Dragon Heartstone > Chapter 4–Departures

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Under a grove of trees tucked against the Krador Mountains, a small knot of figures rubbed their hands for warmth on a chilly autumn morning. Guards in gray uniforms tended horses while another group sat under the leafy canopy.

Britta, the fiery red-haired crown princess of Cazidor, leaned forward, staring into Larah’s face. The young woman sat slumped back against the base of a tree. Brushing aside the girl’s dark hair revealed a small pale countenance, which stared vacantly past the princess. Sadness permeated the features, sapping the youthful appearance of its vitality and vigor.

“Would you like something to eat?” Britta asked.

Larah did not seem to hear, but before Britta could repeat the question, the girl slowly shook her head but made no eye contact. Britta grimaced, climbed to her feet, and walked toward Gall, a tall, black-robed figure with equally dark hair and beard. He stood next to her father, King Alric of Cazidor.

“It has been three days, and still, she does not eat. I don’t understand why she hasn’t healed. She drank from the Grail–it brought her back from death.”

Gall answered, “She was healed bodily, but her wounds must run deep–where even the Grail could not or would not reach. You can only be healed completely if you wish it. That is why Faline was cured; she desired it so much.”

Alric rejoined. “For whatever reason, Larah does not want to be healed. I think it has something to do with her traveling companion, Riasean. He saw her to the gate but does not appear to have survived the resulting fight.”

“Who is this person?” Britta asked.

“A young half-elvish assassin. I met Larah and Riasean in Wolfbern very briefly. He is–was–by reputation, a very successful member of the Brotherhood.”

Gall’s eyes narrowed. “She traveled in dangerous company.”

“Perhaps,” Alric replied, staring directly at Gall, “but he was chosen to accompany her by the Caretakers. As you know, they are adept at using dangerous people for their own purposes.” Gall did not react. “It would appear that Larah and Riasean meant something to each other.”

Britta bristled. How could silly romantic feelings incapacitate anyone? Her marriage to Brecc had taught her well enough that love was just another weapon in the game of politics. She’d hardened her heart – or thought so until seeing the raw grief in Larah’s empty stare. Her thoughts darkened. “So, what can be done for Larah?”

Alric placed a hand on Britta’s shoulder, and she turned to look at him. “I will work with her. Besides, I promised to help interpret the images she saw in the Mirror of Avalir. More importantly, she needs someone to understand what happened to her and help her find a way out. That is why I went to Avalir, to seek aid for my clairvoyance.”

 “Have you tried this before?”

Alric sighed. “Yes, once …” Britta waited for more, but he only offered, “I will do what I can.”

Britta fought frustration at her father’s evasiveness. Before she could press him further, movement caught her eye. A horseman in black leather approached, and her pulse quickened as she recognized the uniform of the Preytar mercenaries – the same men who had helped overthrow her husband Brecc. Nothing good ever came from their appearances. The guards stirred uneasily until Gall waved the rider forward.

As the man advanced, he held out a letter. “I am Mikial, and I have an urgent message from Nikolas.”

Britta watched as Gall’s face darkened while reading the message. His fists clenched, crumpling the parchment. When he finished, he swore and turned away.

Vig’s diminutive form appeared from where the guards had stood. “What is it?”

“See for yourself,” Gall shot back, jamming the now-crumpled message into Vig’s hands. “Edwyn has lost his senses.”

Britta’s stomach tightened. She’d never seen Gall this agitated before. Whatever news the letter contained, it couldn’t be good for Bretagne – or for her.

Vig finished reading and looked up. “So, the man you put back on the throne is now murdering his people while chasing phantom enemies. What do you plan to do about it?”

Gall inhaled deeply, his gray eyes scanning their small gathering. His gaze settled on her, and Britta felt a chill run down her spine. She recognized that calculating look – the same one he’d worn when he schemed to betray Brecc. Whatever plan was forming in his mind, she wanted no part of it.

