The thick yellow dust caught in her throat, right next to her heart.
The euphoria of their victory over Ancar of Hardorn was starting to pass, the ragged cheers starting to fade. Selenay remembered all too well what happened next. The cold harsh wind of dealing with the aftermath. She’d managed to keep herself together this long. Her officers could handle the next few minutes without her.
“I just need a moment,” Selenay whispered to her guards, seeking the privacy of her tent. They nodded, taking up their positions. They probably thought she wished to thank her gods or see to her own needs. But the truth was not so simple.
Once the flap was raised, once she’d retreated into the darkness of its shelter and its relative silence, her emotions overwhelmed her. She stumbled past the table of maps into her sleeping area and collapsed on her stool. She dropped her head to her hands,and fought to hold back tears. This could not be happening, not here, not now, not ever.
He is his brother.
She gasped then, pulling in stale air, and shivered.
She was a Queen, a mother, a Herald, for the love of all the gods. She was in the middle of a war, fresh from a battle she never thought they’d win. She should be rejoicing at their victory and dealing with the consequences thereof. The dead, the injured, the damages to the land. Her people, her land, her kingdom. Instead, here she was like some silly girl weeping over—Her heart skipped a beat.
He is his brother.
The sounds outside the flimsy canvas of her tent were muted and distant. All she could hear was her heart in her ears, her ragged breath in her throat, and her thrice-damned memories.
“In that case, gracious lady, let the Prince prevail upon your noble nature and present himself!” the young man said, flinging himself at her feet in the most romantic posture possible.
She’d been so young and so stupid, dreaming of romance. So gullible. Karathanelan, Prince of Rethwellan had appeared as if in answer to her dreams and swept her off her feet. She’d fallen for him so fast, so foolishly. So blindly in love that she’d swept all opposition aside, ignoring the concerns of friends, advisers, even her own Companion, like a child with a new toy. She’d been stupid, arrogant, naive, and . .
Dearest Gods, was it happening again?
It couldn’t, it just couldn’t . . . no . . . this couldn’t be happening. She’d slammed the doors and windows on that stupid dream the day her loving husband had smiled at her over the glint of his sword. She could still feel that lance of fear as his friends had surrounded her, and she’d faced them for long moments alone—
Never alone.:
Selenay lifted her tearful face to a beloved white head pushing its way into the tent.
“Oh, Caryo,” she whispered.
Caryo stepped closer. Selenay stood and pressed her face into that warm neck, feeling the soft silky mane of white absorb her tears.
:Whatever this is, whatever happens, we face this together.: Caryo’s Mindspeech carried all of the warmth of her love with it. :I am here for you, Chosen.:
:I . . . I think it’s a Lifebond.: Selenay held on for dear life, and let her tears flow. :He is his brother,: she wailed in despair, sharing her fear. :Caryo, I can’t—:
:He is his brother.: Caryo confirmed. :But he is also Chosen.:
Selenay lifted her tear-streaked face and drew a sharp breath. :He is? I didn’t notice. He was in front of me, and I was so stunned, I didn’t see—:
:See again,: Caryo commanded and Selenay saw again in her mind’s-eye Lord Darenthallis of Rethwellan, his helmet in one hand, stretching out his hand to kiss hers. Saw him lift his head, saw his brownish-blond hair, and gazed into those hazel eyes . . . and saw him seated on a Companion.
Her knees buckled, and she went down onto the stool. Caryo followed, lowering her head to nuzzle Selenay’s face.
:Chosen,: Selenay wiped at her eyes.:By?:
:Jasan.: Caryo said. :On the battlefield. As is Kerowyn. By Sayvel.:
Selenay blinked, as a slow smile crept over her face. “Oh, Kero’s going to hate whites.” she hiccupped a weak chuckle.
A snort of agreement from Caryo.
“Chosen?” Selenay frowned, pushing her hair back from her face. “How will we deal with a mercenary company? For that matter, how do I explain this to King Faramentha? What will he say, to lose his Lord Marshal?”
:You are thinking like a Queen,: Caryo noted, shaking her mane in approval. :That is well.:
:Why do you say that?:
:Because he’s standing outside your tent, hesitating, not sure what to say, or how to say it, but knowing . . .:
:The bond.: Selenay felt it too, vibrating between them.
:Rolan says that Talia says to breathe. That a lifebond is overwhelming and confusing. Go slow, and remember that you are not the girl you were.:
:He is his brother.: Selenay nodded slowly, still nervous and unsure. But the terror was ebbing away. :But I am Queen, and Herald, and mother of a half-grown daughter. I can handle this.: She put her hand on Caryo’s neck. :We can handle this.:
Daren took a deep breath of heat and dust and let it out slowly. He adjusted his cape,and tried to brush dust from his uniform.
:One would think you were facing your final battle,: the voice in his head said.
“I am.” Daren looked over his shoulder at the white stallion behind him.
:Companion,: Jasan reminded him. The big horse shook his white head and somehow managed to look amused.
Daren concentrated. :This is going to take some getting used to,: he thought. His head was still whirling from the last few days, the confusion of the battle, the victory, being Chosen. And now the Queen of Valdemar was—
The bond between them vibrated with her nervousness, echoing his.
:It will take time,: Jasan agreed. :But you should not keep her waiting.:
Daren looked back at the tent before him. The Queen’s guards were looking at him with odd expressions. He wasn’t sure why he was hesitating so much. He’d known many women, been in and out of relationships like he changed garments, but this. . . .
His heart clenched in his chest. This mattered.
Daren pushed through the tent flap; he stood in the darkness and let his eyes adjust.
She stood opposite him, her Companion’s head over her shoulder, the table of maps between them.
Dearest gods, she was lovely.
Golden hair, blue eyes that were strong and yet like a startled doe’s. Her armor was a mixture of plate and white leather, and it didn’t show much dust. But there were smudges on her face and the trace of tears. It hurt him to see her pain.
“Your Majesty,” Daren placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head.
“Lord Darenthallis,” Selenay’s voice trembled.
“Daren,” he blurted out. “I go by Daren.”
“Daren,” she repeated. Her voice trailed off and they both stood there, staring at one another.
“I didn’t intend this,” Daren said. “I never thought that something like this could happen. I. . . .”
:Your brother’s greeting,: Jasan prompted.
Daren pulled himself up. “Your Majesty, I bring greetings from King Faramentha of Rethwellan. He bade me say that our presence here today honors the pledge that King Stefansen made to Herald-Prince Roald, preserving the honor of Rethwellan and the friendship between our lands.”
“You look nothing like him,” Selenay whispered, wonder and relief in her voice.
Daren stared back at her helplessly. “Faram and I favor my father,” he replied. “Thanel favored our mother.”
“Thanel? He went by Karath when he was here.”
Daren shook his head in disgust. “Thanel was what he was known by in Rethwellan,” Daren continued. “My old weaponsmistress called him a ‘grek’ka’shen.’ That’s an animal found on the Plains,” he explained. “Scavenges anything dead, soils its own nest, and eats its young.”