been given the task to discover more about me, you’re
very quiet.” The sniggering staff were used to Librye
being so forward, Kailron would have to get used to it.
He was used to a more adult conversation.
“Apologies,” he said with a twisted smile. Children
were clearly not his strongest subject. “Where were
you born?”
Librye began to eat, chicken, with seasonal
vegetables, one of her favourites. “I don’t know, I was
a baby when it happened.”
Kailron was already running out of patience. “Did
you know your parents?”
“No, they died, or so I assume, no survivors were
found.”
“Did you know their names?”
Her eyes narrowed and head twisted back. “How
could I know that? I was a baby! How many babies do
you know of who know their parent’s names, the
village where they were born, or anything other than
how to feed while not drowning?” The staff were
struggling to hold their laughter.
Kailron said through gritted teeth, “I apologise,
Librye. It has been many years since a child lived in
the palace, or since I came across one myself.” His
tone relaxed, “I don’t often have a task such as this
placed with me.”
She relaxed her posture. Kailron was not like the
other councillors, his fifty something face was not as
wrinkled, his imperfections were not yet starting to
show, his hair was still brown, not the grey the other
councillors carried.
“I understand, let me guide you,” she suggested,
“as far as I’m aware, I was found by a soldier in a
village in the north, called Farhope, my parents were
both assumed dead. I was taken to a war camp, close
to the Bourellis borders.”
Her exceptional linguistic skills baffled Kailron.
He leant forward; he had not even started eating yet.
His tone was filled with mystery, wonder, “How old
are you?”
“It was believed I was only a few months when I
was found, I like the orange turns, the autumn, I
decided that I would celebrate my birth in the turns I
like the most. By now, I could be six maybe seven
years old.”
“Fascinating,” commented Kailron, he seemed
impressed with Librye. “Let’s talk of your abilities.”
“My abilities?” she asked, confused.
Kailron sat back, his hands were placed firmly
beside his plate. “They tell me you are gifted,” his
wonder seemed to turn dark, twisted, “a gift of power,
I know Brenin has seen it, Mord also explains she has
seen you turn water a magical blue glow, and your
ability to read so well at a young age.”
“I’m onto the other wall of Brenin’s chambers,”
she proudly announced. “I do have powers, Mother
taught me how to use them.”
Kailron froze, he furrowed his brow and narrowed
his eyes. “Mother?”
“Yes,” her eyes were soft and relaxed as she
continued to eat her meal. “A pooka in the north, they
call her Mother, because that’s what she is,” she
innocently explained.
Kailron relaxed, he placed his hands on his lap
and sat back in his chair. “And what are these
powers?”
“I can make things grow, she taught me of nature,
and how to wield it. She also taught me a little fey
magic, but that is something I can learn from the fey.
She also taught me about listening to the stars. Egan
was sure to teach me more when he visited.” Kailron
raised his brows, he held disapproval towards the
dragons. “But the one thing she taught me, was how
not to use them.”
“Why would you not want to use them?” His
growing curiosity had turned to fascination.
“Because I don’t want to kill people.” Her
innocent reply sent a shiver through to his very soul.
“You may want to start eating, it’s going cold.”
Their evening together revealed a lot to Kailron,
Librye was not hiding anything from the council, apart
from her secret room. She told him all she could of
her secrets, but this was with a strange warning he
found unnerving. The table was cleared, Kailron had
spent much of his time listening.
“Before we take leave,” said Kailron as he began to
stand, “your secrets, how do you know they are not
just your own mind, attempting to guide you?”
It was a valid question, but Librye knew the
consequences of such questioning. “A warning,
councillor Kailron.” She looked directly into his eyes;
a cold glare came towards him from the small,
formidable child. “I like you; I think you’re nice, a bit
stiff but nice. Never question my secrets, eternal
damnation, in the pits of Tataria, is all that awaits
those who question…them.”
Her warning was clear. It confused Kailron, as they
left the room, he watched Librye skip towards the
main hall. Connor awaited Kailron’s arrival at the
fountain.
“Good evening,” greeted Librye as she skipped
past him. He smiled and bowed towards her.
Kailron made his way towards him. His clean
black robes brushed the floor as he walked towards
Connor.
“Well?” asked Connor, his rushed tone forced
Kailron to shush him, he did not want Librye to hear.
Kailron watched as Librye disappeared up the
stairs and into the east wing. “The girl is remarkable.”
Kailron held a look of affection towards the
disappearing figure of Librye. “She holds promise.”
