Minstrel's Serenade (8 page)

Reminiscing had no place in this quest. Danika shot her an impatient glance. “The scent of the horses’ blood will draw all manner of predatory beasts. How long?”

“’Twill take an hour at most.”

“Then we shouldn’t waste our breath. Lead us forward.” Danika spurred her horse.

They would have never survived the attack if that massive abomination with malformed ears had attacked at the same time as the other kobolds. Valorian had risked his life keeping them alive. Time for her to save his.

* * * *

The forest changed from a looming threat full of shadows to a fragrant grove of cherrywoods. Their reddish-tinged leaves and low-hanging branches provided a cozy orchard escape. As they passed the low branches, hollow wood chimes clinked around them, creating a calming tinkle of peace and tranquility.

“There must be a thousand of ’um.” Nip spoke behind Danika but the princess didn’t turn around. She couldn’t tell how far her mother could hear and she couldn’t open her heart to care. Valorian’s recovery consumed her every concern.

“That’s how she’s lived here all these years,” Bron murmured. “Protected by a minstrel’s charms.”

A bitter taste tainted Danika’s mouth. A minstrel. Of course.

A cottage made from bluewoods tilted at an angle against a hilltop cleared for a patch of wildflowers and a garden. A flagstone chimney puffed with gray smoke on the southern side.

Danika hadn’t known what to expect, but certainly not this humble hovel perched in the middle of nowhere slanting against a knoll. Born in the affluent, jeweled city of Jamal, her mother had come from riches. She’d compromised for Ebonvale’s inner keep, never mind this sorry beggar’s cabin.

“You may tie your horses here.” Her mother gestured to a fence near a water fountain at the bottom of the hill. She stepped onto a gabled porch as if the cracked wood were a palace and opened the front door. Golden light cast by a simmering fireplace and hanging lanterns spilled around them. “Bring the minstrel to me.”

Bron jumped from the carriage and helped Danika off her horse. “I’ll see to the horses after we usher Valorian inside.”

“Thank you, Bron.” Danika hurried to the carriage door, afraid of what she’d find. They’d ridden for a full hour, as her mother had advised, and Valorian’s condition could have deteriorated.

Swallowing bile, she opened the door. Valorian remained where they’d left him, splayed over the bags of rice. He met her gaze and offered a weak smile. Compassion overflowed her heart. “Come with me, we’ll get you healed up in no time.”

Beside him, Nip clamped his hand over the wound. “I didn’t let go.”

“Good. You did a superb job.” Tears burned Danika’s eyes. For such a good lad, he had dreadful luck. She couldn’t keep the truth from him for much longer. Soon he’d leave the carriage and count two fewer horses, one of them his.

But first she must tend to Valorian. She placed a hand on his shoulder as Bron came up behind them. “Stay here while we get Valorian situated.”

Nip nodded.

Dear Helena, make the boy listen. “That’s an order.”

Danika and Bron carried Valorian into the cottage. They placed him on a low bed of straw covered in rough linen. Gone were her mother’s fancy embroidered pillows. The queen had ordered her handmaidens to arrange and rearrange them on her bed back in Ebonvale. Danika shook off a memory of her mother slapping her sticky hand as a child when she tried to touch a shiny, golden cushion with indigo tassels from Jamal.

Memories came in a flood and Danika swiped at them like bats, turning them all away. She had to focus on Valorian. He wandered in and out of consciousness as blood soaked the scarf she’d tied around him.

Bron paced back and forth in the small room. “I’ll get the boy.”

“Bron.” Danika touched his arm in warning.

“He has to know.” Bron pulled away. “In times like these, boys turn to men sooner than later.”

Danika nodded, frowning. If only she could protect Nip from the truth.

Her mother carried over jars of ointment and bandages from a storage room in the back. She knelt beside Valorian and untied the makeshift tourniquet.

Suspicion clouded Danika’s mind. “Since when are you a healer?”

Her mother didn’t even glance up. “Since I’ve lived alone in these woods. Necessity is the greatest teacher.”

Alone? Where was her minstrel lover? The man she had loved more than Danika and her father?

The prince of the House of Song glanced up and held out a shaking hand. “You can call me Valorian.”

Her mother took his hand in her knobby fingers. Complex emotion sped through her eyes.

