Goler pushed Grey down against the block, and Dagren drew his sword, taking the place of executioner. Women around Anne broke into quiet sobs. Her own tears fell hot against her cold cheeks.
“No,” she almost cried aloud.
Her father’s arm wrapped around her, and Elanor clutched her hand.
Please, Elôm! This can’t be! It just can’t be!
Dagren raised his sword, and Anne squeezed her eyes shut. No, no, no! Elôm, You can’t allow this to happen!
The sword fell. Cries erupted from the crowd. Anne went numb as a sob ripped from her chest. She clung to her father and Elanor just to stay upright, but all she wanted was to sink into the mud and scream. Tears leaked from her still-closed eyes. She couldn’t make herself open them. Elôm, why? A small voice warned her to get a hold of herself and keep up appearances, but she couldn’t contain the flood of sorrow and horror without it suffocating her.
Unable to bear it any longer, she pulled away from her family and fled through the crowd. Tears blinded her, causing her to bump into people and almost trip, but she pushed forward until she broke from the gathering. Then she ran—ran until she reached the outskirts of the village and her legs finally gave out. There, beside the road, she sank into the wet, mud-spattered grass and cried as she never had before.
Soggy footsteps approached sometime later.
“Annie.”
Her father’s husky voice rose above the rain as he knelt down and drew her into his arms. She clung to him, crying as her breaths came in shallow, choking gasps. She could see the baron’s face from only two days ago when they’d spoken of her betrothal to Trask. Could see his smile at the thought of their wedding. Now he would never be there to see it happen.
“Trask,” she cried weakly. “How will I tell him?”
Her father pulled away, cupping her face in his hands. Tears wet his bearded cheeks. “I’ll help you.”
He pulled her up with him and guided her toward the carriage waiting nearby. Anne followed, her body leaden and tears still streaming as if they would never stop again. She climbed inside where her mother and Elanor were both crying. Elian was there too and had a comforting arm around Elanor. Even he had tears in his eyes. Anne sank into the seat with her parents.
The trip back to Marlton was the longest and most painful Anne had ever experienced. Her sobs would not subside. When they did arrive home, everyone climbed out of the carriage and wagon with bleak, tear-streaked faces. No one spoke a word as the men led the horses away to unhitch. Anne paused before she reached the porch and looked toward the stable. Her father tried to usher her into the house, but she turned to him, her voice barely making it past her swollen throat.
“I need to go to camp. Word will reach there eventually, but it must come from me. Please.”
Slowly, her father nodded, his eyes almost overflowing again. “First go inside and change. You’re soaked through. I’ll get the horses and go with you.”
Anne stepped onto the porch and into the house, numbness taking hold again. She couldn’t even say anything as she passed her mother and Elanor and climbed the stairs to her room. She pulled off her cloak and wet dress and let them drop in a heap. Her movements were reflex; her mind thinking ahead to what she had to do. Before she even really knew what she had done, she was dressed and on her way downstairs. She took a second cloak from the peg just as her father came in. He went to her mother first and held her for a moment.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She nodded against his chest. He then tried to give Elanor an encouraging look before joining Anne at the door. When they stepped outside, Anne looked at her horse, almost crippled by the question of how she would break the news to Trask.
She pulled herself up into the saddle, her arms shaking, and let her father take the lead. During the ride, Anne struggled not to think—struggled to keep the swirl of emotions at bay. She fought hard, but when they neared camp, the weight grew too heavy. Her tears turned the forest into an indistinguishable green blur. Finally, she had to pull her horse to a stop as sobs gripped her again. Her father drew up beside her and leaned over to put his arm around her.
They sat this way for a while, but Anne only felt worse with each passing minute. The dread of facing Trask mounted in her chest until all she wanted was to collapse near a tree and wait for the day to pass. She couldn’t bear the thought of how it would devastate him. But she had to tell him and be there for him, so she straightened and wiped her sleeve across her cheeks. “Let’s go.”
Her father squeezed her shoulder, and they rode on.
All too soon, they reached the edge of camp. They rode up to Trask’s cabin, and Anne was afraid she would be sick as they dismounted. The moment her feet touched the ground, the cabin door opened.
“Anne?”
Trask’s voice shot a dart of pain through Anne’s heart. She squeezed her eyes shut, the tears already swimming again. Elôm, help me. Slowly, she turned to face him. His brows sank as he eyed her face and stepped closer.
“What happened?”
Anne swallowed with great difficulty, unable to summon her voice. He stared at her, his expression growing more and more tense. Her tears spilled over before she could stop them, and her father’s hand pressed against her back.
“What?” Trask asked, his voice rough. He dragged in a breath. “My father?”
Anne forced her tongue to work. “He’s gone.” She bit back the sob rising in her throat. “They executed him.”
Only shock registered on Trask’s face for the space of three heartbeats before a wave of other emotions filled his eyes—anger, disbelief—but the grief overwhelmed all the others. His face crumpled as the sorrow took hold, and tears overflowed. The already broken pieces of Anne’s heart shattered even further. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, and they cried together.
