to me.”

                “Who gave it to you? Was it Trillian?”

                Kirren shook his head with a sigh. “So suspicious.”

                “I have good reason to be. I’m mounting a rebellion against that bastard.”

                “Oh, that is not your only reason. If Trillian knew that you were down here he would have your head. And this time, he would not trust it to some bumbling swordsmen dressed in Illyrian uniforms.”

                The green eyes widened in shock.

                He continued on, despite the blade at his neck. “How did you escape? Kiah was not so lucky.”

                The pressure on Hawkeye’s throat increased, and he felt a bead of blood course down his neck. “Speak any louder, and it is your head that will be in danger. Who are you?”

                He looked into those clear green eyes, the ones that had haunted his dreams for years, and spoke very quietly. “I’m your best friend.”

                The Crown Prince raised his left hand and pulled the glove from it, revealing a silver ring set with a single emerald.

                A gasp escaped the helm, green eyes searching Kirren’s silver ones in disbelief. “But… you’re dead.”

                Kirren smiled. “So are you.”

                “What happened to your face?” A gloved hand reached up, tentatively touching his scar.

                He shrugged slightly and tapped on the helmet. “What happened to yours?”

                A breathy laugh hissed through the metal as the White Raven pulled the helm off.

                The entire room seemed to gasp, sucking in all of the air in the cramped space and making it difficult for Kirren to breathe. He’d known, of course. He’d guessed who was hiding beneath the armor. But nothing could have prepared him for this.

                Deprived of sunlight, her blonde hair had faded to white. It was short and ragged, barely covering her ears. She was thin, painfully so; she looked as though a breath of wind might blow her away. Her eyes stood out starkly in her gaunt face, devoid of their mischievous sparkle. She had changed so much in the ten years since he’d seen her, but here she stood.

                Alive.

                Kirren gently lifted her chin, trying to find the girl he once knew in this woman’s face, when he saw it. The white line traversed the front of her throat, one end crooked and jagged as though the blade intending to kill her had balked at completing the deed.

                “It seems that no one returns from the dead unscathed,” he said quietly, fingertips gingerly touching her throat.

                “Some emerge better than others,” she replied wryly, her voice vibrating down his fingers.

                Kirren could only gaze at her, but the silence became too uncomfortable for their forgotten audience. Ewan spoke first.

                “Captain?”

                Kirren jumped slightly. “Yes, Ewan.”

                “Care to introduce us?”

                The prince laughed. “My apologies, Ewan, Eilis... I present to you Lady Branwyn, daughter of Ifan, Duchess of Ceville.”

XX

                “Seeker, I beg you not to do this. It is too dangerous.” Lorna paced around the throne room, the setting glinting gold off her silver hair.

                “Your Majesty, you told me you would not force me to do anything,” Seeker said from the steps to the throne, tiredly watching Lorna’s agitation. She still hadn’t exercised her right to call the queen her grandmother. The woman was still a stranger. And now she was standing in Seeker’s way.

                “I’m not forcing you to do anything,” Lorna returned. “I am simply begging you not to.”

                “I have to do this, or there will be no hope for Cyrene.” Seeker had briefly explained the situation to Lorna. She had omitted Zar’s true identity, but said instead that he had been given information by the former king of Cyrene, Kynan.

                “And there will be no hope for Kirren,” Lorna said with a sigh. “Now I wonder if that boy isn’t as bad for you as Maddock was for Elspeth.”

                “My father was not a bad man, Lorna, and you would do well to remember that,” Seeker said with clenched teeth.

                “I’m sorry, dear, I just meant that Kirren is more dangerous for you. You’re running off to a desert that no one has returned from in hundreds of years, just to ensure that he survives.”

                “You don’t know me yet, but if you did, you would know that I would be willing to travel to that desert to save Cyrene, Kirren or no Kirren,” Seeker said firmly.

                Lorna stopped in front of Seeker and looked into her face, seeing Elspeth’s determination. “I believe you,” she whispered. “But I still wish you wouldn’t go. I cannot get to know you if you don’t come back.” She sat down in her throne with a heavy sigh.

