Chapter Fourteen #2
The boy grinned and closed his eyes briefly.
“Said I was brave. I told him about Brita.” The boy moved his hands to make a female shape in the air.
“Yaine says he’ll marry her.” He leaned toward Jura, his foul breath making her pull her head back.
“They will be a funny pair. He’s a little man, but then Brita’s not as young and pretty as you, Jura.
If you had a sister, I would marry her. I would then be related to my king. ”
Jura raised her eyebrows at Rowan. “Your king? You mean your father Brocain?”
The boy gave her a crooked smile. “King Rowan. King of all Lanconia. King of—”
“Where is Siomun?” Rowan said impatiently, ignoring the way Jura was looking at him over the boy’s obvious hero worship. “I sent Siomun to take the message to Yaine.”
“I tied Siomun up. I couldn’t stay there with all those Irials.
My father expects me to be a man—like you.
I had three older brothers and they got killed when my father sent them on raids.
” He leaned toward Jura. “I attacked this Irial king, but I lived. Now I have to do more. I have to prove I can be as good a man as my father and I have to prove myself to you, King Rowan. Have I done so?”
Rowan put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You have pleased me and, yes, I believe you to be a man,” he said softly.
“So you rode alone into Fearen territory,” Jura said, then looked at Rowan. “Your innocence is affecting us all.” She turned back to Keon. “Why didn’t Yaine kill you?”
Keon’s expression changed to one of sadness.
“They are very poor. Yaine says everyone steals their horses, so they must move all the time. They cannot plant crops and last winter they were very sick. Many died. They need women.” Keon’s young face brightened.
“My father will give them all of our women if they want. We will take the Irial women.”
“So Yaine accepts us?” Rowan said.
Keon’s head lolled to one side as he nearly fell asleep. “Those three are to take you to Yaine. Did you kill them? One is Yaine’s brother. For little men, they sure can drink.” He closed his eyes, his head falling forward, and went back to sleep.
Tenderly, Jura eased him to the ground. “I never noticed what a handsome young man he was,” she said.
“Not colorless like some of us?” Rowan snapped. “Now, if you can stop mothering that child, we had better see to the Fearens. I thank God I did not have to kill one of them.”
Jura smiled at him as she patted Keon’s cheek. “He is actually about my age, so I don’t guess he is a boy. And he was very brave to go to Yaine alone.”
“He is brave when he goes alone, yet I am foolish,” Rowan muttered, and left her to see to the Fearens.
Jura smiled at his back, loving his jealousy. For all his faults, this English husband had a way of making her feel…well, beautiful. Not that beauty was of any use whatsoever but it was a rather nice feeling.
One of the Fearens was beginning to stir as he rubbed his sore head.
Rowan sent Jura off to fetch water while he looked after the men.
She returned to see Rowan holding a sword on the men while they glared at him.
But Jura wasn’t surprised when, as they listened to Rowan’s explanation, their faces began to change.
Jura thought that Rowan’s words just might be able to coax flies off dead meat.
When Jura stepped into the light, the men looked up at her and one kept staring. She knew he was the man who had nearly killed her, and they exchanged looks of gratitude that they were both alive.
Jura sat by the fire, behind the Fearens but where she could see if they went for their weapons, and listened to Rowan talk.
Idly, she pulled a leg off a roasted rabbit and gnawed at it, then tore off a chunk of stale bread.
The fire, the exercise, the safety, and most of all, Rowan’s voice was making her sleepy.
She stretched out on the ground, sleepily pulled one of the sheepskins that the Fearens used for horse blankets over her, and went to sleep.
She woke, but not fully, when Rowan picked her up in his arms. For just a moment she fought against him but then she settled against him, snuggling her head against his broad, hard chest, and let herself drift back into sleep.
She was not conscious of it but somewhere in her mind she knew she was safe.
He had done several things that she knew were foolish, but he had made them work.
He had befriended Brocain of the Zernas, persuaded the Vatell queen to allow her people to marry into the Irials, and now the Fearens were listening to him.
She opened her eyes. “Do you really talk to God?”
Rowan gave her a look of puzzlement. “I am only a man and I need help from wherever I can get it.”
She closed her eyes again and went back to sleep. She didn’t wake until it was almost daylight. Rowan lay beside her, sound asleep, his big arms wrapped about her as if she were a child’s toy. Slowly, trying not to disturb him, she tried to untangle herself.
