Chapter 35

Aremys thought that coming to Werryl was a stupid idea. It was clear from what Wyl had said that knave would prefer to be back in the Razors, and even Wyl’s good sense must have warned him against reentering Briavel. And yet here they were, taking deep breaths to recover from the magical travel and preparing to waltz up to the Queen of Briavel and present King Cailech, sworn enemy of the southern realms and newly agreed partner-in-crime with the treacherous Morgravian monarch.

“Do you think the Queen will start screaming like a banshee or do you imagine she’ll keep her composure and offer the Mountain King high tea?” Aremys said sarcastically. “That is, if we make it past the hail of arrows.”

“We’ll send Knave,” Wyl said, smoothing back Cailech’s long golden hair. “How do I look?” Aremys laughed, harsh and brief. “Like the nicking King of the Razors.”

“I meant,” Wyl replied calmly, “am I untidy?”

Aremys shook his head. “What does it matter? Let’s go, Wyl, and get this done with.”

“Trust me, my friend. She will see us.”

“And kill us,” the mercenary growled.

“Not with Knave leading us, she won’t. She trusts the dog more than she trusts me.”

“Who is ‘me,’ Wyl?” Aremys asked angrily.

“Romen,” Wyl corrected. “You’re welcome to remain here,” he offered, tiring of the Grenadyne’s bitterness even though he understood.

“No, it’s always fun watching you die,” Aremys cut back swiftly. He regretted the words instantly as he saw pain sweep across Cailech’s face, the eyes darkening with barely contained sorrow. “Forgive me, Wyl.” He groaned. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know you didn’t,” his friend said softly. “I just have to see her once more, Aremys, before I become Celimus and am forced to see her through his cruel eyes.”

“How will it happen, do you think? The Queen will turn you over to him…again?”

“Probably,” Wyl said, resigned to his fate. “Come, I hope she has not already left for Pearlis.” Valentyna was taking a late supper with Liryk. Conversation was hard won with her this night, just a day before their departure to Pearlis. She was trying, of that the commander was certain, but gradually her gaze had clouded and now she had withdrawn into her private, no doubt grim, imaginings of life as Celimus’s queen.

Liryk wished he could spare her the sorrow she was feeling, but he thought of her father and imagined how proud Valor would be of his only child. She was giving Briavel a brilliant gift—the gift of peace.

He watched her pushing food around her plate, her fork never once lifting any of it toward her mouth.

The only sound in the room was the clink of cutlery against porcelain. She lifted her beautiful face, aware of his gaze.

“Forgive me, Liryk.”

“Nothing to forgive, you highness.”

Valentyna smiled wanly. “My thoughts are elsewhere this eve—a bride’s prerogative, I think.” She tried to widen the smile but failed. Tears welled instead.

They both started at the sound of a knock at the door.

“Let me, your majesty,” Liryk offered, rising to answer the messenger. He returned tight-lipped and frowning.

“Important?” she asked, presuming it was for him. “Don’t fret, you’re excused from my dazzling repartee this evening.” He gazed at her, wishing he did not have to tell her anything, wishing they could leave for Pearlis tonight. “What is it? Not bad news, please…unless”—she laughed harshly—“it’s to tell me that Celimus has unexpectedly and tragically died.”

“Far more intriguing, your highness. Knave is on the bridge.” She stood. “Knave’s back! Is Fynch with him?”

“No, your majesty.” Liryk’s hesitant tone snapped her to attention.

“He’s not alone, though, is he?”

“He brings with him two men. One is Aremys Farrow.”

Valentyna’s mouth dropped open. “The man Ylena Thirsk and the Duke of Felrawthy spoke of—the one brokering the peace treaty with the Mountain King?”

Liryk nodded.

“And who accompanies him?” Valentyna asked, then frowned at Liryk’s silence. “Come on, Commander, the suspense is irritating.”

