The Guardian Prince Chapter Three
Too many questions. Sabine shook her head. She was tired of running blindly from one situation to the next, and she resented the Aethel’s tendency to keep details to themselves. As soon as she had the chance, she was going to get some answers.
But now was not the time. She realized that, so instead of resisting Sabine rode with the others as they retraced the route they had taken earlier that morning. She watched her surroundings nervously, tension building at the base of her skull as she and the others drew closer to the spot where she had fallen. Although she was not experiencing any of the symptoms that indicated the litri had been activated, she still doubted the connection had been completely severed.
Rather than counting the steps to the site of her first collapse, Sabine focused on reciting the medicinal properties of common herbs. When they approached the edge of the camp and no symptoms manifested, she began to relax. When she was certain they were well into the forest, she even smiled. Glancing at Tayte, she reported, “So far, so good.”
Tayte nodded, but his eyes looked troubled. Sabine tried not to wonder why.
As the Dryht encampment fell farther and farther behind, the well-tended, intentionally manicured appearance of the trees and foliage disappeared, giving way to the wild, unmediated growth patterns Sabine was used to. While the path they followed remained clear, its borders were encroached upon by vines, grasses, and tree roots, causing it to narrow considerably. The group rode without speaking, mostly because the pace Aodhan set for the horses did not allow for a lot of casual chatter, but Sabine noticed several covert glances cast at her, and the silence that pervaded reminded her of the way her parents would stop talking about something they were keeping secret the minute she entered the room.
They rode for the better part of two watches, galloping at first, then alternating between trotting and walking as the trees and undergrowth grew more dense. When their mounts began to lag, the group stopped at a small clearing, a circle of grass and flowers awash in bright afternoon sunlight and filled with the murmur of water flowing nearby.
Sabine dismounted with the others, stretching sore muscles in her legs and working the kinks out of her back. She inhaled deeply, fascinated by the different scents of this forest compared with her wood in Khapor. Where hers had always carried the crisp, bright aroma of pine and the pleasant musk of decaying foliage, this one smelled of pungent resin, molding ferns, and fallen leaves.
Bree entered the clearing a moment later and flopped in the shade of a tree. The dog had had no trouble keeping up with the horses. Sabine was grateful for this and would have gone to scratch her friend’s ears, but she could not bear the thought of sitting so soon on saddle-sore muscles. Instead, she stood beside Bree, watching as Gaelan and Kyar gathered the horses and led them to water. Amala walked with Diera, guiding the blind princess around the clearing while the two of them chatted. All of this seemed perfectly normal, and Sabine would have thought nothing of it, except for the conversations that halted suddenly whenever anyone passed her and the dark looks shot in her direction. While Aodhan and Diera were not as openly hostile as their courtiers, they did not go out of their way to engage Sabine in conversation, either.
Sabine tried to ignore their animosity. The Aethel hated Humans as much as Humans hated them, after all. That wasn’t going to change quickly. Her companions would have been young children during the War of New Dawn, so they had experienced Humanity’s betrayal directly.
Still, Sabine countered darkly, I wasn’t involved. I wasn’t even alive!
“If you let it trouble you,” Tayte mused, appearing beside her, “then the Rüddan will win. Again.”
Sabine started. She had been so engrossed by her resentment that she had not even heard Tayte approach. “No one will say a word to me. Aodhan hardly even acknowledges that I’m here. I didn’t expect to be treated like an old friend, but…”
“Much has happened,” Tayte said when Sabine trailed off, “since the evening the prince and I left your house.”
Sabine noted the emphasis Tayte placed on the word “prince” but chose to let it go. In the middle of the clearing, Amala and Diera had been joined by Aodhan. On the opposite edge, Koen seemed to be inspecting the trees.
“We were attacked the very next day,” Tayte continued. “Fortunately, Gaelan and I were alerted before the Rüddan broke through the barrier that hid us. Lady Diera’s magic is the most powerful of any Aethel in many generations, so we were not overwhelmed, but it was a near thing.”
“But how did they find you?” Sabine interrupted, astounded by the thought of the Aethel taken by surprise in their invisible, highly warded cabin.
