Chapter 28
Syla squeezed water out of her robe, leaving a puddle on the floor and the hard bench of the armored carriage as it trundled back the way it had come.
Outside, the rain had lessened, but the sky remained gray.
Ominous. Even though the air wasn’t cold, the metal box had a chill to it that made Syla wish for a towel and a change of clothing.
Her enforcer escort had collected the horses and carriage that she, Fel, and Tibby had driven from the temple. If those two couldn’t find the shielder and signal Tibby’s engineering ally to come with a ship, they would have a long walk back to civilization.
At least the enforcers hadn’t found them. Syla didn’t know if they’d fully believed her story that she’d lost Fel, but, perhaps deterred by the rain, they hadn’t searched for him.
The lock clicked, and one of the enforcers opened the door.
Startled, Syla stared at him. The carriage was in motion, and he rode beside it.
He swung off his horse to enter, then closed the door behind him, a sword in a scabbard clunking on the metal bench as he shifted it on his belt, then sat opposite Syla.
“I’m Sergeant Tunnok, Your Highness. Son of Minor Lord Arvon of the Bogberry Tunnoks.”
That was one of the original founding families of Harvest Island, Syla recalled, and numerous men and women from that line had been chosen to govern here, but Syla didn’t know much about the clan, other than that they owned a lot of orchards and, of course, bogs.
“Good afternoon, Sergeant. Are any of your men in need of healing? I’ve a knack for it.
” Syla smiled politely, not wanting them to have a reason to resent her or go along with a plot to get rid of her.
It also crossed her mind that, if any did need and want healing, it might be an opportunity to magically gain an ally or two. At least temporarily.
Tunnok sat back, studying her, and didn’t answer right away.
“Do you need healing?” she offered.
“I’d heard that King Blaylok’s youngest served in a temple and is a strong healer.”
Syla chewed on her lip, wondering what it meant that he referenced her father, who’d passed five years ago, instead of Queen Lia, her mother, who’d been ruling since then.
Maybe he’d been loyal to the king but hadn’t transferred that feeling to the queen?
Both of her parents were descended from those original people chosen by the gods to carry the moon-mark and lead the kingdom, so they’d had equal right to rule, at least according to the divine laws, but people didn’t always see things that way.
With both now passed, it probably didn’t matter. Syla swallowed and looked out the window, tamping down emotions that welled in her chest. This wasn’t a safe place to reveal her feelings.
“That’s correct,” she said.
“Lord Ravoran thinks you came here to take our shielder.” Tunnok waved in the direction of the volcano.
“To make sure it isn’t being sabotaged as we speak by riders. We also seek to study it to see if a schematic could be made and taken back to Castle Island to help us repair our shielder. It still has some power, you see. I’m hoping it can be fixed.”
“You, a healer, know how to make a schematic of a magical item?” Tunnok didn’t add of anything, but his skepticism implied it.
Syla realized her mistake in bringing that up. If she mentioned her aunt, he might send men back to look for her.
“Sergeant Fel studied and practiced engineering in the military before he was recruited to be a bodyguard to protect my siblings and eventually me in the castle,” she said. “I’d hoped he could draw a schematic.”
“He’s not moon-marked.”
“No. But he has quite an aptitude for mechanical things.” Syla remembered Fel tearing pieces out of her aunt’s magical tractor but kept her expression earnest.
“But he’s lost, you said. Does that mean he’s dead? We didn’t see any bodies along the way.”
“I didn’t see him die. He charged off to confront—to protect me from—Captain Vorik. That’s when I took the reins and got away. He told me to, but it was hard to leave him. Do you think he might have escaped?”
The sergeant’s expression remained skeptical, and she worried he’d stopped long enough at the temple to get more of the story, such as how she’d claimed Vorik wasn’t a prisoner and had spent hours in his room, tending his wounds.
Belatedly, it occurred to her that she had no reason to answer the sergeant’s questions. She was the one who had the authority to question him and expect answers.
But she’d never been trained to act or feel like a leader. After so many years in the temple, where she’d had responsibilities but hadn’t been in charge, not wanting anything to do with the bureaucracy, she saw herself as a normal person with some magical healing ability.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m quite tired, Sergeant.” Syla leaned against the wall, as if she meant to slump against the cold metal and sleep. “But I’d appreciate if it you’d keep an eye out for my bodyguard. Just in case he survived. And watch out for the rider, too. He’s very dangerous.”