Liryk wiped away the perspiration coating his forehead. “King Cailech of the Mountains, your majesty.” The silence that met his words felt as heavy as the dread in his own heart. He watched the Queen’s hand fly to her throat; to her credit, she gave away nothing more than the initial shock. Visibly gathering her composure, she turned toward the double windows, unlatched and threw them open, then stepped out onto the balcony.

He joined her in looking down upon the famous Werryl Bridge to where three figures stood, surrounded by soldiers. One was familiar; as if on cue, the dog raised his great dark head and looked directly at Valentyna. Valentyna felt that penetrating gaze cross the substantial distance between them and pierce her heart. She had to stop herself from clutching her breast, where an old ache, barely buried, resurfaced to taunt and frighten her.

“He has brought him back to me,” she whispered to herself.

“Beg your pardon, your majesty?” Liryk said.

Valentyna closed her eyes momentarily then calmly replied, “Bring them to my study.”

“Your majesty, I don’t—”

“Now, Liryk, please. Search them and remove their weapons.”

“Yes, your highness.”

She disappeared from the balcony, leaving Liryk to look down upon the strange trio once more.

“Now what have you sent us, Shar, to disrupt her peace?” he muttered.

Valentyna splashed icy water on her face and took several deep, steadying breaths as she held the drying linen to her cheeks. She groaned. What was happening to her?

She raced through the questions that were alarming her. How could Knave know the Mountain King?

Why bring him here? How could they have come so far without encountering the Briavellian Guard? It was impossible, she realized. Unless they materialized out of thin air, two riders and a huge dog would not escape notice.

Knave’s return inevitably reminded her of Fynch and she recalled his last conversation with her, when he had implied that the man she loved was not decaying in a tomb within the palace crypt. If I suggested this was simply a dead body and not really the Romen Koreldy you loved, what would you say? he had asked, shocking her. And she had replied that it was cruel to ask such a thing. Still, he had tried, dear Fynch, to make her understand something which she could not believe, and yet now felt so deep in her heart. Although Romen’s corpse lies here before us, that the man you knew— the man you loved, your highness— is not dead.

Looking down at the trio on Werryl Bridge, she had felt as much, even though neither of the two men looked remotely like Romen. She hesitated even to say the word, but it hovered nevertheless on the tip of her tongue. Magic.

“Magic,” she said aloud, recalling Elspyth’s warning about being open to different ways of understanding.

She had spoken of reincarnation and told her that love might return in the shape of another. Elspyth had been trying to convey a message; Valentyna had heard it in the urgency of her tone, her desperation to imply something important while not actually saying it. Elspyth had said that love might even present itself as a woman and Valentyna had laughed. Yet Ylena Thirsk had tried to give her love. Valentyna had rejected it, disgusted and upset that a woman would make such an approach to her. But that was no ordinary woman, was it? she thought to herself now, throwing down the linen and staring at her reflection in the mirror. If you were truthful to yourself you would admit there was an attraction there. You could not explain it if you were asked to, but if your life depended on it, you might whisper that Ylena behaved with you as a man would…as a particular man would.

Helpless tears rolled down her face as she permitted the truth of her thoughts to be unleashed for the first time. Ylena Thirsk had walked and talked like a woman but acted like a man. She had even had that curious habit of pulling at her ear and pacing when deep in thought.

Say it! she urged herself.

“Like Romen,” she whispered to the mirror. “She kissed me like Romen did.” Thoughts clamored and clashed in her head until she could no longer bear it. She heard a gentle tap at the door and gave herself one last look in the mirror. She looked tousled and unsure of herself Fynch had connected Romen with Wyl Thirsk too. The boy had told her a long time ago that he believed Romen embodied General Wyl Thirsk, the redheaded, shy, and courageous emissary from Morgravia who had saved her life and given his own in an attempt to save her father. Both her father and Wyl had died, but somehow Romen had survived. Romen, a mercenary in the pay of King Celimus…a mercenary who, upon his return to Pearlis, had searched out and rescued Ylena Thirsk.