                Seeker stood and looked the queen in the eye. “I promise to come back, Grandmother. I will accept the responsibilities of a Viridian princess and I will get to know you.”

                Lorna smiled, a few tears spilling onto her cheeks. “I’ll hold you to that, my granddaughter.”

                Seeker took Lorna’s hand. “I do not make promises lightly, Lorna. I do not know what sinister powers are at work, both in this land and abroad, but I will find out, and I will put a stop to it, and I will return.”

                The queen nodded, unable to respond coherently.

                “Farewell, Grandmother,” Seeker said, giving Lorna a hug and leaving the throne room to pack her things. A tear slid down Lorna’s cheek as she listened to her granddaughter’s light footsteps disappear down the hallway, praying to Rhys that it would not be the last time those feet traveled her palace.

                As if in answer to her prayers, Zar appeared in the doorway. Lorna eyed him warily. Like Seeker, she believed that Kirren’s trust of this man spoke volumes, but she could not shake the feeling that there was more to him than met the eye.

                “You are not who you say you are, Zar.”

                Unreadable hazel eyes looked back at her from a timeless face. “I have never said anything on the subject of who I am.”

                “Indeed, you are much like Kirren in that respect. He let others draw their own conclusions.”

                “He feared for his safety, and rightly so, but he hid for far too long.”

                “And what about you, Zar? How long have you been hiding?”

                He smiled sadly and whispered, “Far too long.”

                The queen wiped at her face and fixed Zar with a dangerous glare. “I swear to you, steward, if you let anything happen to her, you will be a dead man.”

                “I’m already a dead man, Your Majesty. But for what it’s worth, I will do everything in my power to bring Seeker back to you.”

                “Not to me, Zar. You bring that girl back to Kirren.” Zar stammered a bit, and she shook her head at his surprise. “There’s too little compassion in this fading world. And I can think of no two people more worthy of love.”

                Zar opened his mouth to speak and then closed it with a nod.

                “Now,” Lorna said briskly, “the sooner you get on the road, the sooner you can bring her back.”

                Zar nodded again and took his leave.

                “Good luck,” the queen whispered as Zar disappeared. He did not hear her.

*              *              *

                Seeker stood in the stables, alone in the limbo between night and day. The sun would not show its face for another half an hour, and every heavy sigh lingered about her in a fog made of her own doubts. Meilyr snoozed gently in his stall, his chin resting on the door. She stroked his nose absentmindedly and took out Kirren’s letter once more.

                She knew exactly what it said. She’d read it enough that she could probably have recited it, should the occasion arise. She fervently hoped that it wouldn’t.

                As she contemplated his steady handwriting, Seeker thought about what she was about to do, and why. She had not lied to Lorna. She would have done this even if there had been no mahogany-haired young man to write her letters such as this. The idea that someone thought they could shape her very destiny angered her to the point that she might have saddled Meilyr now and rode off alone into the predawn dark. But she did not know the way.

                The paper slipped through her fingers and floated toward the floor, but she made no effort to pick it up. Seeker simply stared at it, wondering what would come of the words upon it. The two of them had kingdoms to run, separate lives to live and responsibilities to shoulder. Not only that, but they both had to survive the coming months and the horrors they would bring. She sank to her knees with something suspiciously like despair.

                Movement out of the corner of her eye made her glance up. Theria regarded her from the door of the stables, eyes glimmering in the dim.

                “I am no princess, Theria.”

                Seeker’s voice slipped out in a whisper. The wolf let out her breath in a soft snort and padded forward on delicate white paws. Seeker could feel the wildness radiating from the beast, but the wolf touched her gently on the forehead with her damp black nose and then curled up next to Seeker on the straw-strewn floor of the stables.

                When Seeker awoke an hour later, golden light sparkled on the dusty air and she was alone.

*              *              *

                “What are we going to find in the Hell of Anochel?”

                Seeker’s voice broke the silence that had accompanied them all the way from the Viridian palace. They had been riding for days, stopping only to sleep, taking meals in the saddle to expedite their journey into the unknown.

                “Honestly, I have no idea. I know only the way, not the destination.”

