Larussi: A Queen's Heart, #4

By David Waine

'Larussi is the appendix to 'A Queen's Heart'. Although the overall story arc of the trilogy is brought to a conclusion in the final instalment, one thread is left hanging.
Larussi Samossin is the young girl who escapes from the tyranny of Morgonnun's dark lord, Darank, by the skin of her teeth, only to run straight into yet more horror and bloodshed when his reputedly invincible forces invade Dragotar. There she finds her first love in the person of the young thief, Tammas. At the climax, however, she is left completely alone, having lost everything and everyone.
The action moves on five years. Now eighteen, Larussi is a postulant with the Sisters of Mercy, a Dragotar religious order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Waine
• Release date: Nov 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393523758

David Waine

David Waine was born in Newcastle upon Tyne, England, in 1949. He is the youngest of three brothers, all of whom went on to become teachers like their father. It was during his teaching career that he developed an interest in writing, initially plays, and his adaptation of Shakespeare's 'Macbeth' was performed at the Cockpit Theatre in London (the forerunner of Shakespeare's Globe) as part of the Globe Theatre restoration in 1991. He took up novel writing after leaving the profession, and his first published work, The Planning Officers appeared in 2011. He lives with his wife in the foothills of the Pennines. www.davidwaineauthor.com

Book preview

LARUSSI

The Appendix to A Queen’s Heart

by

David Waine

Turnspit Dog Publishing

© David Waine 2014

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This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are fictional. Any resemblance to a real person, living or dead, place or event is entirely coincidental. No part of this narrative may be reproduced in any form without the written consent of the copyright holder. David Waine has asserted his moral rights.

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www.davidwaineauthor.com

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First published 2014

This edition published 2022

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Dedication

To my wife, Helen, and our sons, Michael and Paul

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AUTHOR’S NOTE

Larussi is the appendix to A Queen’s Heart. Although the overall story arc of the trilogy is concluded in the final instalment, one thread is left hanging.

Larussi Samossin is the young girl who escapes from the tyranny of Morgonnun’s dark lord, Darank, by the skin of her teeth, only to run straight into yet more horror and bloodshed when his reputedly invincible forces invade Dragotar. There she finds her first love in the person of the young thief, Tammas. At the climax, however, she is left completely alone, having lost everything and everyone.

The action moves on by five years. Now eighteen, Larussi is a postulant with the Sisters of Mercy, a Dragotar religious order.

Larussi completes her tale. As well as being an integral part of the Queen’s Heart Series, it is a stand-alone story in its own right.

CONTENTS

LARUSSI

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

EPILOGUE

CHAINED IN TIME

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER 1

THE FINAL RAYS of the sinking sun flooded overhead, igniting a glow in the citadel’s newly rebuilt high tower, as King Rudnik’s personal banner broke out on the topmost flagstaff for the first time in five years. The cheering was faintly audible, even from this distance.

Mother Sulsa sat, chin on hand, at the pinnacle of the rugged hill where her abbey nestled. At her feet, the great cliff fell away vertically to a glinting arc of river. Behind her, a winding set of stone steps led down to the abbey.

The sisters and postulants would be at their private devotions now. When the weather was benign, she preferred to make hers in this place with the beauty of Dragotar spread out before her and the Heavens directly overhead: the privilege of rank.

Murmuring her closing, Amen, she crossed herself and composed her hands in her lap, allowing her eyes to drift over the immense view, but taking little of it in. On another day, she might have given thanks to God for having preserved so much of it from the pillaging armies of Morgonnun, but not on this day.

That dark time had doubled the size of their little cemetery. Dragotar’s only war in living memory had ended in victory — but also in such a litter of shredded corpses, shattered stone and grieving hearts that an entire generation of undisturbed peace would not erase it.

The abbey was built on what looked like a mountain but was really little more than a ripple in the rolling tide of rock and larches that rose, wave upon wave, into the mighty fissured bastions of the Kingdom. Had she turned, she would have beheld their cascading mantles of ice flushing rose as the light dimmed, but she did not. Her eye was fixed upon Kurial’s western gate.

Sulsa was an unusually young woman to hold the office of Reverend Mother. She was barely thirty years of age when the other sisters elected her, almost unanimously, after Mother Berulin was called to her place at the Lord’s Table. Sulsa had sat at her bedside and prayed with her as she slipped softly over the river of life and into eternity. Her reaction to the ensuing acclamation had been one of dismay, and she initially refused the post, insisting that her beloved sisters should reflect prayerfully before placing their trust in her. They returned to their deliberations, prayed dutifully and implored divine guidance. Their prayers were answered categorically because the second vote was absolutely unanimous. God’s Will was clear.