“I know what to do,” Gall said, his voice carrying a dangerous note of certainty. He stepped toward her, and Britta resisted the urge to back away. “I need your help.”

She eyed him warily, already dreading his next words. “What do you want?”

“Come with me to Bretagne.”

Britta barked a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “You must be joking. Nothing exists for me there.”

“On the contrary, you are needed—”

“—to swing from a rope for being married to that traitorous brother of Edwyn.” Her voice rose sharply. “No, I never want to see that cesspit again.”

“I understand.” Gall strained to keep his voice calm. “But you are still in the Royal line by your marriage to Brecc. If Edwyn is no longer king, you become Queen.”

Britta saw the pieces falling into place. Of course – with Brecc presumed dead and Edwyn unstable, who better to puppet than the widow of one and sister-in-law of the other? She’d been a pawn in Gall’s games before, and here he was, positioning her on the board once again.

“I was Queen once; it did not suit me. Why should I go through that again?”

“Because the country needs you once Edwyn steps aside.”

“Liar,” Britta shot back. “They don’t need me, nor do I need them. It is only you,” she jabbed Gall in the chest.

Gall gritted his teeth. “Yes, I do–but so does Bretagne. They need a stable leader to protect them from outside influence.”

“And who will protect them from your influence? Do you expect Edwyn to step down simply because you wish it so?”

Gall did not answer.

Britta stood, hands on hips. “Why should I be a willing participant in this?”

“Because you are a Royal and born to lead,” Alric announced.

Britta turned and stared at her father, a pained expression fixed on her face. “But father, I only wish to return to Wolfbern.”

Alric gently gripped her shoulders, “No, go with Gall. You are needed in Bretagne.” Britta’s face fell. “You will be Queen of Cazidor someday. If you unify both countries, you will also protect Cazidor’s interests.”

Britta frowned before turning back to Gall. “It seems I must travel with you, but answer me this–if I did not, what would you do otherwise?”

Gall clenched his jaw before replying. “I would journey there anyway and take my chances.”

Britta rolled her eyes. “Then I’d better accompany you to improve the odds.”

Vig laughed and then spoke to Gall. “She knows you pretty well, doesn’t she?”

“Perhaps,” he said. Gall patted Vig’s shoulder. “I shall miss you, my friend.”

Britta glanced between Gall and Vig. “Is he not coming with us?”

Vig shrugged as he looked toward Larah, “Gall asked me to escort the King to ensure Larah gets treatment for her injuries.”

Britta followed his gaze. Her thoughts raced, tugging her away from her father and toward a responsibility she had no desire to take on.

Gall turned to Mikail. “Can you take us to where Edwyn is encamped?”

“Yes,” he replied. “But only if we depart immediately.”

Gall nodded toward Britta. “I will leave you to say goodbye to your father.” He turned away and walked over to his mount.

Britta looked at her father, and a dull throb echoed in her chest. It had taken her months to reunite with him, and now, just days later, she had to run off again. She stared silently, her eyes tearing up.

Alric cupped her cheek and smiled, age lines creasing the otherwise handsome face. “Do not worry, my little poppy. We will meet again someday.” He pulled her into an embrace, and Britta fell against his broad chest, laying her head against him, listening to his heartbeat. He, in turn, tucked her under his chin and ran a hand through her red curls. “Go on–to Bretagne and help Gall bring stability there.”

She wrapped her arms around him, hugged him tightly, and then pushed away as a tear traced its way down her cheek. Smiling one last time, she turned and started to walk toward Gall. As she passed Ulrich, he whispered, “Take care, your majesty. I don’t know that I entirely trust your companion.”

She replied in a low voice, “Nor do I, but we do what we must.” To that, he inclined his head.

Hoisting herself into the saddle, she cast one last look at her father. With a dull ache pulling at her heart, she reined her mount behind Gall and Mikail. They rode to the northeast into the foothills marking the northern end of the Krador Mountains, beyond which they transitioned into the flatlands of north Bretagne.