Seirsha of Errinton Page 5

  Dragons linger amongst the desolate, solitary peaks, grouping mainly around natural hot springs. They feed off the hardy wildlife that lives here despite the odds. Any animals we do manage to keep must be sheltered or the dragons steal them as well.

  The only creature that truly seems to thrive in Errinton is the shaggy, cow-like iktar beast, an animal so unpalatable, even the dragons won’t eat them.

  Archer says something, and Rigel glances over his shoulder. His gaze is piercing, and his frustration snaps in the air around him.

  He won’t meet my eyes.

  I glance at Pippa, excuses to go back forming in my mind. It’s too late, though. We’ve already passed the gates.

  I don’t speak to Rigel, and he doesn’t speak to me. Archer and Pippa try to fill in the silence with light conversation, but even their manner is strained. I steal another glance at the dark, brooding lord, but his eyes are everywhere but on me.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Do you ride often?” Pippa asks, matching her pace with mine.

  “No.”

  She laughs. “I would if I were you. There’s a heaviness in your castle; I felt the weight of it the moment we entered.”

  The Lauramorian princess has no idea.

  I’ve never been to Lauramore—I’ve never been anywhere, for that matter—but they are known to be a vibrant little kingdom. We’re on better terms with their royal family than any other in Elden. Their princess marrying one of our lords did our tentative alliance no harm.

  We’re about an hour from the castle, and Pippa is right. The air seems lighter the farther we ride. We stay in the valleys, not wishing to venture higher on the still-snowy mountain trails.

  Rigel hasn’t spoken to me.

  He and Archer ride ahead of us, talking again of ore, mining, and other things I know little about. Pippa said the ride would clear the air, but she was wrong. I feel as if there is a stretched cord between us, and as the day goes on, the tighter it is pulled. Eventually, the tension will be too much, and the cord will snap, leaving us worse off than we were to begin with.

  “Pippa,” Archer calls over his shoulder, giving her a smirk that would make my heart lurch if it were directed at me. “Do you see that large boulder?”

  She and her fair horse race forward, startling me. Archer’s off in a flash, and the two of them are neck in neck, racing across the valley. Her laughter cuts through the cool afternoon air.

  I stare at them, dumbfounded.

  “What are they doing?” I ask Rigel, too startled to care we aren’t speaking.

  He eyes the pair. “I believe they’re enjoying themselves.”

  There’s a yearning in his wry answer. His dark eyes finally meet mine, and the air leaves my lungs. A dull ache spreads in the empty spot where my heart once held hope.

  “I wonder what that would be like,” I murmur.

  Rigel lets out a breath that’s not quite a sigh. It’s a sound of resignation. He nudges his horse on. I follow, and we lead our mounts at a sedate walk.

  “Seirsha, I…” He shakes his head.

  Rigel won’t look at me again, but somehow it’s easier this way. At first, I focus on the pair in front of us, but they are too happy—too free. I look instead at the craggy peaks in the distance. Rigel runs a hand through his hair and growls with frustration, as if he’s searching for the words to break the tension between us, but he can’t find them.

  “He wants me to spy on you,” I say as I focus on the trees in the distance. A sudden breeze whips at my hair, and I pull my cloak tight around my shoulders.

  From the corner of my eye, I see him tilt his head in my direction. “There would be nothing to report.”

  His attention is on my boot instead of my face.

  Tears sting my eyes, and I blink them away. When he doesn’t say anything else, I cautiously glance at him.

  His eyes rise to mine. “You are worth so much more than he wants you to believe.”

  I clench my jaw, trying to trap in whatever emotion it is that I’m feeling.

  “I won!” Pippa calls to us. She tosses her head in triumph. Archer gives her an indulgent smile.

  Glad for the distraction, I say, “They’re nauseating.”

  My chest constricts with something that conspicuously feels like jealousy. I scowl, irritated with myself.

  “They were worse during the tournament,” Rigel says. “All longing glances and stolen moments.”

