Chapter 15
L iana stands on the edge of a battlefield, but the battle hasn’t yet begun. There’s an oppressive weight in the air, as if something is about to happen. In the distance, she sees two banners fluttering in the wind—one with Matilda’s crest and another indistinct, as if not yet fully formed.
Darien stands by the banner with Matilda’s symbol, but his eyes are fixed on the other banner, as though waiting for something, unsure. Suddenly, a figure in the shadow steps forward from the far side of the field, but Liana cannot make out who it is. The figure’s presence is important, almost pivotal. She tries to call out, but no sound comes out.
Suddenly, she’s no longer on the battlefield, but in a garden she doesn’t recognize. A withered tree catches her attention. Its roots are deep, and though most of its branches are bare, a single green leaf appears at the very top, growing despite the decay around it. She reaches out toward the leaf but can’t quite grasp it. As she tries, the garden begins to fade, and she hears a faint voice. One she knows.
A male voice.
“Liana.”
The voice was Darien’s. He’d almost kissed her. And she’d almost kissed him back. But then he fled. And they hardly spoke. He hadn’t slept beside her this time.
It all flooded back as she woke, Liana sitting up and watching as Darien stood from kneeling.
“Good morn,” he said as Liana blinked away the fog of her dream. Remnants of it remained. Enough for her to hold.
Bolting upright, tossing off her cloak and the blanket Darien had given her, she ignored the call of nature and ran to her saddlebag. Finding her pouch, Liana looked around camp as she attempted to pull the threads of her dream into the new day. The battlefield. The banners. Was the second one King Stephen’s? Who was the mysterious figure? And what about the wilted tree with one green leaf?
Finding a rock flat enough for her purposes, she ran to it.
“What is it?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.
“A dream,” she said, knowing if she did not do this quickly, the dream would fade.
Sitting in the grass in the soft light of the early morning, Liana set out the runes and carefully drew them, feeling the weight of destiny pressing on her. The runes seemed to echo the dream— Berkana , the rune of growth and new beginnings, paired with Hagalaz , the rune of disruption and obstacles.
Staring at them, she attempted to merge their meaning with the dream Liana was certain was given to her by her ancestors. There was meaning behind it, she was certain. Her mother had taught her to read the signs of it as well as she’d taught her to read runes.
And yet, they had not offered the clarity she was hoping for.
“Growth despite adversity. A legacy still fighting to survive,” she said, looking up at Darien, who stood beside her.
“What does that mean?”
She shook her head, clearing it. “I do not know. It is the only way I can explain what they”—she nodded to the runes—“are telling me as connected to my dream. There was a battle, and Matilda’s banners were clear, but her opponent’s—if it was an opponent, or an ally; I could not tell which—but the other banner was not revealed to me. You were there as well.”
“A battle with the king?” he asked.
“I do not know.”
Sighing, Liana collected her runes and replaced them into the pouch, standing. “I had hoped for clarity, but received only more riddles.”
She thought he might be as frustrated as she with the news, but instead, Darien smiled. “A piece of the puzzle,” he said. “’Tis a good thing, is it not?”
Liana blinked. “You are not angry?”
His smile faltered. “Why should I be angry?”
Liana thought of a story her mother told her, when she’d misread the runes, and the earl stopped seeking her advice for a spell. It is a tenuous relationship, she had told her. The rewards are plenty but you must never let down your guard.
Somehow, it felt traitorous to tell him of that memory. Darien adored his father, as he should. The earl was a good man. An even better ruler. But, like all of them, neither was he perfect.
“I do not know,” she said vaguely, quickly moving away. When Darien called to her, she pretended not to hear him and instead readied herself for the day. By the time they were prepared to ride out, she hoped the incident was well past for them.
It was the first time on their journey they did not speak. Liana was lost in the memory of last eve, of their almost kiss, even when she should have been thinking of the dream and her reading. Did he desire her? Certainly, Liana had felt those stirrings of desire before. She’d even kissed men, one who attempted to undress her until she stopped him. The farmer’s son was handsome, and kind, and for a time she considered him as someone she might trust with her secret. Someone, like her father, who could be brought into their fold, and maybe Liana could have children to carry on her family’s legacy as had been done for generations.
But she’d stopped him because it hadn’t felt quite right. After she refused him, the man she’d come closest to considering for marriage had immediately lost interest in her and put a baby in the ale wife’s daughter’s belly shortly after. That was the first, and last, time Liana fancied herself in love. Some time later, she asked her mother why she’d not pressured her to marry, since a daughter was the only way to ensure Fletcher women would continue to serve the Ellsworth. Her mother said only, “I have foreseen the future and know it will be well.” Often Liana wondered if she were meant to mentor another young girl, as she herself would not be having children.
“You are deep in thought?”
They’d crested a ridge that, had Darien not spoken to her, Liana may not have noticed stretched out to a most lovely view before them. Sunlight touched the open countryside, a mountain range on their right and open fields to the left and before them. She could easily see their path ahead, an old Roman road that continued unfettered with the forest having opened up earlier in the day.
“’Tis beautiful.”
“Very much so.” He was looking at her.
“The countryside,” she clarified.
“Is also beautiful.”
Liana’s mount danced beneath her, as if sensing the sudden racing of her pulse at his words. If she had any doubt after their almost kiss, there was none now. “Was that a compliment, my fair knight?” she teased, unsure how to respond.
“Simply the most obvious of statements. Surely, you’ve been told as much many times.”
Never from someone like you.
“Many thanks for the compliment,” she said instead.
“Many thanks for accompanying me. I know ’tis not been an easy journey thus far, but if we continue at this pace, we should reach Stanford Manor easily by nightfall. Shall we?”
“Aye,” she said, following him down the incline. True to his word, they kept a difficult pace, but manageable nonetheless. Though they met more travelers the closer they rode toward the village, none paid them any mind.
As they approached Brackenford, the fading light of dusk cast long shadows over the approaching village. Smoke rose from thatched rooftops, blending into the twilight. Lanterns flickered outside cottages as dirt kicked up on the road as they passed. Villagers hurried to finish their tasks—herding sheep into pens and closing market stalls. A distant bell chimed, signaling the end of the day as the manor house came into view.
“Lord Alistair Devereux is loyal to our cause, and will ask a few questions,” Darien said as they climbed the hill that made the towering walls surrounding the manor house appear even larger. “However, he is shrewd and pragmatic, though rarely diplomatic.”
Liana was not certain she understood. As Darien slowed before the gatehouse, she was about to ask for him to clarify his words. Before she could, he made a face that could only be described as apologetic.
“In other words, while we will find comfort and safety here...Lord Devereux will not believe our story, that you are my scribe. I’ve thought on the matter and see only two solutions. We tell him the truth, that you are a seer. Or...” He grinned. “My paramour. Your choice.”