On that day, she had ceased to be just another sister, caring for the sick and devoting her life to God’s work, but also became an administrator with bills to pay, schedules to organise, repairs to supervise, postulants to train and counsel. All this on top of the fundamental dichotomy that made up the life of any sister. On the one hand, she was a sister of mercy, and her very being was founded on vows of self-denial and faith. On the other, she was a woman, who was required by both Nature and God to live her life completely.

Her solution, like that of all sisters, was that a woman’s fundamental function was to love, which was a spiritual condition, and no vow forbade that.

She focussed her eyes on the darkening city. The wooden cranes that had dominated the horizon for years had finally been dismantled as the great restoration was finished. Kurial looked, once more, as it had before the war.

As the shadows from the huge peaks spread over her and across the fertile plain before the city, she saw the western gate swing open, and a small party ride out. They flew no banner. They would approach with neither clarion nor drum. It was the same every year.

They stole from the city with muffled hooves, like thieves in the night. Yet these were no thieves. The annual meeting was as informal as it was unofficial. Mother Berulin had greeted them alone on the first three occasions. On the fourth, sensible of her approaching mortality, she had asked Sulsa to accompany her. No record was ever kept, and those nearby knew nothing of it. They would reach her gate within the hour and she would admit them secretly while the sisters and postulants were at supper and oblivious to their arrival. Similarly, they would leave before a further hour had passed.

Picking up the skirt of her habit, lest she should trip, she turned and made her way down the winding steps to the shoulder of the hill where the abbey lay. In inclement weather, the journey could be perilous, for the steps were steep and slippery. This, however, had been an unusually mild day so they were dry.

Regaining the grounds, she paused by the gate, looking back over her shoulder towards the abbey. The gilded cross at the pinnacle of the church’s spire glittered momentarily as the last sliver of the sun sank behind the Kingdom’s summits, and twilight shrouded all. Those sisters and postulants who had completed their private prayers, and were not working in the kitchen, would be in their dormitories in tranquil reflection or reading. They would remain there until the bell announced supper.

Withdrawing a heavy key from her pocket, Sulsa unlocked the gate and stepped out onto the small, grassy plateau where she would greet her visitors. There was a bench by the gate. Here she sat and waited.

Full night had fallen by the time that she heard the thudding hoofbeats on the narrow path leading up from the valley. They were too distant from the abbey buildings for the sound to carry.

Dim forms loomed through the trees, fanning out to make a line of hooded black riders. The two central figures urged their mounts a step or two more before dismounting. They stood in stark contrast to the escort, all of whom were strapping, muscular types, armed to the teeth beneath their cloaks and hoods. Mother Sulsa shook her head with an ironic smile. Still, they bore their instruments of death, yet what threat could she or her sisters possibly pose?

One of these figures was tall and lean, the other shorter and slightly built. The tall one turned to the escort and commanded them to wait.

Sulsa had risen on hearing their approach. Now she dropped into as deep a curtsey as her habit would allow.

Your Majesties, she intoned formally.

The two threw back their hoods and smiled. The taller, King Rudnik of Dragotar, all greying hair and beard, nodded his head and extended his hand for her to grip as she rose. The slighter revealed herself as the undisputed jewel of the three realms, with her pure skin, gleaming blue eyes and cascade of russet hair tumbling from the golden circlet of state about her brow. Avalind, Queen of the Kingdom, was now twenty-nine years of age and in the full bloom of her womanhood. There was no formality in her smile, just pure radiance. Please forgive the presence of an armed escort, Reverend Mother, she apologised. Our officials would suffer apoplexy were we ever to venture abroad unguarded. Our bodyguards will remain here, beyond your gate, while we conduct our business within.

Sulsa marvelled that a woman who had suffered as much as Avalind could have emerged from the horrors of her past with her compassion still intact, her renowned common touch. She knew that the otherwise perfect nose was slightly crooked from when it was broken in battle and that she bore the scar from a sword slash on her shoulder and the welts from a flogging on her back. They were ever hidden from view, but their existence was common knowledge.

You look well, Mother Sulsa, smiled Avalind. I think your new responsibilities suit you.