  Completely unbidden, a smile plays on my lips.

  He frowns. “What is it?”

  I sneak a peek at him. “I never thought I would hear you say ‘longing glances’ or ‘stolen moments’—and certainly not in the same breath.”

  Rigel shakes his head as a grin stretches across his face. “Well, let’s hope I never have to say them again.”

  And with that, the tension lifts.

  ***

  “We should turn back,” Rigel says.

  The sun is low in the sky, and the breeze is quite cold. Here in the valleys, there’s nothing to block the wind. The nights are brutal.

  Still, I don’t want to return.

  I watch the setting sun. What would happen if I were to continue riding south? Could I assimilate into one of the lower kingdoms? Trade my crown for a position as a kitchen maid? Even if I could escape and find a way to eke out a living, Father would take his wrath out on Bea and her family.

  “You look pensive,” Pippa says from my side.

  Her unruly hair slipped from its braid long ago, and she’s set it free. It falls down her back in a cascade of red and gold curls.

  “Where’s your mother from?” I ask.

  She grasps a strand of her hair and holds it up in question.

  I nod.

  “Ptarma.” She flicks her hair back. “Mother’s hair is even darker red than mine.”

  “What is Ptarma like?” I’m unable to keep the wistful quality from my voice.

  Pippa shrugs. “I’ve never been there, but in my mind, it’s glorious.”

  The kingdom is a small island to the southwest of Triblue, the southernmost kingdom in Elden. Ptarma is known for its huge blooming flowers, majestic white marble cliffs, and day after day of glorious sunshine. I would like to see it someday.

  “I’ve heard it’s warm,” I say.

  “All year long.”

  I glance at the snowy peaks. “Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

  Ahead of us, Rigel laughs at something Archer says. I absently reach for my pendant and run it through my fingers, taking comfort in the familiar coil of the silver against the cold, smooth stone.

  Archer calls back to Pippa. I have no idea what he says because Rigel turns as well, and our eyes meet. The dark lord is tall and strong and much too handsome for my good. His hair, though shorter than it’s ever been, is just long enough to be disheveled from the ride. I used to dream of running my fingers through that hair, of brushing the light but persistent stubble along his chin. Now I would settle for a graze of his fingers down my arm.

  “Seirsha?”

  I start and look at Pippa. She’s asked me something. She quirks an eyebrow, waiting. I stare at her, grasping for what I must have heard.

  Her lips tip as if she knows exactly where my thoughts have drifted. “I asked if you would mind going ahead with Rigel so Archer and I can find the stone dragon over the hill. I’ve never seen it, and it’s a shame to be this far out without taking a glimpse.”

  I glance at Rigel only to rip my eyes back to Pippa. “We’ll go with you.”

  Her eyes flicker as if I’m being obtuse. “You don’t want to return too late.”

  Oh. Oh.

  It’s at least an hour back to the castle. Can I bear that much time alone with Rigel?

  “That’s fine,” I say as if it’s no consequence to me whether they go or stay.

  She snorts out a tiny laugh. It’s not loud enough for Rigel to hear, but her face is easy to read. Rigel reminds them again where the statue stands, and they break awa
y. Pippa waves their goodbyes as they go.

  For the first fifteen minutes, Rigel and I ride side by side in silence. A gust of wind howls through the valley. Pippa must be freezing in her riding outfit. I pull up the hood of my cloak to stop the wind and relish the feel of the soft, white fur.

  “Are you warm enough?” Rigel asks.

  I nod. He nods as well.

  More silence.

  Suddenly Rigel draws his horse to a stop and turns toward me in his saddle. “It was Calden who struck you.”

  I inhale sharply.

  “Of course not,” I lie.

  “And your maid?”

  Gritting my teeth, I shake my head. My shoulders begin to tremble. I wish he’d turn his sharp eyes from me. He throws his leg over his horse and drops to the ground, holding his hand out so that I may do the same.

  “Why have you stopped?” I ask.

  He raises his eyebrows.