                “Do you think it’s changed much? Since you left for Cyro?”

                “No one’s been in that desert for years. And no one remembers what it looked like to begin with. Even if it hasn’t changed, we would have no word of it,” Zar said shortly.

                Seeker looked at him appraisingly. “Nervous?”

                “What?” he said sharply. He looked over, seeing her expression. He softened. “My apologies. Yes, I suppose I am a tad anxious.” Zar flexed his fingers. “I feel so inadequate, returning to Clear-Cut after all these years.”

                “You’re a different man than you were then. You’ve seen centuries of life and death. I would certainly hope that you’ve learned something from those ages, and changed for the better.”

                “Oh, but it’s so much more than that. The pain that I have buried for so long is threatening to burst back to the surface, to overwhelm me. How can I return to that cursed place, when every hall and every room will serve as a reminder to all that I’ve lost?”

                “You accept that you cannot change the past. You move forward,” Seeker said quietly, “because that is the only thing you can do.”

                Zar sighed, a heavy, self-pitying sound. “I suppose you are correct.”

                Seeker wanted to say more, but as she could not fathom the kind of pain that haunted him, she thought it best not to push him any further.

                Silence settled back into place around them, interrupted only by the crunch of the horses’ hooves in the snow.

*              *              *

                After five days of traveling, the Viridian princess and her ancient companion reached the summit of the mountain range that separated the forest from the desert, the living from the dead. By Zar’s calculations, it would take a week or more to cross the mountains.

                Two days in, Seeker feared she would lose her fingers.

                “Keep your hands in your coat, and let Meilyr find his way!” Zar had to shout to be heard over the howling winds. While Seeker trusted Meilyr with her life, she could not believe that he could pick his way through this blizzard, even with Nox carrying Zar not five feet in front of them. Snow blew into their faces, icing on their eyelashes and in their hair, burning what little skin they had left exposed.

                The snowy landscape was devoid of trees or bushes of any kind. The first night, they had been lucky enough to stumble upon a large cave, deep enough that the ground was dry, if freezing cold.

                They had had to settle for an outcropping of rock the second night, with little shelter from the elements. Seeker had woken up that morning with her blanket frozen to the ground. Despite her best efforts, she’d still managed to rip it almost in half and leave bits of it behind.

                Head bowed against the relentless wind, Seeker hoped that Theria was safe. She did not know if the wolf had even followed them into the mountains. The snow would have easily obscured Theria’s white fur; it was doing a fine job of hiding Meilyr’s chestnut coat.

                The next four days passed in miserable cycles of light white terrain and dark white terrain, the hours whiling away with nothing but numb fingers and wind-burnt noses to mark their passage. It wasn’t until she fell off of Meilyr for the umpteenth time and landed on an incline in the wrong direction that Seeker realized they had crossed the peak and were finally descending the other side of the mountains.

                Seeker’s mute delight shriveled and died when she realized that she was alone.

                “Zar!”

                The wind snatched her hoarse shout and threw it back in her face. She grabbed for Meilyr’s halter, having long since taken the bit out of his mouth for fear it would freeze there. The leather eluded her useless fingers, but Meilyr came meekly to her anyway, head hanging low. She pulled herself into the saddle, forcing her limbs to obey her sluggish mind.

                Turning Meilyr back up the slope, she tried to follow his tracks. But the wind and the snow had erased them before she’d gotten more than a few feet.

                “Zar!” she cried again.

                She thought she could hear a horse’s terrified whinny, but couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t the shrieking of the wind. Having no other alternative, she spurred Meilyr toward the sound.

                They rounded a bend that she hadn’t known was there to see an enormous tawny four-legged animal crouching over Zar’s lifeless form. The snow was splattered with crimson, and Nox screamed in frustration and fear, trapped in a rocky corner with the predator between him and freedom. Seeker couldn’t tell where the blood had come from, but she stumbled off of Meilyr with a wordless shout of alarm.

                She’d unstrung and packed away her bow when they had begun their ascent, so all she had at her disposal was a sword that Lorna had given her before they left. Seeker tugged at its hilt, crying out in pain when her flesh almost froze to the metal. Before she could find a way to pull it free, Seeker heard what would have been a bone-chilling growl, if her bones had not already ached with cold.

