Tranquility's Grief Read online

  “Get to the point,” Bethany snarled.

  Her Grace gave Bethany a reproachful look, but it was not reflected in her tone. “We believe that we should take the elven tents, reinforce them inside, and then pack boughs and snow around them. The largest tents will be able to house a small fire, and even those without fires will be kept out of the wind.”

  Bethany pondered that before saying, “I love the idea. How long will it take to do?”

  “Well, local people are understandably not interested –”

  Bethany raised a hand to cut Jon off. “I’ll assign a quarter of the soldiers solely to construction of shelter.”

  “In that case, within two weeks.”

  “All right, let’s do it.” Bethany looked down at the list Erem had provided her. “How is food?”

  “Tight, but the corridor the Knights have provided into Cul is helping. If your people can open a path to the ocean, that will help as well,” Jon added. “Both in terms of getting them away from here and eating elsewhere, and also allowing some trade from the sea ports.”

  “First priority is to fortify our position here and to extend a boundary to Cul,” Bethany said. “Allric won’t be here until the spring, so I have a few months before I need to worry about making room for him.”

  “As you wish,” Jon said.

  Bethany stood, “Shall we meet again tomorrow, then?”

  Celeste and Jon both nodded and left. She looked at the plans and details in front of her, but decided on getting some frigid fresh air instead. She strapped on a hip scabbard and slid one of her Blessed Blades into it. She was only going to step out for a moment, but would not be without a weapon.

  Bethany walked out of her tent in her boots, trousers, and tunic. The rest of her clothing and armor was off being repaired and cleaned.

  “Good morning, Lady Bethany,” Jackson said, standing sentinel outside the flap door.

  “Morning,” she said and walked past him. Bethany shoved her hands into the arms of her tunic and strolled around her tent, watching the activity. Blacksmiths and their apprentices were spread out, making spears, spikes, nails, and bolts. A young boy, perhaps eight or nine, pounded out nails, dropping them into a bucket. Metal clanged against metal, steam billowed from white-hot metal being doused into water, and a fog surrounded the smiths as their makeshift fires and billows pumped out heat.

  Bethany stood near one of the fires, far enough to be out of the way, but close enough to enjoy the heat against her back. Several small campfires burned around them, as children prepared large spikes for their eventual encampment barricade. Around them, the watchful eye of carpenters shouted instructions and worked on smaller items, like the handles for spearheads.

  And in the midst of the shouting, sweating, and snow stood Arrago.

  His hair had grown long since last she’d seen him, and he had the brown locks tied back with a scrap of green fabric. She watched him, wearing little more than what she was, only seemingly unbothered by the cold that was settling into her bones. Arrago and Eve stood together, issuing orders to his rebels and Knights alike; training, sleeping billets, pickets…Arrago organized it all. She’d always admired that about him. He could bring order to any amount of chaos. He was perfect for war.

  She frowned at that though. The Arrago she’d known, the man who’d shared her bed for a time was not meant for war. But principles have a funny way of forcing a person to become something they never thought possible. Arrago would make a good king. If he didn’t face endless power struggles, Arrago would one day be a great king.

  Arrago flashed Eve one of his toothy grins that seemed to wipe the cares from his face, and the faces of those around him. Her soul ached for the old days of their fledging friendship, before the emotions, and affection. She’d had so few friends in her life. Losing Arrago had left an empty space in her soul.

  A low growl escaped her. Arrago would be the death of her sanity. She fought the urge to bash his face into a tree trunk. She also fought the urge to rip his clothes off most days, which was sometimes followed by the urge to rip his clothes off and then bash his face against a tree trunk. Arrago turned and caught her staring at him. She glanced away, but it was too late and too obvious. She saw him say a parting word to Eve and then march toward her, a tight smile on his face.

  “Good morning, Arrago.” Bethany found speaking to him easier with each passing exchange. Soon, they’d be able to stand in the same country without being awkward.

  “Lady Bethany,” he said, inclining his head to her. He looked around and said, “Can we speak in private?”