Valentyna thought about the men on the bridge. Fynch had told her that Knave responded to no one but those Wyl Thirsk loved. Wyl hardly cared for Romen Koreldy or King Cailech or indeed Aremys Farrow, another stranger. And yet the dog had brought all three of these men to her. Why…if they weren’t connected to Wyl?

The tap at the door came again. Valentyna dug deep and found enough strength to call out, “Enter.” Even so, she was not ready emotionally for the two strapping men who stepped into the room behind Commander Liryk, both towering over him. Knave pushed around their legs and bounded toward her.

Tears came to her eyes at the sight of King Cailech, along with the unshakable, inexplicable feeling that she was once again in the presence of Romen Koreldy. She pretended her tears were for the dog and bent to pat his head and then hugged him fiercely, whispering “Thank you,” although she was not sure why.

The rattle of guards’ weapons as the door closed behind her visitors reminded her who and where she was. Valentyna straightened, ignoring her wet cheeks, and raised her eyes to meet the warm, dark eyes of Aremys Farrow and the cool yet burning gaze of the Mountain King, who was staring at her hungrily.

“Gentlemen, forgive me. As you can see, I am overwhelmed to see my friend Knave again,” she said, amazed that her voice sounded so steady.

“Your majesty,” King Cailech said, bowing low, “the apology is all ours for disturbing you at this hour.” Valentyna felt a thrill tingle through her body at the warmth in his tone. His voice was as deep as she had expected, yet also layered with humor and something else…affection, she thought fancifully. She curtsied, paying due respect to a king. “You must be Aremys Farrow,” she continued, turning to the bear of a man who stood awkwardly beside the king. She stepped forward and extended her hand. “I have heard about you from Lady Ylena Thirsk and the Duke of Felrawthy.” Aremys took her hand and kissed it. “Your highness,” he said.

“Come,” she said, “are you hungry?” Both men shook their heads. “A drink, then, of my father’s finest wine. I cannot imagine the tale I am about to hear about how two men of the Razors—one a king, no less—covered hundreds of leagues of my realm without a single guard spotting them.”

“Indeed,” Farrow muttered.

“Valentyna.”

Something in the way Cailech said her name made her heart leap in her breast.

“Yes, Cailech?” she responded, and they both smiled at the sudden lack of formality.

“May we speak as sovereigns…in private?”

She noted how Aremys Farrow glared at the King. It was an odd reaction, unless theirs was a friendship that extended beyond that of monarch and bodyguard.

“Of course,” she offered, glancing toward Liryk, who looked astounded at the suggestion.

“Your highness,” he began.

Valentyna held a hand in the air to stop her commander, knowing precisely his concerns but somehow not at all daunted by them. “Can we trust you, King Cailech?” she said.

“Far more than you can your husband-to-be, Queen Valentyna,” he responded, and Valentyna saw Liryk close his eyes with despair at the King’s inflammatory words.

Aremys was fuming as Commander Liryk escorted him from the room. Nevertheless, he could not blame his friend. Ever since a treacherous king had sent him on a mission of death, Wyl had known nothing but violence and despair, frustration and sorrow—save a few days in Briavel, as Romen, when he had wooed a queen.

And here he is doing it again, Aremys thought, not realizing he had voiced that thought.

“I beg your pardon,” Liryk said. He looked as angry as Aremys felt.

“I’m sorry, Commander. It’s been a long journey,” the mercenary said. He noticed the man’s eyes widen in further wrath.

“Yes, I’d like to talk to you about that, Master Farrow.”

Aremys sighed. He had no idea how to explain their mysterious arrival. “Actually, first I need to relieve my bowels,” he said, knowing this remark would throw off even the most persistent pursuer. “Also, I am famished and I need to bathe and rest. Then I shall attempt to answer all of your questions, I promise.

But please remember, I am only a bodyguard to my king. A foot soldier, if you will. It would be best if you saved your wrath for him.”

And with that, Aremys Farrow took himself off in the direction Commander Liryk, filled with surprise at the rebuttal, pointed. Aremys just hoped Wyl had some plan to get them out of Werryl as easily.

