Storybook Hero #2
Faren looked rather ridiculous seated on the floor in his golden armor, but he didn’t appear uncomfortable. Not in the slightest. With his mouth full of bread, he offered Celia a lopsided grin. “Hello,” he said, swallowing. “Pleased to make your—”
“WHOA!” Tiny footsteps thundered down the stairs. My nephew, Timand, gaped at Faren with wonder. “Mama, it’s Kieran!”
I cringed, not ready for what was about to happen.
Faren set his plate aside. “My name is Faren,” he said. “Who is Kieran?”
Timand pressed his lips together, then raced back upstairs.
“Kieran is the main character in his favorite bedtime story,” Celia explained, holding her belly as she lowered herself onto the settee, seating herself directly behind Bard. She raked her fingers over my brother’s head as she added, “You have similar armor. And hair. Faren, was it?”
Before Faren could respond, my nephew barreled back into the room, a book clutched to his chest. His rambunctiousness turned timid as he approached the Mighty Knight.
After hesitating a moment, he thrust the book out toward Faren, showing him the cover: the silhouette of a man with a sword backdropped by a looming burgundy dragon.
“Kieran and the Red Dragon,” Faren read aloud. “Sounds exciting. Can I see?”
Timand glanced at his father; with Bard’s encouraging nod, the seven-year-old tiptoed closer.
Faren took the book from his hands, studying its tattered cover with reverent care.
The spine creaked as Faren opened it and flipped through the first few pages.
An amused brow rose as he studied the illustrations.
I lowered myself to the floor again, wishing I could sink through it.
“He appears most gallant,” Faren said to Timand at last, his tone serious.
Forgetting his shyness all at once, Timand plopped down between his father and Faren, leaning over Faren’s vambrace-clad forearm to point at all his favorite scenes: Kieran in profile on a field of green, with his strong nose, stern jaw, and a twinkle in his brown eyes; Kieran accepting a flower from a maiden in pink; Kieran sitting tall atop a dapple-gray steed that bore a close resemblance to Sunny; Kieran with sword aloft, facing a hulking dragon with a menacingly toothy grin.
“I must say,” Faren murmured, “I do see the resemblance.” He held the book up, showing the rest of my family the page.
On it, Kieran stood with his feet wide, fists on hips, a maroon cloak billowing behind him.
Golden armor. Charming grin. A flawless swoop of light brown hair, ruffled by an invisible wind.
When Faren angled the book at my mother, her attention cut straight to me.
She might’ve seemed the stereotypical matchmaker, keen to see her children partnered up—but under the surface, I knew it stemmed from a deep need to see us all happy.
No matter how well I concealed the worst parts of my duty from her, I couldn’t hide the dark circles under my eyes, the new scars and injuries, or the tension in my body that never fully relaxed.
While she was not so antiquated as to think a man could solve my problems, I knew she came by her teasing glances honestly.
I ought not to have brought Faren here. His presence only got my mother’s hopes up about her eldest daughter enjoying any sort of normalcy.
Even if Heris’s plot worked out and I managed to earn my freedom, I wasn’t sure a peaceful retirement from knighthood was possible for me.
Twenty-four years of death and gore and horror had broken a vital piece of my humanity.
How could I build a quiet life after what I’d seen?
Contentment, domesticity, love were out of reach, unrealistic, fantastical.
My heart was simply too cracked to hold something so beautiful.
“Kieran, what are you doing in my house?” Timand asked.
“Faren,” his mother corrected.
“I’m helping your aunt on a mission,” he said.
Him helping me. The phrasing was a lie—a kindness.
“Have you greeted your Auntie Ana, yet, Tim?” Celia prompted.
My nephew barely looked in my direction. “Hi Auntie Ana,” he said, sidling closer to Faren. “What kind of mission?”
“A secret mission,” Faren said.
Timand bit his lower lip, considering. “Are you hunting a dragon?”
Faren chuckled. “Nothing as exciting as that.”
Timand studied the tooled edge of Faren’s breastplate, then dragged his tiny finger along the pattern, smudging the shiny metal. “Do you have a sword like Kieran?”
Faren leaned closer, as if he were about to tell my nephew a secret. “I have two.”
I couldn’t help but smile at Timand’s immediate elation. “Can I see?”
Faren jerked his chin at where his scabbards rested by the door. “If your mother agrees,” he said, “you can retrieve them for me.”
Celia gave her son a nod. “Carefully.”
Timand sprung to his feet, racing over to Faren’s heap of gear. When he found the twin scabbards, he grasped them with care—intimidated, but also shaking with barely repressed excitement—and with some fumbling, managed to carry the hard leather sheaths over to where Faren sat.
Timand nestled against Faren’s side again, watching intently as Faren laid the swords across his legs and drew one from its scabbard. He angled the hilt toward Timand, allowing the boy to trace the woven grip and the round ball of the gold-plated pommel.
“It’s prettier than Ana’s sword,” Timand said at last.
Faren tipped his head back, chuckling deeply. For a moment, I lost myself in the view of his throat.
“Since when have you inspected Ana’s sword?” Bard asked his son pointedly.
“She wears it all the time,” Timand said.
I sat forward. “What’s wrong with my sword?”
My nephew wrinkled his nose. “It’s dull.”
“Finery,” Faren said at length, getting the boy’s attention, “is not as important as how one wields their weapon.”
“I still think gold is better,” Timand said.
“The gold is a symbol,” Faren continued. “It’s representative of the sacred honor and responsibility of my duty as a knight—but it is my strength of character that guides how I use my blades.” Light brown eyes lifted to me. “Just as it is your aunt’s strength of character that guides hers.”