Sulsa bowed demurely at this.

A single bell tolled distantly from somewhere beyond the gate.

That is the bell for supper, Your Majesties, Mother Sulsa informed them. The sisters and postulants will be moving to the refectory.

Then perhaps we should visit the graveyard first, suggested Rudnik solemnly.

The abbey’s cemetery lay beyond the gate and behind a narrow screen of trees. The refectory was on the far side of the complex, so there was no danger of being overlooked or overheard.

It was not the graves of dead sisters that concerned them, although Avalind and Rudnik did pause to lay a small wreath on that of the late Mother Berulin, nor did they stop at the unnamed plots of the Morgonnun soldiers who had died by the gate when Kurial was liberated.

Three carefully tended graves lay side by side, isolated from the others. It was before these that they paused. All were marked with clean, white crosses on which the names of the occupants had been carved lovingly and picked out in black paint. There were fresh flowers on all three. Two crosses still displayed their legends clearly: Song. Beloved Friend and Kopik. Beloved Brother. The third was covered in such a mass of flowers that the name was obscured.

Even now? asked Avalind soberly.

Mother Sulsa nodded sadly. Always, Your Majesty. Her heart is still broken.

Avalind crouched by the grave and gently moved a clump of blooms to one side to reveal the name, even though she already knew what was engraved there. The legend on the cross read, Tammas. Always in my Heart.

She fashioned the cross herself, murmured Mother Sulsa. Our carpenter showed her how. It took her seven attempts before she succeeded, but she would have it no other way.

Tammas gave his life so that she may live, and he died in her arms, whispered a deeply touched Avalind.

He was a thief and a vagabond, growled an equally moved Rudnik, yet he found his salvation in her, and he died a hero. The noblest of spirits may live in any of us.

The three of them stood in solemn silence by the grave, honouring the memory of the brave boy whose self-sacrifice had saved the life of the girl he loved.

I think we should observe her now, said Avalind softly.

The refectory was much quieter than any that either Avalind or Rudnik had otherwise known. Populated, as it was, by sisters and postulants, all of whom behaved demurely, its essential atmosphere was a subdued hum of genteel conversation, rather than the raucous clatter and laughter that would have accompanied a communal meal for soldiers.

They remained unseen, making their way along a side corridor to a small room at one end.

It is not unusual for me to take my evening meal in my room, explained Mother Sulsa, so my absence from the high table should excite no particular comment. I normally eat with the sisters and postulants three or four times a week.

Sulsa slid a small panel aside, revealing a peephole through which she peered briefly. Moving aside for Avalind, she told her, She is at the end of the front row. She sits alone.

Avalind placed her eye to the hole. The place was filled by a young woman with a downcast face. Being a postulant, she wore no wimple, but a simple cap over her dark, braided hair. The place to her left was empty. As she bent over her soup, a small locket on a silver chain escaped from the neckline of her habit. She caught it with her free hand and stowed it back within her bodice. As she raised the spoon to her mouth, Avalind gasped, for she beheld a face of astonishing beauty. The eyes were huge and limpid, the cheekbones perfectly set, the lips full and soft, the skin as smooth as alabaster. Not a hint of makeup marred those porcelain features. She needed none.

Although internationally renowned for her exquisite looks as much as her intelligence, courage and wisdom, Avalind was not a vain woman. She made no comparison with herself, but simply appreciated Larussi’s natural loveliness for what it was.

She was always a very pretty child, she observed softly, but she has grown into a true beauty.

She yielded the peephole so that Rudnik could squint through.

Yet there is a sadness in her that time has not healed, observed the king, taking his eye from the hole. Even I can see that.

Perhaps we should continue in my office? suggested the Reverend Mother.

Avalind noted that Mother Sulsa’s office was little changed from Mother Berulin’s day. The desk had been moved closer to the window so that she could look out over the gardens while reflecting. Other than that, it remained the same book-lined, studious place that it always had been.

Sulsa invited the two monarchs to take seats opposite her.

Seeing her as she is, began Avalind without formality, I am deeply concerned for Larussi. I do not think she has moved on at all since we last saw her.

In some ways, she has, Your Majesty, replied Mother Sulsa deferentially. She applies herself to her studies conscientiously, and she is demonstrably our brightest student. Her voice has developed wonderfully, and she now sings the solo parts in all our services. This is a talent that she has somewhat rediscovered since she joined us. Apparently, she sang naturally as a child, but the untimely death of her father caused her to stop. Then followed the tyranny of Darank and all the horrors that have since overwhelmed her. She only began to sing regularly again after we took her in. It was her only defence against the nightmares. Now she sings naturally once more, and she does it without restraint. If you would care to observe our final prayers for the day, you will hear her.