Valentyna, self-conscious and uncharacteristically blushing, snowed the tall Mountain King toward the comfortable sofas in her study. “Are you cold, sire?” she asked, then her face fell as he smirked. “Ah yes, how silly of me, I hear your people don’t feel the cold.” He shook his head gently. “I’m sorry. By all means, let us sit by your fire.” She smiled. “I’m afraid I do hate to be cold,” she admitted, “although I must give the fire away soon.

Each eve is milder than the next these days.”

“Which means summer is beckoning,” he reminded. She did not miss what he left unspoken.

“Is that why you are here?”

“Yes,” but he seemed to hesitate, as if unwilling to broach the subject. “This is a most pleasant room.”

“Thank you. Is Farrow your friend?”

He grinned at the odd question. “As a matter of fact he is.”

“Which would explain his fury at being asked to leave?”

He nodded. “No doubt, although he has no right to feel that way.”

“Indeed, sire. I hear that you don’t treat your friends all that well,” she baited, handing him a cup of wine.

“I can’t imagine what you refer to, Valentyna,” the Mountain King responded calmly.

“I refer to Lothryn, your second in command, your closest friend. The man you murdered.”

“He is not dead,” Wyl answered simply. His mind raced. Why in Shar’s name had he come here? How would he explain any of this to her? What could he possibly say—other than that he worshiped her—that would make her listen to him. prevent a courier being sent to Morgravia that night?

“Not dead?” she spluttered. “But Elspyth told me—”

“Elspyth is wrong, your highness. I have left Lothryn alive in the Razors.” Valentyna knew that there was no love lost between Cailech and Elspyth. But every fiber of her being screamed at her that this man was an impostor, in the same curious way Ylena Thirsk had seemed to embody someone else, and she decided to test him. “Elspyth may never live to hear that good news, my lord.”

“What?” Cailech said, spilling wine on his hand as he leaned forward in his chair.

Intrigued by his reaction, she continued: “The last I heard, she was near death and being carried to Pearlis—or so Liryk tells me.”

The King’s face drained of color. “What happened to her?”

“Why do you care? She is a Morgravian slut to you, surely?” She watched the King hesitate, his gaze darkening as he collected his thoughts.

“I care,” was all he said. “Is she alive?”

“Yes,” she said. “But that’s all I know.”

Wyl put the cup down and, without realizing it, began to pull at an earlobe as he thought on this news. He did not see the sudden sick expression that crossed the Queen’s face. Presumably Crys Donal was with Elspyth, he decided. He asked as much and the Queen nodded. He could not know that she did not trust her voice to speak, her eyes riveted by the habit she had seen four people demonstrate now, starting with Wyl Thirsk.

“Valentyna,” Cailech began, but the Queen was no longer interested in the strange game that was being played out between them. She stood suddenly and demanded, “Why is it that Knave sits at your side?

He belonged to Wyl Thirsk and looks kindly only on those Wyl loved. So why does he choose to accompany you?”

Wyl could no longer stand the tension between them. He put down his wine and stood also, facing the woman he so loved. He was very close and a head taller than she. To her credit, he thought, she did not flinch. The defiance in her eyes only fired his desire more and he took her hand and pulled her toward him. This time he would kiss her as a man, and to hell with the consequences.

Valentyna did not fight him. She did not think she could have resisted even if she had wanted to. Cailech, King of the Mountains, had a raw and blistering charisma that burned around him like a halo. If her heartbeat had increased for Romen, it was hammering for Cailech, and if her body had yearned for Romen’s touch, it cried for Cailech’s so strongly that she was tempted to throw herself down before the hearth and have him take her like the barbarian he was purported to be. The ardor she had felt for Romen was nothing compared with the carnal desire she felt for this golden man who was standing too close, his huge hands gripping her upper arms, their faces a hairbreadth apart, the fire of passion burning between them.

Wyl found his courage. He touched his lips to hers, instantly becoming lost in a sizzling rush of desire and need he had hungered after for too long.