“Oh, we know.”
Tunnok didn’t take the hint and leave. Instead, he presumed to shift to her bench, sitting scant inches from her, and he looked at her chest. No, at all of her, giving her a long perusal.
The thick healer’s robe didn’t reveal much skin, but since it was so damp, it did hug her curves more than it otherwise would have.
Tunnok didn’t let his gaze linger inappropriately for too long, instead shifting his focus to her face, but unease swept through Syla at this familiarity.
She wasn’t such a ravaging beauty that she’d endured many unwelcome advances in her life, but she also wasn’t so plain that she’d been completely ignored.
In particular, she’d had a few encounters with men who’d grown overly amorous after she’d healed them.
Her station had always insulated her somewhat, but now that everything was in upheaval and the queen was dead… did she have that protection?
What was going through this man’s mind as he gazed at her through slitted eyes? He had to see her as… vulnerable. And was he wrong?
Syla curled her fingers on her leg, wishing for the first time in her life that she’d studied more than healing, that she’d learned how to use her magic in other areas. Such as self-defense. Until the invasion, she’d rarely had to worry about such things.
“Back in Hazel Harbor,” Tunnok said, “after we heard about the dragon attack on Castle Island, there was speculation about what might happen if the entire royal family was slain.”
Why did Syla have a feeling he’d been a part of that speculation?
“Would another government have to be established?” Tunnok mused.
“With different leaders? Of course, the power of the Moonmarks, and their ability to control the remaining shielders, suggests they would have to be involved… or at least kept as close allies, but other old families, such as my own Tunnok line, are well-respected and might have the knack for ruling. Most of the males have served in the enforcers or fleet.” He touched his uniformed chest. “Some have even battled dragons and riders at sea. We’re considered good stock. ”
Syla stared at him. Somehow, this wasn’t what she’d expected him to bring up.
“Those prepared to step in with the appropriate alliances or perhaps marriages might be able to win favor from the populace and other elites.”
“I’d think worrying about repelling the dragons and stormers would be of greater importance at the moment,” Syla said, “than figuring out who’s going to be the next ruler of the kingdom.”
“That is important, yes, but someone must step forward to lead us to a victory against them, and you…”
“I what?” She scowled at him.
“You may play a role, but a healer as monarch? Who would back that?”
“I am my mother’s heir, whether I’m a healer or not.” Syla had never wanted to be queen, nor did she feel qualified, but it was insulting to have someone who didn’t know her at all assume she wasn’t capable.
“Of course.” Tunnok presumed to pat her hand. Condescendingly.
Perhaps a testament to her strong emotions, her quarter-moon birthmark flared silver. Usually, it only did that when she was drawing heavily upon her power to heal someone.
Tunnok drew back, as if startled. Or stung. But Syla didn’t think the magic had done anything to him.
Too bad.
“My mother passed some time ago,” Tunnok murmured, watching her hand and not presuming to touch it again, “so my father would be available for a marriage. Were you suitably wed to someone from a well-respected and powerful family, you might find that others would be less likely to oppose your appointment as queen. And my father served as island lord for more than a decade, so he has the experience.”
“Sergeant Tunnok, are you proposing to me on behalf of your father?”
“I haven’t discussed the possibility with him yet, but he’s always done what’s best for the family, so I think he would be amenable.”
“How old is he?” Syla couldn’t believe this stranger was bringing this up, especially with her mother and siblings barely passed. Wasn’t it possible some of her kin had been found while she’d been gone? Maybe, even now, one of her siblings was being crowned and getting the capital back into order.
“I believe he turns eighty next year, but he’s still of fit mind and reasonably fit body.”
Her jaw dropped at the idea of marrying someone fifty years her senior.
As far as she knew, her family hadn’t even contemplated a wedding, political or otherwise, for her.
She’d always told them she was married to the temple, to healing, and to helping people.
Not… being a part of someone’s political plans.
“He might yet be able to rouse himself to give you an heir, children to rule the kingdom into the future, but if he can’t…” Tunnok smiled and draped an arm over the back of the bench, brushing her shoulders. “I would be happy to step in. I trust you’d prefer someone a little younger and fitter.”