“Lose?” She laughed cynically. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Hopefully, you’re going to the throne room, my lady. Shouldn’t keep the king and queen waiting.” The older man glanced at Nathaniel. He nodded, then backed farther away. He shouldn’t have been eavesdropping on their conversation. This unhealthy preoccupation with his brother’s intended had to stop.
Valoria leaned over and touched the old man’s forehead. She whispered something in his ear, then left him to survey the other wounded minstrels.
Nathaniel kept his distance. Instead of following her to each of her people’s beds, he approached the chained raider. He was just a boy with red fuzz for a beard and freckles sprinkled across his dirty cheeks. Sprawled across the bed in tattered clothing, he breathed laboriously, as if each intake of air would be his last. A nasty gash stretched across his stomach. Nathaniel’s gut tightened. This boy must have been close to his real brother’s age the day the wyverns attacked Shaletown.
Pill. His true brother. He hadn’t thought of him in years.
The boy spit at Nathaniel, wriggling against his bindings. “You might as well kill me now, because I’m telling you nothing.”
Nathaniel leaned down, examining the cut. The medic had staunched the bleeding, but the wound ran deep. With so many of their own people needing care, the battlefield surgeon would treat him last. He probably wouldn’t live through the night.
This could have been him, or Pill, if he’d survived the attack. Where had Ebonvale gone wrong?
“Listen closely, I’m not here to weed out your friends, just relocate them. Temple monks purge the southern lands as we speak. Soon the soil will be ripe for planting. All Ebonvale needs are people willing to go back.”
The boy winced and held his stomach. “Lies. All of it. That soil won’t grow a sprig if you brought your royal horse to fertilize it himself.”
A few soldiers standing by the door placed their hands on their hilts and stepped forward. Nathaniel waved them back. “How do you know if you do not try? It cannot be much worse than raiding caravans on the road for scraps.”
“Starve here or starve there, the only difference is the scenery.”
The prisoner was right about that. The wyverns had scorched most of the south, leaving a dry wasteland. The temple monks had a large undertaking in reclaiming it. But, they’d never succeed without volunteers to cultivate the land.
The boy grabbed his arm, leaving bloody fingerprints on his armor. “What do you know of loss? You have a castle, an army, fancy armor, sprawling orchards.”
Nathaniel met the boy’s accusing stare. “Shaletown was my home. The wyverns took my entire family away from me. You have to make something of what fate has given you, or else you’ll always be a victim.”
“I’m not a victim. I’m a fighter.” The boy pulled his arm away.
Nathaniel shook his head, wishing he could believe him. When he looked down at that bed, he saw himself.
Someone cleared their throat behind him. Nathaniel turned around, feeling as though he’d woken from a daze.
Valoria crossed her arms and steeled her gaze like a warrior charging into battle. Blood stained her white gown across her breasts and down her arm. “I’m ready.”
If only he could bring her a new dress. Nathaniel thought of the shop across the street, then paused. Perhaps she’d done this on purpose to show the effort and the loss the minstrels had poured into this union. Who was he to take that away and pretty her up like some prize to be won?
“Very well.” He signaled to the soldiers at the door and offered his arm. She placed her hand on his armor, light as a feather, and he led her back outside where her retinue waited. The minstrels still able to play began their fanfares, and they walked to the throne room.
When they were out of earshot from the others, Valoria turned toward him. “Tell me about your brother.”
Nathaniel kept the emotion from his face. What could he tell her and still be truthful without driving her away?
“Brax is a strong and proud man, and a born leader. He has a clear vision of what Ebonvale should be and fights for that ideal every day of his life.”
Valoria pursed her lips as if he’d told her nothing she wanted to hear. “Is he kind-hearted?”
Nathaniel resisted the urge to flinch. Kind was not the appropriate word to describe Brax. “He has a strong sense of justice.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.” But it would have to do.
They climbed the marble-veined steps to Helena and Horred’s ancient temple. Most of the rock had been reconstructed or replaced, but a few of the great steps of the past remained. Nathaniel always felt honored to walk upon them.
They entered the main antechamber and climbed the spiral steps to the main hall above. Paintings of the previous monarchs and their families adorned the walls. Valoria studied each one carefully. Why not give her some information that might help her at court later on?
Nathaniel pointed to the first painting. “This was King Artemis Rubystone, slayer of the great Necromancer King, and ruler of Ebonvale for twenty-five years.” He motioned to the painting beside it, this one framed in rubies and gold. “Here is his first wife, Islador of the Northern Isles. She died of a fever only a year after they married, but he never stopped loving her memory.”
“So I’ve heard.” Valoria raised an eyebrow.
He wondered if she knew the king’s undying love for Islador had driven his second wife into the minstrel’s arms. “This is his second wife, Sybil of Jamal. Although you may have heard the stories of her exile, she now lives in the farthest turret on the southern side of the castle and advises her daughter, the queen.”
Sybil’s delicate, youthful face in the painting was much different than the wrinkled, sun-splotched old woman she’d grown into. Yet, she’d grown wiser as well, at least in Nathaniel’s eyes. Although not well liked by Ebonvale’s people, she was like a grandmother to him.
“I’m not like others. I do not judge matters which I’m not a part of.”
Nathaniel nodded, impressed. This minstrel woman would be a fair ruler someday. He pointed up ahead. “Next are the king and queen.”
Danika stood with Bron at her side. Her fierce stare showed the passion underlying her regal composure, while her hand gripping tightly on Bron’s arm showed her undying love for her husband. She’d risked the kingdom’s safety taking Bron instead of Valoria’s father as her husband. She loved the warrior more than anything in the world.
Nathaniel paused, studying the pair. Maybe someday, he’d find such a love.
“Finally, here’s the portrait you’ve been waiting for: Braxten Thoridian, son of Danika and Bron.” His brother stood in his silver battle armor, brandishing his thick, jewel-crusted claymore as if preparing to slay a wyvern.
Valoria paused at Brax’s painting. The paint revealed the hard lines of his massive jaw, sleek shaved head, and barrel-shaped nose. Some women were drawn to intimidation and strength. But her face gave away no emotion.
Nathaniel leaned toward her, searching her silver eyes. He’d be lying if he told himself he didn’t care what she thought.
Chapter 3
Empty Throne
Valoria struggled to keep a straight face as she beheld her future intended. With arms wide as tree trunks, a square nose and beady eyes, he reminded her more of a raging bull