The fire had burned so low it was only glowing embers, but neither noticed the cool of the air. Their naked bodies were still entwined and to Valentyna it was as though they were one. She could not feel where her lean limbs ended and his muscled limbs began. They lay facing each other and she stroked his golden hair while he held her in an embrace she never wanted to leave and stared at her in a way that made her heart leap all over again.

“Perhaps I should have asked first?” he said.

She laughed, full-throated and tinged with a devil-may-care happiness she had never thought she would feel again. “Particularly as it was my first time,” she said, pulling a face.

“I’ll kill myself if I hurt you,” he said fiercely.

“That’s not the sort of comment I would expect from a barbarian king.”

“We are not barbarians,” he said, dropping his hand away.

Her expression betrayed her anguish. “Oh, Cailech, no, I didn’t mean it that way. It was a jest. It’s just that…”

“Just what?” he asked softly, returning his hand to the crook of her back, resting it in the soft dip before the rise of her buttocks.

She felt his fresh arousal and smiled to herself as she realized what power women had over men. Even Kings were vulnerable. No weapon, no threat, no blood; a woman’s body was all it took to make an enemy king compliant. Cailech should have come and seen her before to discuss the problem in the north—she and her kind could have solved it in an instant, she thought, delighting in the fact that she had just lost her virginity to him, and did not have to gift it to Celimus.

“It’s just that I feel as though I know you,” she risked, daring to venture toward her wild thoughts of earlier.

“You do,” he said gently, watching her carefully.

She sat up, her breasts high yet irresistibly heavy and rounded. Wyl could not believe he was really here with her, and more, she was not merely returning his affections but was inviting them, loving them. He too sat up and reached toward her, but she took his hands and put them into her lap.

“We’ve known each other less than two hours, Cailech, and we’ve spent more than half of that time making love. No preamble, no honeyed words, no romantic gestures. It’s impossible that I would act this way—impossible! But I felt a burning for you from the moment we met. Before, in fact. I watched you from my window as you stood on Werryl Bridge, surrounded by guards, and my heart was pounding for you then.”

“Valentyna, I—”

“No, wait. I have to say this.” She smiled, suddenly embarrassed, and pulled around her the dress she remembered him unbuttoning not so long ago. “There are a lot of voices crowding in my mind—a boy called Fynch, for one, whom I adore.” She noticed something dark flicker across his face at the mention of Fynch, but she pressed on, determined to say what had been niggling at her for so long. “He once said something profound to me, which I dismissed as a child’s fancy. I think now I was wrong. Then a friend of mine from Yentro, Elspyth, encouraged me to open up my heart to someone else after I was betrayed by the man I loved, Romen Koreldy.”

Again Wyl tried to speak and again she hushed him, this time with a hand to his lips. Tears welled in her eyes at the mention of Romen. “A noblewoman called Ylena Thirsk came to me to offer her help and then gave herself up like a sacrifice to King Celimus so that the Legion would be withdrawn from our borders. You were there at Felrawthy, Cailech; you would have met her. It was a lie that I sent her to him. It was all her own selfless idea to walk into the dragon’s den.” He nodded and she saw grief in him. “Where is she now?” she asked, almost too frightened to hear the truth.

“She is dead, Valentyna. She showed the courage to match her name. The Thirsks have always been true to Morgravia and yet both Wyl and Ylena pledged themselves to you. They both loved you in their own way.”

His words made her weep openly. “Who killed her?”

“I did,” he whispered.

She looked at him, not understanding. “You?”

He nodded so sadly she had to believe him. “It was an accident. I rescued her from Celimus—he had planned a horrible death for her, which I won’t sully your presence by describing. Suffice to say it was up to his usual cruel and humiliating standard. Aremys and I took her away from Felrawthy and into the Razors.”

“What happened there?”

“She did something very brave—may I leave it at that? I find it painful to think on.” Valentyna heard the tremor in his voice. The description Romen had given of Cailech was of a man who was anything but tender as this man was. In fact, nothing she had seen of the Mountain King matched the description she had heard of the arrogant sovereign. But then, all that was hearsay—always secondhand.