After a time, Anne’s father and Warin guided them both inside the cabin, out of the rain. They sat at the table where Anne held tightly to Trask’s hand just to let him know he wasn’t alone in this. He used his other hand to wipe his face, but the tears in his eyes still threatened to fall. He tried to speak but had to clear his throat.
“When?” he finally managed.
“Just a couple of hours ago.” Anne shook her head, choking. “Soldiers came to the house to escort us to Landale for Dagren and Goler to make an announcement. We didn’t know. I would’ve gotten word to you, but it happened so fast. We had no warning.”
Trask squeezed her hand, but his expression was still so broken. “I should have brought him out here when I had the chance. I should never have left him there.”
Anne reached over and put her hand on his cheek. “No, don’t put that on yourself. He stayed for the people of Landale. If he had wanted to leave, he would have asked you. This isn’t your failing.”
He closed his eyes, his tears coming freshly.
For a long while, they sat there at the table, sometimes murmuring to each other, but most of the time not saying anything at all. News spread through camp and people came and went to offer their condolences.
A miserable eternity later, Anne’s father spoke. “It’s getting late. We should go.”
Anne shook her head and looked at him pleadingly. “I need to stay. Please.” She couldn’t leave Trask’s side when the loss was so fresh.
Her father stared at her for a moment and then looked over at Warin, who sat nearby.
“I’ll see she gets home safely when she’s ready,” Warin said.
Slowly, her father nodded and pushed up from his chair. “Don’t be away too long,” he said gently.
Anne understood his concern. She needed to be home in case Goler or Dagren dropped by. The thought of ever facing either of them again turned her stomach, but she nodded.
Morning dawned without much notice. After the long hours of the night, Anne couldn’t find the energy to care. She stared into the fireplace where the small fire they’d built was only a couple of red em
bers. Blinking the grit from her eyes, she looked over at Trask. Neither of them had said a word since well before dawn. Pain seared through her chest at his tired, faraway look. She shifted, her body protesting the hours she’d sat in this hard chair. Only then did Trask snap from his daze.
He met her eyes, and Anne saw the exhaustion they both shared—the point where the sorrow still held its full strength, but the tears had drained and all the usual functions of grief shut down. He gave a weary shake of his head.
“After everything we’ve faced and all the death that has surrounded us, somehow you trick yourself into thinking you won’t be the one it touches personally.” He let out a long, heavy breath and hung his head. “I always prayed and wanted to believe that, somehow, this would be resolved and I could return home to him again . . . that things would one day return to normal.”
Anne put her hand on his back and rubbed it. “I know.”
“Now, even if I were to return to Landale, nothing would be the same.” He looked over at her again. “Who has taken over control of the area?”
Anne shook her head. “I assume Goler or Dagren.”
The spark of anger flared in Trask’s eyes but died just as quickly. “As hard as we tried, it still ended up falling into their hands.”
“You did everything you could,” Anne assured him. “Both you and your father. You have to leave it in Elôm’s hands now.”
He nodded. A moment later, the barest of smiles lifted the corners of his lips, and tears formed in his eyes.
“What?” Anne asked.
“I was just thinking about how my parents are together again now. They loved each other so much.”
One by one, the tears dripped over. Anne laid her head on his shoulder and let her own tears fall silently. Once they subsided, she wiped her face dry and fought to scrape together her strength. She hated to do this, but it was time.
“I need to return home.”
Trask just sat for a long moment, staring at the fireplace ashes as if he had not heard. Then he stood. “I’ll take you.”
They left the cabin with Warin and saddled the horses. After sending one of the cretes to fly ahead and make sure the forest and roads were clear of danger, they mounted and rode out. It was a quiet ride, and Anne didn’t see much of it. She was just too tired for her senses to work properly. When they arrived at the edge of Marlton, they stopped in the trees.
“You shouldn’t go any farther,” she told Trask. At least if soldiers spotted her riding out of the woods, she could claim she’d been out for a morning ride.
They looked at each other. Trask’s expression held the same longing Anne carried inside. A moment later, he put words to that longing.
“I don’t want you to have to leave . . . ever. I want to marry you and have you with me every day so I know you’re safe.”
Anne breathed out a trembling breath, her eyes smarting. She didn’t want to do this anymore either. If not for her family and their safety, she’d give it all up right here, ride back to camp with him and marry him that very day. But her family was here, and the danger to them was very real. She tried to swallow down the longing.
“We’ll figure it out,” she said, fighting with everything inside her to believe it. She reached out to Elôm for Him to make it so. “Somehow we’ll figure it out.”
He nodded, determination coming through his weary eyes. He moved his horse closer and leaned over. Anne met him in the middle, welcoming his kiss. It was different from the kisses they’d shared before—subdued by grief, but fueled by the longing for a better future.
After a full day of flight over the rolling meadowlands and another night of camping, Kyrin spotted a line of trees far off in the distance. Nearer, however, lay a sprawling farm. Over a hundred head of the shaggy Dorland cattle grazed on one side, while thriving crops grew on the other. In the middle of it stood a huge log house and gigantic barn. Below them, Halvar and Levi trotted into the farmyard. The entire group landed around them.