Danika leaned forward. Was she remembering her minstrel?

“My name is Sybil.”

“I know.” Valorian closed his eyes as Sybil pressed an ointment into the cut. His response almost knocked Danika backward. Did he know her or know of her? She’d heard rumors the House of Song arranged for her mother and the minstrel to meet and even enabled their escape. If Valorian’s family had been a part of this, she could never link her kingdom with such thieves.

Was she getting carried away? The former queen had left a legacy of infamy back in Ebonvale. Perhaps Valorian just knew the tale.

Behind her, the cottage door opened and Bron stepped in. “Come.” He took Danika’s arm as if sensing the tumultuous feelings storming inside her. “The boy needs you and I have to tend to the horses.”

Danika allowed Bron to escort her to the front porch. The new day had brightened the sky to a dull slate canvas. Nip sat on the last step, staring at the ground.

Danika sat beside him. “I’m sorry about your horse.”

He shrugged and sniffed. Tears streaked his freckled cheeks. “It always happens this way.”

Danika nudged closer to him, afraid to scare him away if she came on too strong. She wasn’t his mother even though the longer she spent with him, the more she wanted to be. “What do you mean?”

He picked a strand of long grass from the ground and tied it into a knot. “Before the wyverns came, Ma asked me to stay inside with her and help her bake sweetbread. Instead I ran into town to see the butcher’s new pair of goats. I never saw her again.”

Danika took his hand. She’d never held such a small hand before. So small, smaller than her hand when she’d lost her mother. The need to comfort him overwhelmed her. “’Tis not your fault.”

“Maybe not. But I should have helped her with the bread. Just like I should have stayed with Thunderhooves. It was the last time I’d ride him.” He threw the knotted grass on the ground. “Whenever I make the wrong choice, the gods take things away from me.”

She smoothed his curly hair behind his ear. “Gods do not punish little boys for being little boys. All you can do is appreciate what you have before it’s gone.”

“I have nothing.”

She squeezed his hand. “You have me.”

Nip leaned against her. She sat holding him and watching Bron clean the horses. The boy fell asleep and she carried him inside. Valorian tossed in a feverish sleep, lying in fresh bandages. Her mother clanged bottles in the back, perhaps creating some new herbal remedy to help him. Danika placed Nip on a cushion on the floor. She should stay by Valorian but the small cottage suffocated her. She needed fresh air. She denied the thought that she needed Bron.

* * * *

Twilight had given way to early rays of golden sun. She put both arms on the splintered balcony as Bron brought their horses to the fountain and cleaned their hooves.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You were right to ask her aid.”

Danika squeezed the railing, the wood slivers pricking her skin. “I don’t trust her.”

“You have every right not to.” He threw a clod of mud under one of the cherrywoods and went back to work picking her horse’s hooves.

“Why do you still bow before her?” Danika couldn’t hide the hurt in her voice.

“Because I took an oath to protect and obey every member of the Ebonvale household. She is still my ward, but that doesn’t mean I don’t harbor the same feelings racing through your heart. Do not forget, I was there, too, Princess. I witnessed the pain she caused you and your father.”

Pain that was still as raw as the day she’d read that dreadful note.

“You must find a way to forgive her or at least give her a second chance. Even if your heart forbids it.” Bron had finished with the horses’ hooves and walked to the balcony, gazing at her like a lover reciting a poem. “’Twill benefit your sanity and peace of mind. She is lending you aid. She saved us. Maybe she wants to set her wrongs right.”

“They will never be set right. She cannot give me back the ten years I lost with her.”

“So, use the time you have left.”

Danika harrumphed and turned her head away to the gray morning sky, ravens circling the dark part of the forest from whence they’d come. The time she had left? While their kingdom hung in the balance, rekindling her relationship with her estranged mother would be the last path she would choose.

Bron’s touch brought her out of her musing. He reached up and laced his thick fingers through hers. “Stubborn to a fault. That’s my princess.”

Her gaze traveled to his, locking in place. It was the first time she’d truly seen him since the start of their journey. The first time she’d let him in. My Princess. Valorian had called her the same thing. But, coming from Bron, it excited her in dangerous ways.