  She nodded her agreement – the less said the better – and walked back to her tent, Arrago’s footsteps behind her. She heard the chatter quiet, replaced by whispered laughter. By now, everyone knew about her and Arrago’s history. She ignored them. She ducked inside, the small fire in its stone pit still crackling, smoke curling its way through a hole in the peak of the tent. The smoke burned her eyes, but only for a moment.

  Arrago looked around, approvingly. “Solid construction.”

  Bethany walked over to her desk and leaned against it, bracing her hands on the edge. “It’s a hybrid of the Taftlin traditional style and the elven style. Our tents can’t handle the snow and yours can’t handle the wind.”

  “It’s a good design.”

  She shrugged. “It’s been the first time in months that I haven’t been freezing.”

  “Yes, you never did like the cold.”

  They stood there, looking at their feet, the floor…anything but each other. Bethany did not have time for Arrago. She didn’t have time for feelings and heartfelt apologizes, and she certainly didn’t have time for the analysis of their failed relationship. She wanted it the way it was when she’d first come to Taftlin, decades ago. High on fury and vengeance.

  She was older now. Perhaps not wiser, but older, and had seen so much more. She’d seen Jovan lose his mind in the blood lust and never fully recover, never fully forgive himself for what he’d done. She’d seen Kiner sink inside himself and go from a content philosopher to a brooding, angry mute. She’d seen herself slip into a drunken waste, causing the death of her sister and father…

  “Bethany?” Arrago asked, his voice full of concern.

  She did not look up at him. Stupid floor, getting all blurry. “How have you been?”

  Arrago snorted. “Oh, you know. The same.” His tone grew serious. “More corpses now.”

  Bethany gathered her thoughts and successfully met his gaze. Arrago had changed so much. Not just in looks, but in how he carried himself. Gone was the boy who stood in front of her, mouthing off and demanding she not kick him out of the Knights. Now, here stood a leader of a rebellion. Not much of one, perhaps, but a rebellion nonetheless. An alliance with the Elven Service – now referred to as the Elven Expeditionary Force, known as the Elven Invasion Force, known as Elven Land Force, ELF for short, as Jovan said – would show that the rebellion was a force, not just a rag-tag group of farmers.

  “War is rarely without its dead.”

  Arrago nodded. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I wish I was back at the temple, having Daniel punching me for not knowing how to use a sword.”

  A chuckle escaped Bethany. “I miss those days, too.” They hadn’t actually been alone since Arrago’s arrival in town, as the knots in her stomach announced.

  Silence slipped between them once more, before Arrago asked, “How is the temple?”

  Bethany shrugged, trying to appear as casual as possible. She did not want him to see inside her despair. “It will survive.”

  The fire crackled behind Arrago, smoke still billowing up. There was still noise outside, though it was muted somehow, like people were leaned against the tent listening. Obviously, no one was actually doing that—no one would actually do something so obvious—but nonetheless the roar outside had dimmed. Or, perhaps it was just her focused that had dimmed in the presence of Arrago.

  “I heard about Father To
rius. I’m so sorry. He was a great priest, and a good man.”

  Chills gripped Bethany’s spine, remembering Torius’s funeral pyre, the wind tugging at her dress. She crossed her arms, remembering the chill in the air that day. “Which part did you hear? The Torius tale is rather complicated.”

  Arrago furrowed his brows, before saying in a dry tone, “More secrets?”

  She felt the stab of his words; they were colder than the air. Her secrets had torn them apart. “They weren’t my secrets. Torius was my father.”

  Arrago was quiet for a beat, before he said in a low tone, “You told me you never knew your father.”

  Bethany heard the accusation in his words. “Aneese told me before the funeral. I had no idea, not even a hint of it.”

  “It makes sense now.”

  “What does?”

  “When you killed that man in your bedroom…what was his name?”

  Bethany grimaced. She did not want to remember how a Magic assassin managed to kill fifteen people to carve a way to her bedroom and hacked open a little girl on her floor. “Joseph.”