Both monarchs nodded at this.

But Tammas never heard her sing? asked Rudnik.

Mother Sulsa shook her head. Perhaps he did, but I do not know, sire. She has never mentioned it. She is popular among the sisters and the other postulants.

More than that, I think, put in Avalind, for her name is known far and wide. She is the girl who lived and lost everything. She leaned forward scrutinising her hostess closely. Does she have any notion at all of how famous she really is?

Sulsa could not meet her gaze and shook her head. No, Your Majesty. Little of the outside world penetrates our walls, and she has not set foot beyond them since she joined us. I know, of course, as do several of the more senior sisters, but we have not told her. I acknowledge, however, that the day when we must do so draws nigh. How she will cope with that knowledge, I cannot tell. There remains a reserve about her, a deep sadness at her core. We all know the reason for that.

The three fell silent for a moment, each lost in his or her own thoughts.

I noticed that she wears a silver locket on a chain about her neck, observed Avalind at last.

Mother Sulsa nodded. Tammas bought it for her when he took her into the streets of Kurial before the war. She told me that he used money that he had earned honestly, not stolen.

Has she ever opened it in your presence?

The reverend mother shook her head. No, Your Majesty, but I do not think that any of us need ponder too deeply on what is inside.

Rudnik nodded soberly. A lock of his hair.

A moment’s silence fell between them as Mother Sulsa called to mind another memory. She takes it off at night. One day, a few months ago, she woke late and had to dress hurriedly lest she missed morning prayers. She forgot to put it on. I found it next to where her head had lain. The bolster was still wet with her tears. She hung her head at the recollection. I did not open it. I left it as it was and returned to my duties. On looking in later, I noticed that it had gone. When I next saw her, it was around her neck again.

Avalind thought for a moment. If I understand your rules correctly, Reverend Mother, if she takes her vows, she will have to give up the locket.

Sulsa nodded. That is correct, Your Majesty. We are required to surrender all of our worldly possessions.

That would tear her apart, observed Rudnik sombrely.

Mother Sulsa nodded sagely. I fear that would be so, sire. We took her in out of compassion and we have cared for her ever since. She has responded to the best of her ability and makes a full contribution to the life here, but we have failed to heal her heart. She has spoken of eventually taking her vows. She glanced down and her eyes became hooded. For all that, my mind is clear. Much as I delight in her presence, as do we all, I know that she is no more a sister of mercy at heart than I am an admiral in Your Majesty’s navy. Each day it becomes more apparent to me that this abbey has become her refuge, not her natural home. If I ever permitted her to take her vows, I am convinced that it would become her prison.

There was a further long pause as all three of them reflected on this.

Finally, Avalind spoke. I concur fully, Reverend Mother. Rudnik nodded his own agreement. I am not her sovereign. I am not even liege here, for this is Rudnik’s realm. She paused again in thought. Her true liege is Russica.

You would send her back to Krimmin? asked a concerned Rudnik.

Avalind turned to him. She needs to leave the abbey, for she cannot escape her past here. She is caught in a web of memories, both bitter and sweet, and she clings to them out of desperation. This is where Tammas died, and his body lies within these walls. I forbade her to take her vows before her twentieth birthday. That is still two years away. Now that I have seen her as she is, and heard your counsel, Mother Sulsa, I would forbid her ever to take them, if I could. She must experience the world beyond these walls before she makes her final decision. She needs to see her original home again to discover how Russica has healed it. She paused, collecting her thoughts. Her uncalled-for fame could help her there, for she would be certain to find a welcome.

I see that, grunted a clearly concerned Rudnik, but her knowledge of the world away from the abbey is blood, fire and death, both here and in Morgonnun.

Yet it was not always so, countered Avalind. She came from a loving family and must have known happiness in her childhood. She needs to understand that what has happened since need not blight her life forever.

While her memories of Tammas fill her heart, she can find no solace, interposed Mother Sulsa. She will love him for every day that she lives, but she needs to find another in this life who can heal her grief and love her in return. I doubt whether he will ever present himself within these walls.

But we can hardly just send her out into the world to fend for herself, protested Rudnik. What chance would she have?