  Doing a fairly good job of keeping my voice even, I say, “There is nothing to tell.”

  Rigel frowns, tilts his head, and holds his hand a little higher. I search his eyes again, and he gives me an encouraging nod. Finally, I clasp his hand. The contact is searing, and as scared as I am of him knowing the truth of that night, I can’t help but sigh at the feel of my hand in his.

  I expect him to step away when my feet touch the ground, but instead he brushes his fingers against my cheek. “What did he do to you?”

  Knowing it’s futile, I shake my head again.

  “You’re safe with me.” His voice is gentle, soothing. “You always have been.”

  His hand still rests on my face, and I can hardly think. Everything I’ve come to love about him is there in his eyes—his honesty, his steadfastness. I’ve never met a person I have more respect for.

  But I can’t trust him; I don’t trust anyone.

  I look at the ground. “I told you, I hit it on a cabinet door.”

  Rigel sighs, disappointed I won’t admit what he already knows. I’m not a fool. I don’t think I can deceive him, but I can’t tell him, either.

  He brushes his thumb over my cheek again, and I lower my eyes.

  “We should return,” he says.

  I look again to the southern mountains. “Have you ever thought of leaving? Of disappearing into the night and never coming back?”

  “No.”

  I look away, ashamed.

  He gently tilts my chin back. “But I do not blame you for having such thoughts.”

  “Why haven’t you?”

  “This is my land, and these people are my people. As a lord of this kingdom, it’s my duty to do everything I can to help them survive—to help them thrive. I would lay down my life for the good of Errinton.”

  A chill runs through me.

  “You really should be king,” I whisper. The words startle me. As I say them, I know they are true.

  Rigel’s face hardens, and he shakes his head. “It’s not my place.”

  “It should have been.”

  “I am content with my lot in life.” He drops his hand from my face and crosses his arms. “I have land. I have far more gold than I require for survival or comfort. I have people I trust and who, in return, trust me.”

  I cross my arms as well. “You are far greater a man than Calden could have ever hoped to be.”

  The sternness falls from his face. “If only I could be the man you seem to think I am.”

  Feeling a strange surge of boldness, I set my fingers on his chest. “You already are.”

  Before he can respond, I step away and pull myself on my horse. From the ground, Rigel watches me. Thoughts churn behind his dark eyes. Finally, he mounts his own horse, and we continue on.

  “I’ve heard you speak of ore,” I say as we near the castle. “What is it you’re mining?”

  Most gave up on the iron ore in our mountains when the dragon trade died. Every kingdom has a supply of iron; none are interested in ours.

  “When I was a boy, my father would let me visit his mines. Do you remember? I probably spoke of it.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous to bring a child to a mine?”

  Rigel shoots me a look, and I smile to myself. No man in Errinton would be daunted by something dangerous, and it’s an affront to their honor to mention it.

  “Amongst the magnetite, there’s a strange, green mineral that laces the mountains. When I asked my father what it was, and why it wasn’t mined, he said it was of no interest to us.”

  I look at him sharply. “Could it be malachite?”

  As far as I know, we have no deposits of the chalky, green mineral. Neither do any of the neighboring kingdoms.

  He meets my eyes, and he looks as if I’ve pleased him. “No, it’s not malachite—though that’s what I had hoped as well. It’s a little darker and much harder.”

  The mineral isn’t copper then. It’s too bad. There’s so little of it in Elden; it’s worth more than gold.

  “I was stubborn when I was younger,” Rigel continues, and he pauses when I raise a knowing eyebrow at him. He gives me a wry almost-smile and then continues, “I doggedly picked at that green rock until I had enough to take home. I tried to smelt it, but it was to no avail. I gave up, figuring Father was right.”

  “You never told me this.”

  He laughs. “It was trivial at the time. Nothing came of it.”

  His story is cut short when we reach the village.