  “Right, Joseph. That was his name. Anyway, while we were downstairs waiting, everyone was saying that you had been killed. Torius stormed into my study and demanded that I go find out what was happening. He was fretting and upset. I found it odd at the time.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you?” She looked up at him. “The high priest of the Apexian Order bedding a goddess.”

  She recognized the flash of anger in his eye, but he covered it up well with a nonchalant shrug. “There was a time, but I think I understand why he did it. No matter how much your head says something is wrong, your heart says that it’s right.”

  He looked into her eyes and lingered in his gaze. Bethany stared back, her heart pounding. He gave her a little smile. “So, you took command of the Silver Knights. Jovan told me what happened. Gutsy.”

  Bethany felt heat rise in her cheeks. “You decided to depose a king.”

  “That was completely by accident.” He cleared his throat and said, “Which brings me to why I came in here.”

  A pang of disappointment hit Bethany. “It wasn’t to gossip like old times?”

  “Sadly, no. We need to discuss the arrangement of command.”

  Bethany cocked her head. “What arrangement? Your men will fold under my command.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  ****

  “Excuse me?” Bethany asked. She’d heard him, of course, but Arrago was convinced she liked to make people repeat themselves when she was angry.

  Of course, Arrago could play the game, too. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” she said, “that I am in command here. I am Lady Champion Bethany and, frankly, right now I’m in charge of the army invading this frozen wasteland.”

  Arrago bristled. “Do not insult my home.”

  “I’ll do as I please,” she snapped, and the old heat rose in her voice. No, she had not forgiven him. It was too much to have expected, he supposed. But he didn’t answer her. He just stared at her, letting his own anger rise. He knew the game’s rules, and how to turn them against her.

  After a moment, she seemed to take control of her emotions and said in a calmer voice, “Arrago, folding your troops into mine is the logical course of action.”

  “They might not be trained Knights with centuries of experience, but they are loyal to me. They won’t be loyal to a female elf, even if she is Apexia’s daughter.” He paused to ready for the snarl, but all she did was shudder.

  “Let’s not forget I have nearly ten thousand soldiers within a day’s ride of here. You have at most a couple thousand farmers and petty criminals. My army could crush your little rebellion. You will do as I say.”

  Arrago squared his shoulders. “You are so stubborn! Why can’t you just accept that you’re wrong?”

  “I am not wrong,” she snapped, and her words came out hot and knife sharp. She let go of the desk and straightened. “I am here to fight a war against Magic, not to butter you up to have you crawl back into my bed.”

  “As I recall, you invited me into it the last time.”

  “You son of a whore,” Bethany growled and clenched her fists, but she restrained herself.

  “I could call you the same thing.”

  Arrago hated her, hated her to the core of his being. He was the shit on the bottom of a boot, to be trampled into the ground. She’d lied to him. And through it all, she had the nerve to act like she was on the moral high ground. He might have left her, but she lied to him.

  And he hated Apexia. May She in Her grace forgive him, but he hated her. It was Apexia’s doing, all of it. She’d put the notion of the Silver Knights into his head. She’d brought on the dreams of a comfortable life in service to the faith. Everything he’d done had been to honor Apexia’s will for his life.

  What did that dedication bring him? Nothing. Apexia had used him, pushed him into a corner, threatened him, guilted him, and used his love for her daughter like a weapon of war.

  Love.

  He stared at Bethany and a chill went through him. Apexia forgive him, but he hated Bethany, too. More than ever.

  “I will not relinquish control of my men to you. Accept it, or we leave.” He shot her a hard glare. “Figure out how to survive the Taftlin winter without help.”

  Bethany scoffed at that. “I’ve spent two winters in the mountains, I don’t need your paltry help; I asked for it.”

  “Then if you don’t need it, you won’t notice when I pull my peasant army out,” Arrago said, and he spat the word peasant, as if he were swearing an oath. In a way, it was. Daniel called them peasants. Perhaps they were, but they were also freemen, soldiers, clergy, and nobles. And all he knew was that he did not like the insult coming from Bethany.