We must find a suitable companion for her, suggested Avalind, a friend and protector. And we must do it quickly.

Rudnik sat for a moment, his beard on his chest, tapping his fingers together in thought. Now that full relations have been re-established between our realms and Krimmin, there is regular trade between us, and their warships put into Kurial once or twice a year to refit. One is expected soon. We could send her and her companion over in that. Given the strictures of military discipline, she would probably be safer there than on a merchantman.

Which leaves us very little time to find the companion, mentioned a thoughtful Mother Sulsa.

Before they left, Avalind and Rudnik attended the day’s final prayers in the abbey’s church. They remained out of sight behind a screen, so they were able to listen without being observed.

Mother Sulsa led the procession down the nave, all the participants lining up in the choir, sisters on one side and postulants on the other. No instrument accompanied their singing. It was pure and sweet and clear.

Then the purest voice of all sang out above them as the others fell silent. Avalind’s lip trembled, for what she heard was unsullied beauty, free from the vicissitudes of this world. It was the sound of starlight.

Larussi’s face was clear and fresh as she lifted it to the heavens and gave utterance to cadences that surely no other mortal could ever produce, yet there she was, clad in her simple habit and cap, singing as an angel would sing.

Avalind and Rudnik looked to one another in wonderment.

CHAPTER 2

BARON KILLIAN’S SEVENTIETH birthday was celebrated in a muted fashion, compared with its predecessors. As governor of the Kingdom’s richest province, he had never stinted in his hospitality or generosity. Recently, however, he had begun to feel the unavoidable effects of time and to accept that the inevitable approached.

Now that his threescore years and ten were upon him, his hair, faded to pure white since his fifties, was still plentiful, but visibly thinner on top and receding at the temples. His face, much of it hidden behind a beard that was bushier than ever, was more lined. Although he still walked with a straight back, his step no longer commanded quite the vigour of former years.

His eyes remained sharp, however, and his mind was undimmed. Those same eyes now smiled at the three much younger men who sat at his table and had shared a celebratory meal with him. Instead of the traditional banquet and ball, this had been a private assembly in his personal suite. The meal was convivial, a gathering of friends by candlelight.

I thank you for coming, gentlemen. He raised his goblet. The newest member, the burly General Strath, was — paradoxically — the eldest of the three. The second, Admiral Kupornik, had held his rank as commander of the fleet for almost as long as Killian had been a baron. The third guest was also the youngest, yet the most senior. Simian Treponic, general commanding the Border Force, had also been named as Baron Killian’s heir by Avalind. Unlike his two fellows, he did not present much of a military appearance, being tall, but lean and slightly built. A general for a decade, he was still just thirty years of age.

Simian’s strength, however, did not lie in his limbs, for his most potent weapon lay between his ears. Never in his life had he killed in personal combat, yet his strategies had won wars and his sharpness of mind was once pivotal in unmasking a treasonous murderess.

As you see, continued the baron, this is how I celebrate my birthday now. I am seventy, and I feel the weight of my legs.

You have given us an excellent meal, sir, and the benefit of your good company, answered General Strath. We could desire no more.

Indeed not, added Admiral Kupornik, raising his goblet.

Simian also raised his own — filled with cold water, as had been his lifelong habit — and smiled, but said nothing.

It was to him that Killian turned. You seem preoccupied, General Treponic, he observed with a raised eyebrow.

Simian smiled again, apologetically this time. Forgive me, sir.

Killian sat back, but the twinkle remained in his eye. You have been my senior commander and close associate for a decade, and I can read you like a book. You have spent almost all of that time in the mountains, performing your duties to your usual exemplary standard, and will have noticed how I have aged since you were last here.

Simian looked way sharply. I cannot deny it, sir, but I meant no disrespect.

I know that, smiled Killian. You were right. Your future lies before you, while mine is contracting. All three guests opened their mouths to protest at this, but he silenced them with a raised hand. I applaud your loyalty, he said gently, but none of us can retain our youth forever. I have few regrets, for I have lived a full life and, for the most part, a happy one.

Three much younger pairs of eyes became downcast at this.

What are you saying, sir? asked Simian warily.

Killian paused for a moment. Finally, he set his goblet down and leaned his elbows on the table. I am saying, Simian, my friend, that I need to speak with you in private. There are important matters on which I need to give you my counsel. Therefore, I thank you for coming, General Strath and Admiral Kupornik, and bid you goodnight.