Looking back to Connor, his look of affection soon
died.
Connor began pressing Kailron. “Is it possible she
is the girl from the prophecy? Is she the star child?”
he asked with a secretive voice.
Kailron wanted to wait, he had made his mind up
long ago that not all within the council could be
trusted. “I will need more time.”
Connor was not pleased. “You have until the end
of the turn.” The two made their way from the hall
and back towards their chambers in the west wing, the
west wing echoed the footsteps of the councillors, the
halls remained silent.
It had happened rarely for Harris as he woke with
the same woman in his bed for an entire turn. Many
battles had been fought, all had been won, but
somehow the Atlanti forces were replenishing their
numbers, overnight.
The Duir moon quivered in the wake of the ocean,
the view from the high turrets was perfect that night,
the stars lit the skies above them as Harris and
Branwen stood alone atop the Castle Marrion.
“Did you ever think this possible?” asked
Branwen. Harris stood behind her; his arms wrapped
around her waist as he kissed her soft, delicate neck.
He turned her to face him. “Think what possible?”
his voice sent a sultry shiver through
her.
“Did you ever think that you could spend your life
with one woman, only?” her brows raised as she
awaited his reply.
Harris drew back. “It’s been less than a turn,” he
mocked with an indecisive laugh, “I can hardly say that
is life.”
She was hurt by his words. Branwen looked down,
avoiding his eyes. “From the way you act out there,”
she flicked her head in the direction of the fields, “this
is near the end of your life.”
“I have seen worse, Bran,” replied Harris, his tone
was low, he had seen much worse than what Marrion
had to offer. “You make it sound as though you are
still convinced, we could one day be together.”
“A woman can dream,” she softly replied, he could
see the hurt in her eyes, “why would it be so awful?”
The disappointment in her voice sparked misery in
Harris.
Harris let her go, he walked to the centre of the
turret. The silence in the air that night spoke of the
peace they both wanted for their world, but Harris
knew that the world they wanted would never exist.
“We’ve spoken of this,” he looked to the cold
turret floor, “we can’t, we can be together here, but
your mother…”
“Again with this?” she interrupted him; her
displeasure of his fear showed as she stepped forward.
She held her hands out palms up as she begged him,
“my mother need never know.”
His voice was tender as he walked slowly towards
her, taking her hands he replied, “I can never be the
one for you, a lord, the son of a king or queen.” She
began to step back from him as she turned her head
away, Harris held her hands tighter. “We can have our
moment here, I’ve done as I promised, I’ve kept you
intact, your chastity is still yours.” His voice remained
filled with misery, he wanted to make her feel better,
while knowing she had changed him. “Your mother
had you, to solidify our kingdoms, I am not of Xencliff
royalty, you said it yourself.” He held her close to him,
feeling the warmth of her heartbeat pressed against his
chest gave him a fleeting feeling of hope within a
hopeless world. “I would never allow us, I would
never allow you, to live a life in the shadows, forever
hiding what we have.”
“But what if…” Branwen paused, the night was
perfect, how she felt was perfect and she did not want
her words to ruin it. She had to tell him. “What if what
we have is love?” her eyes flickered between his, he
remained slightly shocked, although he tried not to
show it. “I am trying to tell you, Harris, I love you.”
Her shaking voice unnerved him; it sent a shiver
through him. Raising his brows; he took her hands
and entwined their fingers; his eyes widened.
“Then don’t, Bran, don’t say it, and don’t love
me.”
Her body felt cold. Harris had refused to accept
her love of him, he had been with no other woman
since Branwen, but soon it would all be over, when the
battle ended, so would they.
The summer morning in Marrion brought with it
an unexpected arrival. The king’s carriage made its
way through the castle gate and into the courtyard.
Branwen was already on her way towards the kitchens
to collect any laundry when she saw the wooden
carriage arrive. Stood on the mezzanine, she watched
as Brenin stepped from his carriage. His face was
kind, he thanked his staff as he stepped from the
carriage. She wanted to meet Brenin, but she was not
dressed to meet the king. Her drab clothes did not
speak of royalty. Quickly, she pressed on towards the
castle kitchens.
Harris stood in his chambers, he heard the rattle
approach, someone walked across the mezzanine with
purpose. He looked to the door and waited. Brenin
burst inside.
“Ah! Wonderful to see you dressed, Harris,”
mocked Brenin as he stepped inside.
Harris could not help but laugh. He dropped the
papers he was reading onto his bed. “What a
wonderful surprise,” he walked towards Brenin with a
wide smile. He greeted his king. “What has you
here?”