  “Why are you acting like a child,” she all but screamed at him. “This is how war works! I should know. This isn’t my first time at it.”

  “No,” Arrago snarled, jabbing a finger in her direction. “This is not about the war. This is about Bethany of Wyllow, Lady Champion, trying to bully everyone into doing her will. I would never ask you to release control of your troops to me. Why would you think I’d do the same?” The heat rose in his voice and he said with a grin that had nothing to do with happiness, “You taught me better than that.”

  Bethany stared at him, wide-eyed and shocked. She was thinner than he’d remembered; her features more drawn. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Her face was paler, too, and the fading jagged scar on her cheek seemed more noticeable. Her flaming red hair had been cut at one point, because it was only reaching her ears now, all uneven and wispy.

  Anyone else would look frail. On Bethany, it made her look like a woman obsessed. But frail, or obsessed, it didn’t matter. The fire was still in her voice, just like he’d remembered.

  “Your army, as you call it, is nothing more than riff-raff following you under the promise of a hot meal and a world where they won’t have to scratch the earth to live. Your money has run out and Daniel is gathering his forces to squash you. I taught you better than that.”

  He took a step closer. “I am in charge of my men. I am willing to share and consult, but I will not step aside, not even for you.”

  Even at an arm’s length apart, chills crept down his spine. Goddess on the wind, he missed her. He even missed fighting with her.

  Bethany matched his step and crossed her arms. “Do you honestly think that you can just push me aside?”

  “Do not threaten me, Bethany.” Arrago took another step closer and stared into her eyes. “I am not afraid of you anymore.”

  Confusion crossed Bethany’s face, but it only broke her façade of strength for a moment. He knew her well enough to know how to push her buttons. If she refused reason, he could speak to her in the only way she knew how: violence.

  “You become a rebel and now think you’re my equal?” Bethany puffed out a breath, trying to make the motion nonchalant. She failed. He could
see through it. “Whatever has gotten into your head?”

  Arrago shrugged. “The will of Apexia is a strange thing, just like her daughter.”

  He was prepared for Bethany’s backhand across his jaw, but the strike stung him all the same. His eyes watered in response, but he’d said the words on purpose to hurt her. For all her bravado, he knew Bethany hated being the daughter of Apexia. Why else would she have lied about it? Her arrogance came from being a Silver Knight. That, she knew how to use to her advantage. She did not know how to use her parentage. She would not let people fear her.

  “I’m not afraid of you anymore,” Arrago repeated and raised a tentative hand to his mouth and studied the trickle of blood, where his lip had cut against his teeth. “For the sake of what we had, I’ll allow you that one. Touch me again and I will teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget.”

  Having trained with Bethany, Arrago was prepared and caught her wrist as her fist swung through the air. Tightening his grasp around her arm, he pulled her close. His fingers dug into her skin, and he pushed her against the desk.

  Her breath was hot on his cheek and Arrago felt his heartbeat quicken. Apexia forgive him, he missed the smell of her skin.

  Bethany narrowed her eyes at him, and he saw an expression on her face that he’d never seen before: uncertainty.

  “I’m not the naïve man you first met in a rhubarb patch,” he growled, and gripped her wrists harder as he wedged his knee between her thighs, pressing her against the table. His brain sent warning thoughts, but before he could act, Bethany slammed her forehead into his. Star-speckled blackness filled his vision and he fell to the ground. His legs tangled in Bethany’s and she fell, hitting her shoulder against the edge of the desk. She yelped in pain.

  Arrago pushed himself to his feet. He’d danced this jig before with her. Only this time, it would take a little longer before she beat his face into mushy peas. But, if that’s what it took, so be it.

  He’d pound the life out of Apexia’s daughter.

  A darker place in the recesses of his mind made a comment about another kind of pounding, but he promptly ignored that voice and the accompanying memory of Bethany’s naked legs wrapped around his…