The two he had addressed stood and saluted formally, both returning his valediction and left, Kupornik clapping a hand on Simian’s shoulder as he did."

When they were alone, Simian found himself fumbling with his goblet. Killian reached for the flagon of water and refilled it, subsequently replenishing his own goblet with wine.

Finally, the younger man could stand the silence no longer. Important matters, sir? he asked.

Killian composed himself before replying. Let us take the air on my balcony.

His balcony was the same small terrace on which Avalind had convinced Keriak Rulik of the justice of her cause when returning from self-imposed exile a decade before. It was now full night and the black fastnesses of the mountains that separated Graan from the rest of the Kingdom stood out starkly against a sable sky. Torches burned on the walls of the citadel and in the streets of the town below. There were winking lights in the harbour — lanterns of bobbing ships — and a glimmer out to sea, where the inshore squadron maintained its station.

It is a tranquil view, is it not? asked the baron. I often come here to reflect, and I recommend it as a useful retreat when you replace me. Simian looked at him sharply, but Killian smiled and continued, Her Majesty named you as my heir on merit. That fact has long troubled me, for I should have done it myself. You are the nearest thing to a son that I have ever known, Simian. I apologise.

Simian flushed slightly with embarrassment. No apology is necessary, sir. I am honoured to be your heir. My only hope is that when the unlooked-for day comes, I will find the strength and wisdom to govern the province as ably as you.

And you will, better than me, I have no doubt, confirmed Killian sagely. Yet I must remind you, General Treponic, that Her Majesty also urged you to look to your own eventual succession as well.

Simian had assumed that this would be the real reason and felt the embarrassment keenly. I am a soldier, sir, he almost stuttered. My life is the military. I have not neglected Her Majesty’s command, but… It was a pathetic excuse and he kicked himself mentally for making it.

Killian chuckled. Stretching out his hand, he placed it on the tense shoulder of his heir. I know that, he said kindly. As he leant on the parapet, his face became solemn. I have watched your attempts to become acquainted with the ladies of the Upper City for years.

Simian looked at him sharply and then looked away again, his embarrassment growing.

Baron Killian chuckled softly and shrugged. Who am I to point the finger when I fared no better? My younger years were spent at sea, learning navigation and naval warfare, and nothing at all about courtship. I don’t know any more about the blessed creatures than you do. Finally, I became comfortable with my bachelor status. His eyes were cast down for a moment. Nevertheless, it remains a regret. One that I can do nothing about now. It has also been an impossible task for you charged, as you are, with securing the northern approach over the mountains to Brond.

Simian allowed a small smile to escape his lips. Not as impossible as it used to be, now that the Draals are our friends, he admitted.

Killian took a further draught of his wine and fixed his eye on a distant bobbing lantern.

Simian sipped his water. He thought for a moment, a troubled frown wrinkling his lean face. What you say gives me a measure of comfort, sir, for I am aware of my failure. I have already met the greatest of all women, but she is far beyond my reach. Besides being married already, she sits on the throne, he added wryly.

Killian nodded wisely, It would be unfair to compare other women with her. What chance would they have?

Simian bit his lip, agreeing with the sentiment. But five years have passed….

You have not still met someone who stirred your heart sufficiently?

The younger man shook his head. There are women for whom I have respect and affection; I have met women whose beauty I admired or whose society I enjoyed — some even simultaneously. Is that enough?

Killian weighed his words carefully. For many men, I think it would be. He turned to face his heir, a sudden gleam in his eye. But not for you.

I think of what they would see in me, confided Simian worriedly. Physically, there is no lesser man in the entire Border Force…

Who just happens to be their commander and is widely acknowledged as the ablest strategist that this nation has ever produced — not to mention being one of our greatest minds and the heir to its richest province. He looked out over the view of the harbour again. Her Majesty and Lady Mussa have both told me that it is a poor woman who is swayed only by a man’s appearance or wealth.

So, you agree, my looks do not favour me? returned an amused Simian.

I am also informed by the same ladies that you are not considered bad looking, returned the baron with a chuckle.

I look to Her Majesty’s example, explained Simian after a long pause. She could have had her pick of princes from any country, yet she chose to marry a low-born former brigand whom her own father had once condemned to death…"

Unjustly, as he later admitted, added Killian, a brigand who proved his devotion by shielding her through fire and war as she strove to regain her birthright. He leaned slightly