She needed to find out the truth for herself.

“I will grieve for Ylena. She was my friend.”

It was Wyl’s turn to take a chance. “She told me you parted on bad terms.” Valentyna pushed her hair back from her face. “We parted amicably, although there was something between us…Ylena tried to make love to me,” she stammered, surprisingly herself with her candor.

Cailech looked down at their linked hands. “Yes, she told me her error. Wished she could take it back.”

“I wish I could have reacted differently. I was flustered and tactless with her.” Valentyna paused. “But, Cailech—how is it that Knave favors you in the same way he favored Wyl Thirsk, Fynch, Ylena, and Romen?”

I could tell her, he thought frantically, and see what happens. Or he could preserve the lie and not trouble her life with talk of magic. Already a plan was forming in his mind. Now that he had possessed her so completely, he knew he could never let her go, never allow her to be with Celimus. The most daring yet logical scenario seemed to be to call the Mountain warriors into Briavel and take their chances on war with the Legion. If Crys Donal had taken his advice, he would be stirring up trouble within the Legion anyway, and with powerful people such as the Benches behind that push, perhaps Celimus would not have so many of his Legionnaires to count on.

Wyl made his decision. “I have a plan, Valentyna, which may prevent your marrying Celimus. It is dangerous, and spells death for some Briavellians, but I believe it is the right path for your realm. You know that Celimus has killed so many, not the least of whom was your father,” he said, hating to see how his words brought tears, “and so perhaps it is the way you want to go anyway. Until now I haven’t been able to help you. I thought you were as trapped as I am.”

She looked at him and frowned. “You’re not making sense. Why are you trapped?” It was time. This had not been his intention when he set out from the Razors, but then he had not expected that he would be holding a naked Valentyna in his arms. Sharing her body had changed everything. He swallowed hard, wondering at how she would react. “I have to tell you something,” he said.

“I hear fear in your voice,” she replied. “Why does what you are about to say scare you?”

“Because it requires an honesty I have been unable to find before with you. I was scared it would push you away.”

She shook her head. “But you have never met me before,” she said, feeling the soft hairs lift on her arms and behind her neck. This was it. This was what she had searched her soul for.

“I have met you before, Valentyna. I first met you and fell in love with you in this very chamber. Your father was present and we took supper together and you laughed at me because was I too short in your opinion to be an emissary from the King of Morgravia.”

If time could stand still, if a heart could stop beating, if all breath could cease and one could still live, Valentyna believed these things are happening to her now. She kept silent, her eyes riveted on Cailech’s.

“And when I met you again, my beloved”—the King reached for his trousers, pulling from them a handkerchief—“you gave me this.”

Valentyna started sobbing now, deep, heartfelt sobs. She shook her head in denial. What she had wanted to hear suddenly sounded too frightening to contemplate. “I gave that to Romen Koreldy,” she pleaded, squeezing Cailech’s hands so tight her own felt numb. “He was a Grenadyne nobleman, a mercenary.”

“He was me,” Wyl said gently, tears welling in his own eyes. “It was me you loved, Valentyna. Romen was dead—you never knew the real man. I am Wyl Thirsk and I was trapped in Romen’s body.” Words failed her. It was as if she were listening to a language she did not understand. He continued, driving the painful understanding deeper into her heart.

“I returned to your life as Ylena, my own sister. My brave girl tried to stand up to Romen’s killer.”

“Hildyth, the whore,” Valentyna whispered.

“Her real name was Faryl. She was an assassin sent by Celimus to kill Romen, which she successfully achieved, except that it was me inside Romen’s body and the magic, known as the Quickening, forced me to take her life. She died instead.” He pulled Valentyna close, and to his surprise, she permitted it. He went on, determined to tell her everything. “Ylena heard about Faryl. She took her chance at Tenterdyn as I raced to catch up with her and Elspyth, and a lucky blow killed me once again, this time compelling me to take my sister’s life.”

Valentyna sobbed audibly.