Tayte’s expression told her that he would like to know the same thing. “There are some among us who blame you.”
Sabine stared at him, half waiting for him to say he was joking. “What?”
“Only one,” he soothed. “But you were a captive of the Rüddan by that point. They could have made you tell them.”
A hollow emptiness opened in Sabine’s chest. After all she had done for Aodhan and endured with Tayte… all she had suffered at the hands of Naois… they actually thought she would betray them? “I would never—”
“I know that,” Tayte affirmed, his tone genuine. “I said as much to the prince; but I could not prove it, and there is no other explanation.”
Dumbfounded, Sabine could only shake her head. Watching Amala interact with Aodhan and Diera, it was easy to guess which of them had suggested the possibility. However, if the others believed it might be true… Sabine transferred her attention from Amala to Tayte. “Then why am I here?”
“You are here,” Tayte said, fixing her to the spot with his intensity, “because of the map and the Wereden.”
Sabine considered this for a moment. “Why me, though? Why not another Human of the Wereden? Surely anyone will do.”
Tayte sighed as if losing patience with a small child. “Truly, there are not as many as you think. Three centuries of Rüddan propaganda have done much to alienate many of the families who once collaborated among our people. More specifically, though, the prince believes you know information that will help us in our search for Fyrleoht. He suspects your father may have given you a clue to its location.”
“Fyrleoht?” Sabine drew her eyebrows down in concentration, trying to remember all Aodhan had told her about the armband the two of them had found among her mother’s old jewelry. He had shown her how it worked as a map and said it was the key to gaining her people’s freedom, but nothing else. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Truly?” Tayte’s expression looked simultaneously vexed and amazed. A moment later, his face was clear again. “Very well, then. It may be the prince chose not to tell you for a reason. I’d better check with him before I say more. Still, he is convinced we have need of you. Something happened during his convalescence with you to make him think you know something that will help us. Something you may not even be mindful of, yet.”
“Even if that were true,” Sabine muttered, fully aware she was being petulant, “how would I share that information with him? He can’t be bothered to speak to me.”
“By design,” Tayte agreed. “That would draw even more attention to you.”
Sabine scoffed. “Why is that such a bad thing?”
“Gently,” Tayte murmured, reminding her to control her temper. “Do you recall the message the prince asked you to deliver to his sister when you first met?”
Sabine nodded. “He said Diera’s absence had been discovered and the flower of the desert was in jeopardy.”
“Lady Diera is the flower of the desert,” Tayte’s expression was urgent, as if he could will Sabine to understand. “She traveled to your forest secretly to cement an alliance with the Dryht.”
“Koen,” Sabine murmured.
Tayte nodded. “He is their representative, yes. The message you shared was to warn the princess that she and all who were with her had been betrayed. Aodhan was telling her to be on guard because he knew an attack was coming.”
“And Aodhan had been ambushed on his way to warn her,” Sabine realized. “Was that what the part about the flower in jeopardy meant?”
“Another betrayal,” Tayte confirmed. “Someone is working hard to undermine the prince at every turn. If that someone were to learn of his interest in you, of the knowledge he suspects you possess, you would be in even greater danger than you already are.”
Sabine glanced across the clearing at Aodhan, watching him converse with Koen, Amala, and Diera. He must have felt her attention because he looked up, making eye contact for only the briefest moment before looking beyond her. “So what am I to do?”
“First, control your resentment.”
Sabine opened her mouth to object, then closed it again. He was right, of course. Bitterness had divided the races in the War of New Dawn. It would do nothing to help her free her people now.
“After that,” Tayte continued, his tone a bit gentler, “consider all your father taught you. What did you two talk about the most? Search your memories for anything he said that might be a clue to finding the location of something hidden. And keep your eyes open. Until we discover how our enemies keep finding us, anything can happen.”
As Tayte finished speaking, Gaelan and Kyar returned from watering the horses. Everyone gathered for a quick lunch of dried meat and fruit. Thankfully, they still avoided Sabine. Knowing that some of them thought her a traitor stung too much to be overlooked just yet, and she was in no mood to be social. Perfectly content to eat by herself, she pressed her back against the rough bark of an oak and avoided everyone except Bree.