                At first she thought it was the animal, but suddenly the beast was bowled over as a white shape separated itself from the frozen terrain and launched itself at Zar’s furry attacker.

                Seeker watched in terror as Theria forced what could only be a mountain lion away from Zar and the shrieking stallion. The wolf looked hopelessly outmatched. The lion’s claws were wickedly sharp, and already blood dripped down Theria’s right foreleg. But the wolf fought back with a beautiful ferocity. She and the lion battled on, their snarls and screams echoing of the wind and bouncing off the rocks, making it sound as though an entire pride of lions were being attacked by a whole pack of wolves.

                Meilyr trembled under Seeker’s hands as the predators tore at each other. She coaxed him toward Nox, trying to make soothing sounds. Despite his obvious discomfort, he followed her with the trust that made her love him so much. Seeker pulled a length of rope from one of the saddlebags and hitched it to Meilyr’s halter. She approached Nox and Zar cautiously. The stallion snorted and pranced, nostrils wide and eyes wild. The feral sounds of the fight receded, with only the occasional growls and yelps floating on the wind. Seeker hoped that Theria was alright. She tied the other end of Meilyr’s lead to Nox’s halter before kneeling down next to her fallen companion.

                “Zar?”

                He lay face down in the snow. Seeker reached underneath him, feeling for a heartbeat and breathing a sigh of relief when she found it, thrumming weakly against her fingers. Satisfied that he was alive, she carefully inspected him, discovering that the large cat had raked four long claws across Zar’s back. The cuts were deep, and Seeker saw with horror that two of them had exposed his spine.

                As she kneeled there in the snow, she realized that she had no idea what to do. Despite the cold, he was losing blood at a dizzying rate; his heart was steadily pumping his life away. She had to stop the bleeding somehow, but their blankets and spare clothing were practically frozen solid. She looked around helplessly and was suddenly struck with an idea.

                If she could not get Zar out of the mountains safely and quickly, her plan would surely kill him. But he was already dying. So Seeker carefully pulled his heavy coat off of him, draping it over Meilyr’s back. She then began scooping snow onto his back and packing it into the torn flesh. The icy layer would slow the flow of blood, hopefully enough to save his life but not enough to kill him. She eased his limp arms back into the coat, gently rolling him over so that she could button it shut.

                The wind howled with a wolf’s voice, and Seeker shot to her feet. She pulled out Maddock’s knife and hacked a strip off of Meilyr’s saddle blanket, and then she wrapped the hilt of Lorna’s sword. She drew the blade and made to follow the sound when Theria appeared.

                The wolf looked horrible. Her right paw hovered a few inches off the ground, and everywhere her white coat was streaked with crimson. Her muzzle and lips were dripping with blood, and Seeker wondered what had become of the lion. Theria met Seeker’s eyes and bobbed her head slightly. Then she caught sight of Zar lying unconscious in the snow.

                The wolf yelped in alarm and limped toward him.

                “He’s alive,” Seeker said, “but I don’t think he’ll survive very long if we can’t find help.” She realized midway through the sentence that she was speaking to a wild animal but didn’t bother wondering about her sanity. She had to find a way to save Zar.

                Theria peered at Zar’s face and then looked up at Seeker. She growled softly and nosed at Zar’s shoulder. Seeker sheathed the sword and dropped down next to her, unsure what the wolf wanted. Theria pawed gently at the coat buttons with her right foot. Seeker undid one of the buttons and looked at the wolf quizzically. Theria bobbed her head in confirmation.

                Nonplussed, Seeker pulled the coat off of Zar, turning him back onto his stomach. After they had exposed the lacerations, Theria looked him over, surveying the damage. Then she began to lick the wounds.

                Seeker cried out, and reached out to stop her. The wolf’s mouth was covered in blood and who knew what else. But Theria bared her teeth slightly at Seeker and continued about her business.

                Seeker withdrew her hand, horrified that she had just handed a feral animal its next meal. But as she watched, the snow slowly melted from the wounds, revealing… nothing.