“I had to see you, to try to help you,” Wyl went on. “I came back to Werryl and tried so hard not to make a fool of myself, but still I succeeded in doing so. I have loved you, Valentyna, since that very first night. I’m sorry for humiliating you and making you feel so bad about Ylena.” Valentyna took the linen handkerchief from his lap and dried her eyes. She told herself to find some strength. Her father would be ashamed to see her so undone, although it was unlikely he had ever faced anything this daunting in his long life. She sniffed and tried for a watery smile, but failed. She raised her hand to wipe away Wyl’s tears, too.

“I think I knew it then. Your sister showed too many masculine traits—habits I recognized as belonging to Romen. But I just couldn’t make myself believe something so incredible. And so,” she continued for him, “Ylena lost her fight again and became King Cailech; is that right, Wyl?” To hear her speak his true name was more than he had ever dreamed. He kissed her, stroking her hair.

“That’s right,” he said. “I’m Wyl. I’m so sorry for lying to you, but I was just trying to protect you.”

“From myself,” she said harshly, “because I wouldn’t accept the existence of magic.” She thought of all the occasions Fynch had tried so hard to convince her.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Wyl urged. “I would not have believed it either had it not happened to me.”

“But you see, Wyl, others believed you—I presume Aremys knows?” He nodded.

“You see. You have people who trust you. I hate that I did not.”

“You didn’t know!” he said, desperate not to upset her any further.

“I saw the clues. It was all there for me. Knave did everything but speak to me,” she cried. “But…if you were Romen, does that mean that Romen wasn’t real?”

“Oh no, Valentynta, no! Don’t cry. Romen was real, as real as I am here. I was Romen; he was me. It’s me, Wyl, who loves you, who said all of those things to you as Romen.”

“You,” the Queen said, dazed. “Wyl Thirsk. Poor redheaded Wyl.”

“That’s right,” he whispered, sad to feel her draw away from him. “It’s always been me. I stopped you giving yourself to Romen that night; I planned the feast celebrations; I gave you the dove mask and told you I loved you. I wore the black mask and fought Celimus. I would have killed him too, if not for you. It broke my heart to see my betrayal reflected in your eyes.” She stared back at him, wanting to believe but struggling to absorb such shattering news. He understood.

“Know this, Valentyna. Whatever happens now, I have loved you with all my heart. I love you now and I will love you forever, whoever I am. There is nothing you could ever do to make me feel another way, and I shall never give my heart to another. It is yours.”

Valentyna sighed. She was too overwhelmed. She had no more words.

He rescued her. “May I tell you my plan?”

She hesitated, then seemed to relax. “I don’t really know how to reply to your sweet words. I…I loved Romen, and I cannot give you—whoever you are—up.”

Wyl nodded, afraid, yet daring to hope she might be able to love him back.

“Wyl,” she began again, but was interrupted by a frantic knocking. Her soft expression turned to one of terror. “Quick, we must dress!”

Wyl was into his few garments in moments, and was impressed at how quickly and deftly the Queen slipped into her gown despite the intimidating banging on the door. “Stall for time,” he hissed, helping her button the back.

Valentyna was about to call some excuse for the delay when the door burst open and Aremys rushed into the room. He took in the scene in a second and a look of deep apology swept across his face, but the palpable sense of fear that entered the room with him caused all three to forget their embarrassment.

Valentyna was at his side rapidly, praying to Shar that none of her men would notice her dishevelment or guess that her gown was still undone at the back. “We’ll be fine, thank you,” she said, closing the door on the anxious guards.

“What is it?” Wyl asked, stepping to Valentyna’s side and finishing off the buttons on her dress.

“Celimus,” Aremys answered. He could not hide the distress in his voice.

“What? Here?” Valentyna rushed to the windows.

“I’m afraid so. Come on, Wyl, we leave now!”

“You called him Wyl,” Valentyna said, turning from the window and the riders flying Legion colors below. It was true, then. Out of Wyl’s affectionate embrace, the intimate moment lost, the reality felt harsh and suddenly ridiculous.