All too soon they were on horseback once more, racing to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the portal gate before the waning sunlight forced them to stop. This time it was Sabine who kept silent and avoided making eye contact with the others. Every time she thought about their perception of her as a possible traitor, embarrassment scalded her cheeks. It would be easy to wallow in self-pity, but Sabine fought that temptation by turning her thoughts to her father. Confused about what, exactly, Tayte thought she needed to recall, she spent the ride trying to approach her favorite memories of her childhood from a fresh perspective.
When they reined in to make camp, Sabine’s emotions were as sore and knotted as her muscles. She let Tayte show her which one of her horse’s packs stowed her tent and accepted his help with setting it up, but she spoke only when she had to, and she erected her tent as far away from the others as she could.
Once the camp was established, the men divided the night’s watches and set a guard schedule. Gaelan volunteered to take the first shift, and Koen sent Gaoth back to Denu-Glean to discover if the portal gate still stood. Aodhan and Kyar disappeared into the forest with their bows and arrows, and Diera and Amala disappeared into their tent. The camp ran smoothly, everyone with a role to fill, and everyone filling that role easily.
Except for Sabine, who sat alone on a small log just outside the entrance to her tent.
At first, she was able to overlook their exclusion of her. In the beginning she was even thankful for it because she had yet to decide how to behave in light of their suspicion that she had betrayed them. But as the afternoon drew closer to evening, it seemed as if they welcomed her separation from them. Despite her best efforts, Sabine’s embarrassment began cooling into resentment. Before long, she viewed the Aethel company through her old, accustomed veil of bitter loathing.
Bree pushed her nose against Sabine’s hand. Sabine started, then released the breath she had sucked in. Quirking the corner of her lip in a small half-smile, she scratched between the dog’s ears. “Hi, you. When did you get here?”
The dog glanced at her, then sighed and lay against Sabine’s feet. Aware of how exhausted the animal must be, Sabine lowered herself to sit cross-legged beside her friend. Bree rolled onto her side with another sigh, and Sabine scratched her ribs obediently.
Aodhan and Kyar returned, wielding enough rabbits and quail to feed everyone. Tayte cooked the meat while the others talked. Soon, even Diera and Amala joined them, everyone conversing fluently in the Aethel language.
Sabine continued petting Bree, her thoughts growing darker as she waited for an invitation to join the others. A part of her reasoned that they wouldn’t include her any more than they had to. Really, what had she expected? Yes, she had rescued the Aethel prince (against her better judgment), and he had seemed grateful at the time (although even his gratitude had seemed forced and had been slow in coming), but he had been one Aethel separated from his people and dependent upon her for his life. She should have guessed he would revert to the arrogance and superiority characteristic of his race since before the War of New Dawn. As for the others—Sabine almost laughed at herself—how could she have expected anything different of them? They were, after all, Aethel. There was a reason Humanity had allied with the Rüddan to wipe them out.
Why couldn’t they have just remained extinct?
Bree groaned and shifted beneath Sabine’s hand. Sabine realized she must have been scratching too hard and patted Bree’s side. “Sorry, girl.”
Sabine returned her attention to the group around the fire, studying their elven faces as she battled to control her emotions. Amala’s antagonism, Kyar’s hostile silence—now that she knew they suspected her, it all made sense. In their minds, she was guilty not only of being a Human but also of being a traitor. Even though she knew she was innocent, they had already chosen to believe otherwise.
Sabine shifted her attention to Aodhan. Tayte’s explanation had done much to justify the prince’s attitude toward her, but that didn’t make her sense of isolation any easier to bear. And what, exactly, did the prince suppose she knew about finding Fyrleoht, whatever that was? Sabine stared at the Aethel prince, studying him as he visited with Kyar and Tayte on the opposite side of the encampment. He glanced up from the conversation, once again catching her in the act of observing him. She considered dropping her gaze but met his look instead, challenging him with a boldness that surprised her. This time he met her stare, not looking away until he was drawn back into the conversation.