“Do not leave my sight,” he said, not opening his eyes and tightening his hold on her.
“I need to go,” she said pointedly.
He still didn’t open his eyes. “To that tree there and no farther,” he said. “I do not want to fight anyone for you today.”
She shut her mouth on a sharp retort and went to the tree. When she returned, he was still lying there, still looking as if he were asleep. “We must get back to the others,” she said. “Daire and Cilean will worry, and where are those Fearens and Brocain’s son? Do you plan to stay here all day?”
His hand shot out and caught her ankle. “Jura, do you not sometimes want to lie all day on the bank of a pretty stream and watch the butterflies?”
She smiled down at him. “Perhaps, but it cannot be done today. Geralt will—”
“God’s teeth!” Rowan gasped, coming to his feet. “I had forgotten that brother of yours. He will kill the Fearens without giving them a chance to explain. Mount and ride!” he ordered her.
Jura had trouble getting her bearings because she had been asleep last night when Rowan had carried her from the camp. She hastily gathered their few belongings, mounted her horse bareback, and went after Rowan.
Minutes later she saw that Rowan’s fears were justified. Damnation, but she hated to admit even to herself that he was right.
Geralt was always an excellent fighter, but when his temper was aroused he was fearless. He had managed to capture all three Fearens, no doubt sneaking up on them while they slept, and he was now threatening their lives if they did not tell him how they had murdered his sister.
Jura came into the clearing just in time to see Rowan throw a knife that landed in the dirt between Geralt’s feet.
Jura knew there was going to be a fight.
She kicked her horse forward but it was already too late.
Even years later she would not be sure what happened next.
The Fearens, who had come in peace, had already been attacked twice in a few hours, and their anger was directed at Geralt.
When they saw their chance, they leaped, weapons ready.
Young Keon, who was roused from a drunken sleep, looked up and saw the confusion, not really understanding who was attacking whom.
To him it must have looked as if his beloved King Rowan was in danger.
Keon ran, sword drawn, and put his body in front of Rowan’s. A Fearen lunged at Geralt, missed as Geralt sidestepped, and the Fearen’s sword pierced Keon’s heart. Had he not been there, Rowan would no doubt have been killed.
For a moment time seemed to stand still. Keon fell to the ground without a sound while everyone stood as if frozen.
Rowan reacted first, kneeling and taking the boy into his arms.
“You will tell my father that I did not die in vain,” the dying boy whispered.
“I will tell him,” Rowan said softly.
Slowly, painfully, Keon put his hand up to Rowan’s shoulder. “I have not lived without purpose. I have died for my king.” His lifeless body collapsed in Rowan’s arms.
“This will mean war,” Geralt said with unconcern as he sheathed his sword.
Jura turned to look at her brother and could see the look of near glee in his eyes. He was glad of this boy’s death, glad of the war to come, glad that Brocain would now kill Rowan. In that moment Jura knew Geralt cared nothing for Lanconia but merely for himself and his own sense of power.
Jura looked at Rowan as he still held the boy, but she could not read his expression. His face may as well have been carved out of cool marble for all the emotion he betrayed. No doubt he too worries about the war, she thought.
Very slowly, Rowan tenderly picked up the boy in his arms and walked with him into the forest.
“We had better ride,” Geralt began. “Brocain will—”
Jura glared coldly at her brother. “You will remain here and you will wait for him, and if you harm anyone, I will kill you,” she said through her teeth.
“But Jura—” Geralt began.
She walked away from him, through the trees toward where Rowan had carried Keon. Cilean called her to leave Rowan alone but Jura wanted to find him. They would talk about what must be done now that this Zerna boy was dead.
She walked for some time before she found him and she did not approach him when she did see him. To her, it was a strange scene. Rowan had stretched Keon’s body on a rock, as if it were an altar, and Rowan was on his knees before the boy’s body.
Jura stood absolutely still but Rowan did not turn to her as he knelt there, his face in his hands. It took her a while to realize that Rowan was crying.
Her body was paralyzed as she watched him. She had never seen a man cry before, had seen very few women cry, but the sounds coming from Rowan were unmistakable. She did not go to him, did not have any idea what one did with a crying man.