“You nearly killed me,” mocked Brenin with a low
tone, “I put a lot of work into getting the council to
approve your leadership.” Brenin stepped further into
the room with is arms behind his back. “Then you
nearly get yourself killed.”
Harris laughed, “It was just a scratch,” he walked
towards the drink’s shelf and began to pour a glass of
moonshine for Brenin. “Surely you aren’t here just for
that?”
“I said the same,” sneered Afie as she stepped
from behind Brenin.
“Apologies, Harris, this is my chief adviser, Afie.”
Brenin stepped to the side, allowing Afie in.
Afie looked Harris up and down, her inspection of
him was uncomfortable for Harris. “So, this is your
commander?” she asked as she turned towards
Brenin, “I didn’t meet you the last time I was here, I
was unwell,” Afie stepped closer to Harris, a fresh
scent of tea tree hit her as she made her way behind
him. “I must say, the rumours are true,” she nodded
Harris could not help but smile. He looked over
his shoulder slightly as he replied, “I could prove it if
you like,” he turned to face Afie, “age is nothing but a
concept. Would you like a drink, my lady?”
She raised her brows towards him, an instant like
towards him was clear. “No, thank you.” Harris took a
large drink of his ale. “I have seen your work, I must
say it’s impressive, however, you’re needed elsewhere
now.”
Harris stopped drinking; his eyes were wide as he
looked to her. “Pardon?” he was clearly shaken.
Afie walked back towards Brenin. “I am here to
deliver your orders,” said Brenin, “time is ticking, this
turn alone has seen the end of one battle, and the start
of three,” he regretfully explained.
“I can’t leave here,” insisted Harris, he felt odd, his
body felt weak, his hands began to tremble, “I’m not
ready yet.”
It was the first time Brenin had seen any kind of
emotion from Harris. “Harris, your talents would
serve the kingdom better in Cronnin, I am here to put
things into place, before you leave for Cronnin.”
Harris slowly shook his head. “Leave?” he heard
from the door. Branwen stood, her face was a picture
of loss and trepidation.
Harris tried to break the mood as he walked
towards her. “Branwen,” he greeted, his voice was a
shiver of regret, “I believe you’re yet to meet our
king.”
Awkwardly, Branwen stepped inside. “I know that
name,” said Brenin as he turned. He squinted slight
ly
as he looked to her, “my goodness,” he said with a
wide smile. “You’re so much like your mother, such
ageless beauty in the face of the fey.”
Branwen curtsied to him. Not wanting to be rude
she turned to Afie. “My lady,” she bowed.
“Oh please,” smirked Afie, “we will have none of
the formalities.” Her insistence of a relaxed meeting
was understandable. Standing on ceremony at the
palace was always an awful bore to Afie, this was a
chance for her to finally let go. “My dear, why are you
here?”
Branwen seemed coy as she walked towards
Harris. “I am in my service, I was supposed to leave at
the last turn; however, duties here have hindered my
leaving.”
Harris explained, “Branwen has been helping your
champion heal,” he looked to Brenin, “she makes the
most wonderful nurse; she saved my life.”
With a muffled laugh Branwen replied, “I didn’t
save your life.”
“Don’t be so modest, my dear,” said Brenin as he
stepped towards her, “I must extend my thanks to you.
The world needs more nurses, the bravest of the
battle.” His brows raised; he was clearly impressed
with her. “I can only assume, that given you’ve been
spending time with Harris, he has charmed you?” he
asked with a disapproving tone.
Branwen still seemed coy, her muffled laugh drew
Brenin in as she replied, “Oh please, my mother
would gut him. I am untouched, one of the sacred fey,
Harris has no power here.” Harris finally knew, from
that moment he knew what jealousy was. He looked to
Branwen with a wrinkle in the centre of his brow, as
Branwen went on. “He is neither king nor lord.” She
gave a fleeting glance towards Harris who stared at her
with his mouth gaping. “He has tried, but I am not
destined to be the outcast of a Xencliff wife.” Her
laugh cut Harris like a knife.
“Surely, you wouldn’t be that foolish, you’d even
try?” mocked Brenin as he looked to Harris. Harris
gave a huff of laughter with a pinched expression.
Afie stepped forward. “Who could blame him?”
she asked, “the family of Duirwud are well known for
their beauty,” her eyes drifted about Branwen. “But
the family Bearwood,” she said with a low tone, “must
also be known for theirs, if you weren’t so young,