                She stared at Theria in amazement, unable to comprehend what was happening right before her eyes. In a matter of minutes, all the snow had melted from Zar’s back, leaving only a few drops of water on unbroken skin. The wolf snorted in satisfaction, spraying Zar’s healed back with a fine spray of blood. Zar groaned and his eyelids twitched. Theria whined quietly before turning tail and disappearing into the snows.

                Zar’s eyes flickered open, taking in Seeker staring down at him with awe frozen on her face. His eyes widened suddenly. “The lion…” He coughed, his voice hoarse.

                “It’s gone,” Seeker said quickly.

                “But my back…” Zar reached an arm behind him, but couldn’t reach his shoulder blades. “I know it got me.” He gave up and pushed himself to a kneeling position. “What happened?”

                “I… I don’t know,” Seeker said helplessly.

                Zar shook his head as if to clear it while Seeker helped him into his coat.

                “We need to get you out of this weather,” Seeker said, pulling Zar to his feet. The wind punctuated her sentence with a forceful gust, pushing them into the horses. Seeker helped Zar into Nox’s saddle, the trembling stallion still tethered to Meilyr. Then she mounted up and led the way down the slope, trusting Meilyr to find the safest path.

                Maybe half a mile down the mountain, the bloodied corpse of the lion was smeared across the landscape. Its throat had been ripped out.

                Zar stared, his facial expression somewhere between horror and awe. He looked to Seeker.

                “It was Theria,” she said in response to his questioning gaze.

                “The wolf followed us?”

                “She follows me everywhere.”

                Zar raised his eyebrows in surprise. “She did a good job on that one.”

                Seeker nodded, hoping he wouldn’t ask any more questions. She could not explain how Theria had healed Zar. She could barely believe it.

                He didn’t ask.

                They made it down the far side of the mountains in two days. The weather warmed past the winter temperatures they had left behind in Viridia, and by the time they reached the foothills both Zar and Seeker had removed their coats and rolled up their sleeves.

                Seeker had not seen Theria. She worried about the wolf’s injuries, but reasoned that if she could magically heal Zar, she should be alright on her own.

                The flatlands before them seemed to fade into the distance, the miles obscured by a thick fog no more than two miles out. Seeker got chills just looking at it. She felt a sudden urge to head back into the mountains, despite the dangers that lurked in the snows.

                That night, Seeker could not sleep. She could tell that Zar was awake as well, but neither one of them spoke. They had nothing to say, really. They both knew where they were going, what they expected to find. Talking about it would only clutter the issue.

                When the Fiery One smiled directly down upon them from the stars, Seeker sat up abruptly. She could not decide what was bothering her. She did a quick check of her senses. She could see nothing but the hard packed earth stretching for a few yards in every direction before the fog clouded the view. She could hear nothing but the sound of Zar’s breathing, now deep with sleep, and the occasional huff of the horses.

                It was the smell. Seeker could smell something that didn’t belong here, on the outskirts of the desert. It was a smell that reminded her, strangely, of Lorna. A light breeze picked up, and she realized it smelled like the forest. No, not the forest, like an oak tree: strong and ancient. She closed her eyes to breathe it in.

                When she opened them, she gasped. A woman stood directly before her, smiling slightly.

                Seeker opened her mouth to shout, but the woman touched a finger to her lips. “I mean you no harm,” she whispered. She looked like Elspeth, so much so that upon first glance, Seeker would have sworn it was her mother. Seeker closed her mouth, dumbstruck.

                But no, this woman was older than Elspeth, her blonde hair a shade lighter, her cheek bones slightly softer. She gestured to Seeker, who stood warily. The woman took Seeker’s arm, her touch as soft as falling leaves.

                The pair walked away from the makeshift camp that Seeker and Zar had set up a few hours before.

                “I have much to tell you, Princess,” the woman said quietly, “and very little time to tell it.”

                Seeker looked into her eyes, the dark blue of the night sky. “Who are you?”

                She smiled sadly. “While I lived, I was Fiona, Queen of Cyrene.”