Sabine dropped her gaze and relaxed her clenched jaw, suddenly aware of how much her emotions had spun out of control. Recalling Tayte’s admonition to master her resentment, she decided enough was enough. She needed to get up, to get away and calm down. Although the sun had begun to set, there was still plenty of light. Besides, she didn’t need to go far. Just far enough to get some space.
As worked up as she was, she knew better than to storm randomly through the trees. If she were to lose track of the camp, one of them would have to come find her. Rather than allow that to happen, she observed her path carefully, wandering just enough to put some distance between herself and the Aethel.
She followed a dry stream bed until she came upon a large stone jutting out into the path. Water marks stained the lower half, revealing the gradual recession of the river that had once flowed around the rock. The top was relatively smooth and flat, so Sabine sat upon it, settling into the safe, familiar comfort of being alone in the woods.
She had not been there very long when she heard the snap of a twig. Sabine tensed, suddenly alert, but the noises of the animals around her continued unchanged, so whatever had moved nearby was not unfamiliar to the surrounding animals. Since this meant it was not an Aethel, she relaxed.
“You have good instincts,” Koen said as he emerged from behind a nearby tree, “but you dropped your guard too soon. Although the forest knows me, that doesn’t mean I’m safe for you.”
“Koen,” Sabine greeted the Dryht tersely. Frustration flared within her, stirred to new life by his intrusion. “What are you doing here?”
One corner of the Dryht’s mouth curved wryly. “Communing with the forest. It’s what Dryht do. Mind if I join you?”
Before Sabine could say no, he sat beside her on the rock.
“How soon do you expect to hear from Gaoth,” Sabine asked, her tone more terse than she intended.
“The bird is fast, but he gets distracted. A juicy berry here or a lovely she-raven there, and business is a lost priority. I don’t expect him until morning.”
Sabine nodded but grimaced inwardly. So much for that topic. “So… you knew my friend Mariel?”
Koen nodded. “She did much to fight for the freedom of your people. She was not strong in her use of magic, but she was diligent. She worked hard to master her ability.”
Sabine shook her head. “I never would have thought it.”
“That was rather the point,” the Dryht countered. “What about you? Your mentor believed you hold even more potential than your friend. Shall we find out?”
“What, now?”
Koen glanced around, exaggerating the action as if to make a point. “You have pressing business elsewhere?”
“All right,” Sabine consented. She truly wanted to say no, but it was clear the Dryht was not going away. “How do we begin?”
“Technique,” Koen stated simply. “The last time we spoke of this, we discussed how all magic comes from one of two sources: the will of Torian or of Nymhon, depending on whom you serve. So. Now you learn how to tap into that power.”
Let me guess,” Sabine said when she recognized the Dryht’s silence as a prompt. “A prayer? A chant? An incantation?”
“All of those are options,” the Dryht conceded, his tone reluctant, “but each of them is time consuming. It’s really just a simple matter of the will. You focus on what you want to happen, will it to occur, and it happens.”
“As long as Torian allows it,” Sabine amended, recalling the night of Aodhan’s rescue. She had certainly wanted the arrowhead out of his shoulder, but nothing had come of it.
“Yes, there is that. Still, calling on your will is much faster than any other option and is preferable in any number of situations.”
Sabine was about to ask for an example, but she remembered when she had first used magic to rescue Danelle’s baby from being still-born, and she kept quiet. As she considered it further, she could imagine many instances in healing when time made all the difference. “I suppose this method is the easiest to learn as well?”
“Actually, no. The benefit to prayers, chants, and the like is that they help you narrow your focus and pinpoint your will. It takes much discipline to focus your will without them, because you can be easily distracted by everything around you. You must be able to block everything else out.”
That shouldn’t be a problem, Sabine mused, since she had been blocking out distractions all her life: her mother’s criticism and negativity, her sister’s snide comments. Blocking things came easily to her.
“Sabine,” Koen prompted. “Are you still listening?”
“Yes,” she replied, chagrined at the way she had let her thoughts wander. So much for focus.