Aremys shrugged, sheepish. “Well, your highness, I assume he has told you the truth. Is that right, Wyl?” Wyl nodded, glancing toward the Queen with a heavy heart. It was over so soon…before he had even had a chance to put his plan into action.

“Wyl!” Aremys repeated. “We must go, now! My apologies, your highness.” Wyl did not move.

“Go!” Valentyna urged, catching Farrow’s infectious anxiety. “Please. The Legion is entering the palace.”

“Is Celimus here?”

“I don’t know. I can’t—”

Aremys interrupted, angry now. “He’s here in person, Wyl. I beg you, let’s go.” King Cailech took some time to right his clothes, then a calm smile broke across the rugged face that truly reflected the mountain region that had raised him. “This is meant to be, Aremys,” he said, voice soft and sad. “This is it, the culmination of Myrren’s Gift.”

“No!” the Grenadyne yelled, striding toward his friend. “We can escape. If you won’t think about yourself, think about Valentyna and how your presence here will reflect on her.” Wyl had not considered how Celimus might react to finding him here. Aremys was right: He had to leave, if just to protect Valentyna from any suggestion that she was consorting with the enemy behind the Morgravian King’s back.

“What are you talking about?” Valentyna said. “Why is this meant to be?” Aremys caught the stern glance from Wyl and knew this was one secret he had not shared. The mercenary shrugged; he knew when to keep his own counsel.

Liryk saved them further argument by barging in, all protocol disregarded. He was startled to see Aremys. “Who let you in, Farrow?”

“I let myself in, Commander. I lied to your guards; they let me through.”

“This is preposterous, your majesty,” Liryk blustered. “I am supposed to be taking care of your security and it seems anyone can come and go as they please.”

Valentyna took charge, concerned now that Celimus might catch her in Cailech’s company. “Liryk?

What did you come here to tell me?” Her tone brooked no further delay.

The Commander adopted a formal tone old Chancellor Krell would have be proud of “My queen, I am here to tell you that King Celimus has just arrived in the bailey.” Valentyna took a steadying breath. “Thank you. King Cailech cannot be seen here and I need to…tidy up.”

Liryk frowned, still flustered at finding Farrow in the room with them. If only he knew what had happened, Wyl thought. It would have been safer for Valentyna had Farrow been there all along.

“King Cailech,” Liryk said, “I will organize an escape route and divert the Morgravian party, but you must leave now. You have made your peace with Celimus—now let us make ours!” The vehemence in his voice surprised them all. “Your majesty, please go ahead to your chambers. I will let your husband-to-be know that you are not far away.” He emphasized the word “husband,” taking in her disheveled clothes and the heightened color in her cheeks. Looking around the room, he saw that the rug was crumpled and the lavender stalks strewn on the floor were crushed in one spot. Their fragrance overlay another one he knew well from places like the Forbidden Fruit…no, he certainly did not want to take his thoughts down that path. One more day and Valentyna would be on her way to Pearlis, where she would marry King Celimus and finally unite the two realms. Liryk would permit nothing to get in the way of that vision.

Valentyna felt cornered. She nodded at Liryk. “Thank you, Commander.” Then: “King Cailech, it has been enlightening,” she said, extending a hand. The Mountain King kissed it too long and too tenderly for Liryk’s liking.

“Come, gentlemen,” the commander urged. “Your highness, I will wait for you in the main salon.”

“Use the secret door,” she said, and he nodded.

Liryk did not miss the long, meaningful glance exchanged between his queen and the Mountain King, but pretended to ignore it, feeling more relieved with every step he and the two visitors took closer to the door and the passageway that would lead them out of the palace.

Cailech turned just before ducking to enter the secret stairwell. “Valentyna, remember all that I’ve said.

It’s the truth.” And then he was gone.

Valentyna stared as the door closed behind him, leaving her alone. Leaving her to face Celimus and a desperately unwanted marriage while her heart’s light burned fiercely for Wyl Thirsk.