  Guards watch us from the tall wall that wraps the village’s perimeter. Flanking the entry are two massive stone dragons. They, too, look down on us. I’m told they’re larger and grander than any in Errinton. I don’t know it for a fact; I’ve never seen any of the others.

  We pass through the village, and I smile to the peasants I am friendly with. For everyone that greets me, two more avert their eyes with a sneer.

  But they all look at Rigel.

  What is it about this man that commands such respect? I, like them, am not immune to it. Some look at him with friendly familiarity, as if they know him personally and have judged him a worthy friend. Many—an alarmingly large majority—watch him with fiery pride in their eyes, a kind of hunger.

  Father is right to fear him.

  I dismount and hand my mare to a waiting groom. I expect Rigel to do the same, but, instead, he walks his horse past the man and into the stable. I glance at the grooms, surprised.

  One turns toward me and bows his head. “He always tends his own horse, Your Highness.”

  I nod to them and then follow Rigel.

  The air in the stable is not pleasant. It reeks of horse, manure, and the thick, heavy scent of feed. I hold a hand over my nose as I grow used to the smell. Now I remember why I rarely venture into the stables.

  Rigel’s stallion snorts and tosses his giant black head in the air. Rigel unsaddles him and then takes his time to brush him. We’ll be late for the evening meal, but even with the stench, I would rather be here than in the great hall. At least it’s warm. I pull off my cloak and set it over the door of an empty stall.

  A large fire is centered directly in the middle of the stables. A massive stone chimney works as a center beam for the structure. The hearth is open on four sides, giving the stable a surprisingly cozy feel. It’s almost too warm.

  I lean against a beam and watch Rigel work. Hot from his task, he’s shed not only his cloak but also his outer jacket. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his tunic as well. My gaze wanders over his lean, muscular frame. I lower my eyes, embarrassed, but they flicker back. Though he’s paid me little attention during the process, his gaze moves to me now, catching me in my assessment. I start, embarrassed.

  Rigel’s hand goes still. For once, his mask of control drops. A flicker of something warm and wanting passes over his face. My breath catches in my throat, but at the moment, air seems of little importance. Heat blooms in my chest. Slowly, Rigel pulls his gaze back to his task.

  The moment has left me feeling off-kilter, and I can’t watch him anymore. I let out
a slow breath and turn the corner to stand in front of the brightly burning fire.

  I wait for several minutes, watching the flame dance in the hearth.

  Straw crunches behind me, and Rigel says, “Seirsha?”

  I close my eyes, savoring the way my name sounds when he says it.

  “You forgot your cloak.” He settles it over my shoulders.

  His hands linger even after it’s placed. If I turn now, I’ll be in his arms.

  I shiver at the thought.

  “Are you cold?” he asks.

  So much of Rigel’s appeal comes from his voice. It’s as dark as his hair, and there’s a richness to it, a lovely catch that hints at danger and excitement. I could lose myself in it.

  Hoping he won’t move away, I turn. My eyes find his, and I silently beg him to stay where he is.

  Please, don’t step back.

  There’s no one around. The grooms and stable hands have already left for the evening, gone to the tavern for their ale and mead. I’m sure there are guards posted at the entrances, but they’re outside.

  We are quite alone.

  “You told me what people think of me.” I bravely meet his eyes. “Do you want to know what they say about you?”

  His expression turns wary. “Not particularly.”

  I laugh under my breath. “They say you are honest and fair—an evaluation that doesn’t always make you popular with the crowd we keep.” Encouraged by his amused snort, I continue, “They also say you are loyal to the king despite your very obvious reasons not to be.”

  “What if people are wrong?”

  I shake my head. He’s already demonstrated his steadfastness. “They aren’t.”

  Rigel steps toward me, closer now than when we were dancing. “What if my allegiance lies not with the king…” He watches me closely. “But with his daughter?”

  My knees go weak, and my hand absently strays to the pendant. His eyes follow my fingers, and I flush.

  “You’re still wearing it.”

  I lock my eyes on his, hoping he’ll understand what I can’t say. “I told you. I always do.”