“Then watch.” The Dryht held out his hand. A moment later a butterfly rested on his palm, opening and closing its wings a few times before fluttering away.
“Did you make that?”
Koen chuckled and pointed to the opposite bank of the dry riverbed. “No. Creation of something from nothing is reserved only for Torian and the Creator God. I simply moved it from that flower over there.”
Sabine peered through the fading light to a patch of deep orange, late-season asters. How was transporting a butterfly within the will of the Morning Star?
“Try it,” Koen urged. “Start with something simple as I did.”
Sabine arched her eyebrows in the Dryht’s direction but kept her sardonic reply to herself. Instead, she glanced around until she spotted a large, golden-tinged leaf at the base of an oak rooted close to the rock she sat upon. Staring at the leaf, she imagined it resting upon her knee, then willed it to move.
She concentrated. She really did. Even though the Dryht’s breathing was too loud and she could feel him watching her, she blocked out the distraction and focused all of her attention and energy into convincing that leaf to move.
A little while later, she dropped her shoulders and sighed. “I thought you said this was fast.”
Koen looked unperturbed. “To use, not to learn. And I also said it takes practice. Not to mention discipline. Try again.”
Sabine grimaced but did as she was instructed, trying again, and again, and again. Finally, when the sun was almost completely set, Koen called an end to the training session and suggested they return to the camp. “The others will wonder where we’ve gone.”
Exhausted, Sabine nodded and followed him. “How long did it take for Mariel to move her first object?”
Koen glanced over his shoulder, his expression suggesting Sabine wouldn’t like his answer. “She accomplished it by the end of our first session.”
Sabine harrumphed. Mariel always had been faster than she in things like this. “I’ll get it next time.”
Koen stopped suddenly, thrusting his arm out to make sure Sabine stopped, as well. “Koen, what—”
“Shhh,” the Dryht whispered. “Look.”
Sabine glanced in the direction indicated by Koen’s gaze. A short distance ahead of them a solid white doe stood directly in their path. She stared at them boldly, her demeanor calm and even expectant as she regarded them with large amethyst-colored eyes. If Sabine had not known better, she would have said the doe was glowing, as it seemed to be shrouded in a pale lavender nimbus. However, she was used to the last moments of day and the tricks the fading light could play on the unwary.
The doe started forward, heading directly toward them. She had taken only a few steps when she stopped. Glancing to Sabine’s right, her ears swiveled, and her nostrils flared. A moment later she darted in the opposite direction. Not a single twig or leaf stirred as she disappeared into the foliage.
In the next instant, Gaelan emerged from a dense copse to their right. “Where have you two been?”
Koen muttered something short and snappish in the Dryht language. Although Sabine did not understand it, she imagined it was a curse at the Aethel’s intrusion. She certainly felt like spouting a few obscenities herself.
Gaelan looked from Koen to Sabine. When neither of them answered his question, he scowled and turned away. “The evening’s meal is prepared,” he said as he headed back to the camp. “If you want any, you had better get it now.”
“What was that?” Sabine asked after the Aethel had disappeared back into the woods.
“An Ayrhim.” Koen’s voice was reverent.
“An elemental spirit?” Sabine stared at the spot where the doe had disappeared. According to her father, Torian had created the Ayrhim to help govern his creation, but she had never seen one. As far as she knew, no one in Khapor had. “Why was it here?”
“Hard to say.” Koen’s eyes held a pondering look. “But I’ve never known one to leave without accomplishing its purpose. If we are meant to, we will see it again.”
When they returned to the camp, Tayte was waiting outside her tent, petting Bree as she lay beside him. A plate of rabbit, berries, cheese, and bread rested in his lap.
“Feel better?” he asked as Sabine settled on the ground on the opposite side of Bree.
She glanced at him but did not answer. As if alerted by the look on her face, Koen excused himself and went to find his own dinner.
Tayte handed the plate to her. Staring casually ahead to where the rest of the group still sat around the fire, he pitched his voice low enough that only Sabine would be able to hear him. “If you are quite finished sulking, the prince agrees that I should tell you about Fyrleoht.”