His hot touch lent her strength, a different kind of strength than Valorian’s songs. Danika blushed and guilt overcame her for having such feelings while the minstrel lay wounded. Her gaze wandered to his shoulder caked in dried blood.

“Dear heavens. I forgot you’re hurt.”

Bron shrugged, eyeing the wound as if it were an insect bite. “A kobold’s dagger is like a butter knife.”

“A butter knife?” That same dagger had killed a horse. She took her hand back and gestured toward the door. “You should clean the wound all the same. Follow me and I’ll see you get the attention you need.”

“As you wish, Princess.” Wistfulness lightened Bron’s voice.

Longing tempted Danika to look back. No, Valorian needed her. Instead, she pushed open the cottage door and allowed the golden light to burn away the secrets in the morning mist outside.

Sybil sat on the foot of the bed, cleaning the bloodied scarf she’d once left behind for Danika in a reed bucket full of soapy water.

Guilt overwhelmed her. Valorian lay in pain while she spoke of secret longings with Bron. Danika knelt by the minstrel’s side, sliding her fingers over his hand. “How is he?”

Sybil glanced up and down again quickly, as if afraid to meet Danika’s searing gaze for too long. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but he’ll survive. He’ll have to rest for a day or two, and he won’t regain full mobility for another week or so.”

Danika breathed in relief. “Will he be able to play his lute?”

Her mother nodded. “Although, I don’t wish to hear it. Too many memories.”

The comment piqued Danika’s interest. Had her mother’s minstrel lover died? She quelled her curiosity. With Bron needing attention, talking of the past would only slow her mother’s nursing down. Danika gestured for Bron to come forward. “Can you tend to one more?”

“For Bronford, I would do anything.” Sybil’s face cracked into a smile. “Come here, my son.”

Bron must have felt like a son to Sybil because she’d recruited him when Danika was ten and he sixteen. Danika remembered Bron competing in the tournament and her mother bestowing him with a gold medal of honor. The competition must have been one of the most meaningful days in Bron’s life. He must share her mixed emotions concerning Sybil. Although, forgiveness came easier to him.

Bron walked over and knelt near her mother, bowing his head. “My Queen.”

“No need to address me so formally here.” She gestured for him to rise and peeled back his leather jerkin. “Please, call me Sybil.”

Bron’s face set in a grim line. Danika doubted he’d ever address a former queen so casually. His loyal heart would never allow such a dishonor. She could learn from his steadfast nature. He’d spoken the truth earlier. If only she could allow herself the luxury of taking his advice.

Brilliant Sun

Bron gazed into the former queen’s face. A regal woman still lived behind the mask of freckles, age spots and a clouded left eye. Every now and then, when she pursed her lips or straightened her neck with commanding poise, the queen shone through.

“Hold still.” Sybil dabbed at the cut in his shoulder. “This should heal nicely. You’ll have another proud scar.”

“I’ll add it to my collection.” Bron smiled, wondering how a woman with so much elegance, power and grace could fall to such lowly means. But, beyond her impeccable composure, he needed to know if the path she’d chosen for her life contented her. He owed her at least that much consideration. If unhappiness plagued her, he owed her a means of escape.

The beggar should always remember the hand that threw him the first coin.

Years ago, the queen had elevated him from poverty to distinction. Now the festival tables were turned and he held the hand full of coins.

A cooling sensation spread down Bron’s arm and throughout his body as Sybil spread ointment over his shoulder. His blood had run hot ever since he sensed the kobolds proximity, and now he finally allowed his body to relax.

“Time for rest.” Sybil pulled out another cushion and dragged it next to Nip.

She gestured for Bron to sit and he followed her instructions, letting the weariness of the day overtake him. “Close your eyes and let the medicine work its miracle.”

“The princess?”

“She’s outside. I’ll find a bed for her as well.” Sybil’s voice grew authoritative. “You take excellent care of her, but sometimes you must refuel your own wells. Rest, my son.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bron settled with his back against the wall and his long legs stretched out in front of him. His mind wandered back into memories he hadn’t visited in a long time.

Bron wove in and out of the crowded thoroughfares of Ebonvale’s inner district, following Hule’s head of golden curls. The limitless wave of people pushed both boys forward in a relentless tide. He could have turned back at the city gates, or even before they hitched a ride on a manure wagon from Oaten’s Dell to the capitol. Not now.