Only the Bold

Still, there was no response from the figure huddled in the corner. Genevieve found herself hoping it wasn’t because of what they’d done to Garet here; that they hadn’t tortured him to the point where he couldn’t speak to her.

“Garet, please,” Genevieve said. “I’m on your side. I want to get you out of here. I know that so many of the things I’ve done look like I’m with Altfor, but I can promise you that all of them have been because I love Royce. I’ve even sent messages to him, telling him about Altfor’s plans. Do you know that he plans to make the southern attack a feint; that he will send an army around to the north in ships?”

“I do,” the figure said, and just those two words were enough to make Genevieve’s blood freeze in her veins. She knew that voice, and it wasn’t Garet’s.

The figure stood up, letting the cloak fall from him. Altfor stood there in the half-light, his grin only made more evil by the candle’s glow.

“I thought you might do this,” he said, advancing on her. Genevieve was so stunned that she didn’t even react as he plucked the keys from her hands. “I thought that the presence of the boy might get you to show your true colors, give me an excuse to do as I wished.”

Genevieve knew what he was threatening, and instantly her mind fled to the one shield she knew she had. “I am your wife.”

“A wife who loves my enemy!” Altfor roared. “And also a traitor. Being a noblewoman won’t protect you now.”

“I’m carrying your child,” Genevieve pointed out.

“Yes,” Altfor said. “Yes, you are.”

He stepped past her to the door, through it and gone before Genevieve could react. His face appeared at the viewing slit.

“I will decide what to do with you,” he said. “Maybe I’ll wait until you bear my child and then have you executed. Maybe I won’t. Rest assured though, Genevieve, that you are going to die for this.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

As they sailed, Royce was aware of the sense of hope on the boat. They’d found his father, the mirror sat in its bag in the bottom of the boat, and now they were heading for home. They’d actually done what they’d set out to do, in spite of all the challenges that the Seven Isles had put in their way. If they could do that, maybe they could do everything else that needed to be done as well.

“It’s actually the king,” Mark whispered to him, looking over to where Royce’s father was sitting, looking out over the waves. His friend sounded awestruck, and seemed to follow King Philip’s every move, as if waiting for instructions for him.

“And my father,” Royce said. As far as he was concerned, that was the important part.

“Your father, the king,” Mark agreed. “I’m sorry, I know how I sound, and you’ve done plenty of impressive things, but I know you.”

“And in time, you’ll know my father too,” Royce said. He wanted to get to know his father better too. After all this time apart, they had a lot to catch up on. Royce wanted to know all that his father had done in the time since he’d left, and wanted to learn more about what kind of man he was.

He started to make his way forward, toward the spot where his father was sitting. That meant going past where Matilde and Neave were perched amidships. The two appeared to be bickering about some story of his father’s exploits.

“I’m telling you,” Matilde said. “He was a great hero. He fought the nobles.”

“He was a noble,” Neave countered, “and then he lost to the nobles.”

“He fought monsters.”

“We’ve fought monsters,” Neave pointed out.

“He hunted bandits to keep the roads safe.”

“Some of them were Picti.”

“Is that what this is about? You don’t like him because he’s fought Picti? Because I’ve fought Picti. I beat you, remember.”

“Is everything all right?” Royce asked, before the argument could take off into more. It was always hard to tell with these two whether they were truly arguing or not.

“Neave doesn’t think that your father is someone worth following,” Matilde said.

Neave shook her head. “You’re the one who thinks that we should just follow him blindly, without thinking.”

“Neave?” Royce said with a frown. Did the Picti girl have some kind of problem with the return of his father?

“I’m glad we found him,” Neave said, “and I know that he’ll be useful in the battles to come, but Mark and Matilde are looking at him like… it’s almost as bad as the way we all looked at Lethe. No questioning, no thinking, just awe.”

“Because the rightful king has been found again!” Matilde insisted. “What more do you want? I thought the Picti always followed those who could display the right magical signs.”

“Those who can make the stones sing and make the old magic respond have our respect,” Neave agreed. “But we do not follow blindly. Sometimes someone must lead, but that does not mean we follow without thought, without asking questions, without deciding for ourselves what is right.”

“Is there going to be a problem among the Picti with my father coming back?” Royce asked her.

“I don’t know,” Neave admitted. “He is a man who has done many impressive things, but he was also the one who left the kingdom to King Carris and his nobles. He could have given us back our place in the world, and didn’t. He could have done more.”

“Perhaps he will this time,” Royce suggested.

“Perhaps,” Neave said. “In any case, I will continue to follow you. I heard you make the stones sing, at least, and you have shown me that you are someone who does what is right, Royce.”

Royce felt a note of pride at that, grateful for Neave’s trust after everything they’d been through. Maybe it was even good that someone was less in awe of his father than Mark and Matilde seemed to be, because it would help to keep things in check, help to make sure that they were all following along for the right reasons.

For now, he made his way further along the boat, to where his father was sitting, looking ahead at their progress with Gwylim the bhargir nearby. It almost looked as if his father was discussing something with the wolf-like beast, Gwylim’s head turning in acknowledgment as his father spoke.

“If I can return you to what you were, I will,” his father said. “But you must also know the dangers of the things that are to come. Without your skin, you may be trapped, but you are still powerful.”

“Father?” Royce said, moving closer.

His father turned and smiled up at him. “It’s so good to hear you call me that. I have just been discussing plans with our friend here.”

“And do you think he understood all of it?” Royce asked. It seemed so strange to be talking to a thing that looked like a wolf.

“Do you understand what a bhargir is, Royce?” his father asked. “A man who could take the skin of a beast imbued with magic and become it. An old thing, and a powerful one. A creature like him can heal wounds that he suffers, can fight against the most ferocious foes, and then walk back into camp as the man he was. Except that this one cannot.”

Royce nodded. He understood that. Even so, it was hard sometimes not to think of Gwylim as the creature he appeared to be.

“You have strange and powerful companions,” his father said, with a gesture up toward the circling form of Ember. “You will need to speak to your witch soon, because I would like to know what she plans to do next. As for me… may I borrow your sword for a while?”

“It’s yours, if you want it,” Royce said. He took the obsidian blade from his belt and held it out almost reverently.

His father shook his head. “Not to keep. Living alone for so long has taught me a few skills, though, and I think that I can help make this blade better.”

“Better?” Royce said.

“A warrior should have a good sword,” his father said. “Go, speak with your witch. I will do what I can here.”

Royce wanted to explain to his father that it wasn’t that easy; that Lori was only there to speak to rarely, when she wanted. His father seemed so confident, though, that Royce reached up his senses toward Ember, calling out to Lori as he did so.