Before any of them had a chance to dismount, another giant man came striding from the barn. He was a bit taller than Halvar and Levi and built like the bears Kyrin had heard about. He had long dark hair like Levi, and despite his simple farm clothes, the confident and commanding way he held himself pointed to him being more of a warrior than most of his kin. He analyzed each of them, but his focus settled on Halvar and Levi.
“Jorvik!” Halvar exclaimed. “It sure is good to see you’re still here.”
Jorvik offered a brief smile to his brothers before his attention returned to Kyrin and the others as they dismounted.
“When I sent you two for help, I was expecting something a little different.”
Halvar laughed and motioned him closer to the group. Balen stepped forward to meet him, and the others gathered behind. Halvar introduced each of them, surprising his brother when he introduced Balen. Jorvik greeted the king with respect and welcomed them all as a group.
“They overheard us talking to King Orlan about the attacks and wanted to look into it with us,” Halvar explained.
“We appreciate the help.” Jorvik glanced eastward, the way they had come. “The king didn’t send any men, did he?”
Halvar shook his head. “No. He doesn’t want our soldiers seen at the border and cause Emperor Daican to misread our intentions.”
Jorvik snorted but did not comment on the king’s lack of assistance. “All the more reason to be thankful for the help we do have.”
“We would like to see you get to the bottom of these attacks,” Balen said, “especially if they have something to do with Daican as your brothers suggested.”
“I thank you for coming.” Jorvik gestured to his brothers. “Let us help you unload your dragons.”
They turned to the animals to unsaddle them. With the help of Jorvik and his brothers, everyone carried the supplies up to the cabin and then inside. Just through the door, Kyrin stared in awe. The wide, open front room welcomed them with a great stone fireplace towering at the opposite wall. Massive timbers supported the ceiling, and the openness of the cabin gave the dwelling a feel of amazing spaciousness. Even after seeing the way giants lived in Bel-gard, she still had to get used to the size of everything. She and Jace could have easily shared the one-person chairs near the fireplace.
“I’m afraid we don’t have much to offer in the way of spare rooms or beds,” Jorvik said as he led them toward a half-log staircase. “But we’ll do what we can to make you comfortable.”
“We’ve spent more nights on the ground in the last weeks than indoors,” Balen told him. “Anything is better than that.”
Upstairs, along a balcony overlooking the living room below, Jorvik opened two doors. “These two rooms are free.”
Balen turned to the group. “Kyrin, Leetra, you can share one. We’ll take the other.”
Kyrin offered a grateful smile that he and the other men would all cram into one room and let her and Leetra have their privacy in a room that was more than large enough for two. In fact, just the room alone appeared almost as big as one of the cabins back in Landale.
She and Leetra stepped inside to set their things down. A thick bearskin rug lay on the plank floor at the foot of the largest bed Kyrin had ever seen. The top of the quilt-covered mattress reached her chest and was wide enough for four people or more. She then scanned the rest of the plain, but homey room. When she turned, she found Leetra staring up at the ceiling with a calculating expression, her rolled up hammock in her arms. Kyrin had to bite back a laugh at the thought of how she might go about getting her hammock strung up. The ceiling beams were a good twelve feet above the floor. Leetra just might have to settle for sleeping in a normal bed tonight. She seemed to realize this and wrinkled her nose.
“At least a bed is better than the ground,” Kyrin said.
Leetra arched her brow and did not reply. Her expression said she didn’t agree. Kyrin just shook her head to herself over the cretes’ strange aversion to traditional beds.
Once they’d arranged their belongings, they joined the men downstairs. Halvar and Levi carried a table and two long benches into the house from somewhere outside. When they set it down near the other table, Kyrin found that it was a more normal-sized one.
“We don’t get company besides our neighbors very often, so this will need a bit of dusting,” Halvar told them, “but at least you won’t have to try to sit at our table.”
Kyrin almost laughed at the thought of them all seated at the larger table.
“Levi, why don’t you get a rag? I’ll help Jorvik in the kitchen.” Halvar gestured to his brother and then addressed the group again. “We’re just throwing together some beef sandwiches. I hope that’s all right.”
“That sounds excellent,” Balen replied. “I’m curious to see how your beef tastes compared to the cattle in Samara and Arcacia.”
“It can be a bit tough if you don’t know how to prepare it, but our ma was an expert, and Jorvik learned all her secrets.”
After Levi had cleaned off the dusty table, he invited them to sit down. The benches were just long enough to accommodate them all comfortably. A few minutes later, Jorvik and his brothers carried out the food. They set a large platter on the table, filled with sandwiches. Each one was cut in half but, as a whole, they were as large as a normal-sized dinner plate. Kyrin’s mouth watered at the sight of the thick, crusty bread, tender slices of lightly pink meat, and rich yellow butter. Halvar carried a stack of plates to the table, which must have been desert plates due to their smaller size, and Levi brought a couple of jars of preserved apples and a plate containing a large cream-colored cheese wedge.