Heart of a Chalyn

By L.H. Leonard

The rebellion is won. Rhynn belongs to Rhynns again, and the rose is set to bloom. But rebuilding is proving harder than conquering.

“Confounding, isn’t it?” said Nigel. “How much easier it is to take a thing apart than to put it back together?”

“I expected no less. I tore down a kingdom." Seth tugged off his gloves. “I can walk away after securing a better one in its place.”

For Seth, that means setting the crown on someone else's head, and building walls to hide the secret no Rhynn could forgive. But his walls keep out more than he intended. After everything he fought for is stripped away, he realizes the will to choose is all that’s left.

In Tallu, the Este are settling into a wary peace. Tobias is haunted by the hollow-eyed ghosts of the lost. Gone, but not forgotten. He embarks on a daring journey to the islands, and his search opens the door to the a shadowy world where every name matters. Can he find and release the caged storm before it's too late?

"Second chances are starker than the first. We know going in what losing will cost us." --Seth

Nigel travels to Tallu to honor Brynmohr's dying wish. Against all odds and despite his arrogance, when he counts all the children and grandchildren scattered from Rhynn to Tallu, Nigel finds himself the surrogate patriarch to what is likely the largest family any nene has ever known. He faces his past, questions his choices, and vows to make amends to those he wronged. But then, discovering the Dawnguard's darkest secret draws him back to Rhynn.

Nigel is no sooner gone than a couple of runaway Rhynns show up in Tallu. Ava and Rory find a new mentor for their mindgifts. Ava picks up where the story left off, while Lamochatee searches for the missing Ayohotulee. Will an unlikely bond bring a legend to life?

Mouse haunts the archives in La Gracia, waiting for her Reader to return. They try to convince her he is dead. Father says she is chasing a delusion. But it's hard to lie to a truthtaster.

Meanwhile, in Camran, a rogue mindrider is devouring embers to feed her powerful mindgift. Unrestrained by conscience or sanity, her twisted plan to survive the cycle's end draws the chalyns together for the final battle.

"We are two sides of a coin, a chalyn of war and peace." --Seth

The toughest challenge they face? Finding the enemy amidst the hollow monsters and wolves of straw.

"What we call life is not the only form life knows." --Amadeo

All the storylines woven through the Rootstock Saga come together in this fourth and final novel of the series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Each Voice Publishing
• Release date: Dec 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781732874404

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Book Extras

Thank you for reading Heart of a Chalyn.

Please visit RootstockSaga.com for character lists, custom gallery, maps, historical timelines, chapter extras, and more.

When the chalyn symbol appears at the end of a chapter, following the link will take you to bonus material at RootstockSaga.com. This optional material is not part of the story but offers context, exposition, and commentary.

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Chapter 1

Stand at Annestown

~

Tobias Buchanan

Annestown, Tallu

Elfmoon, 4418

Snow dusted Tobias’ gloves and cloak as he traveled the road to Annestown. Horses snorted mist into the cold air, and steel swords and pistols glinted in the stark winter sunlight. Wind gusts sent powdery swirls retreating ahead of his company of rangers.

The rare snowstorm had stunned southern Tallu into silence, as if its ground and trees were uncertain how to respond to a snowflake’s soft touch. Moss-draped oaks stood bearing layers of white on their branches, with the forbearance of Rhynn lords granting hospitality to unwelcomed guests.

In the distance, a pair of horses kicked up a snowy trail as their riders raced to meet him. His emissaries were returning from an attempt to bargain a surrender from Governor Percy Walmsley.

Waste of breath, boss, Jacob called out as he approached.

Governor Walmsley hadn’t yet heard a full account of Rhynn’s victory, said Taegan Buchanan, nimbly bringing his bay around. Maybe now that he knows, if we gave him overnight to reconsider—

We’d add a waste of time to a waste of breath, said Jacob. Percy’s bullheaded. Give him time to think, and he just digs in his heels.

Tobias had hoped sending his young nephew to deliver the parley might have cracked Percy’s obstinance for once. It had been worth a try.

He had yet to decide what to make of Gaven’s boy. On the far side of fourteen, Taegan was unlikely to grow to the typical Buchanan bulk, but a watchful intelligence animated his unmistakably Buchanan-blue eyes. Shaping a mind took more finesse than training a sword arm, but the results were of considerably more use.

Ride in with weapons ready, said Tobias. Andy, take a party around to the far side of town. Hedge them in, and we might discourage them from doing something stupid.

Tobias reined in when he reached sight of Annestown. He raised his glove, and Duck sounded the conch blasts signaling their advance. Tobias led his company into town at a canter, under the crisp snap of Southern Hawk banners.

Annestown’s main street carved an unimaginative straight line through the settlement, testament to a Surdisi preoccupation with rule and order. Lumpy ridges of mud poked through snow-filled ruts in a haphazard patchwork of wagon tracks and boot prints that defied any semblance of order, Surdisi or otherwise.

The Annestown Guard was hurriedly mustering in the street and forming up ranks. Townsfolk crept out to watch from sidewalks and doorways. A few carried pistols or muskets, but most were unarmed. Tobias’ practiced eye scanned for surreptitious movements that meant someone was about to take a risk he’d be sorry for later. He continued up the street until he reached the one set of eyes that did not follow him.

Your queen and her king surrendered, Percy, he said. I’m here to claim Annestown.

By whose order?

The Rhiem of Rhynn liberated their homeland, said Tobias. Some of New Rhynn’s rangers are headed back to help secure the peace. In return for the years those swords were loaned to me, I’m securing Rhynn’s interests here until someone over there has time to pay attention to us again.

In truth, Tobias had found Seth Callan’s letter waiting at Rosemarsh when he returned from Philippeon. Though tersely worded to obscure its meaning if intercepted, the intended message was clear.

Captain Buchanan,

Must call due our loan. Will collect in Jorendon.

S. Callan

The Southern Hawk fleet had set sail the next day, carrying Rhynn soldiers eager to return and protect the freedom their rhiem had won. Only a few had stayed behind, those whose roots had already grown too deep to leave Tallu. They’d be enough.

Can’t have Innish colonies hoisting the wrong flag in the meantime, can we? said Tobias.

Which flag Annestown hoists is not yours to choose, said Percy. Turn and ride away, Captain Buchanan.

Not in my nature, Tobias said unrepentantly. Surrender or fight me. You’ll regret the latter.

Annestown will not surrender.

Tobias heaved a sigh. He regretted disillusioning an idealist. Percy had some admirable ideas about how governing ought to work, and he thought rather than talked his way through tough spots. Turning Percy into a cynic disagreed with Tobias, but he focused on what was, not what ought to be.

At his signal, the Annestown Guard parted ranks, and Andy rode up beside Captain Dewi Dunbar.

Your guard belongs to me, Percy, said Tobias. It always did.

An abrupt movement in a doorway sent Tobias’s hand to his musket. Jacob’s pistol fired quicker, and as the smoke drifted, a white-aproned shopkeeper lay sprawled in the street.

Hold your fire! Percy ran to the dead man and rolled him over.

Tobias recognized the innkeeper, Penniman, as the troublemaker he’d banished from Buchanwick years ago. Jacob had done the people of Annestown a service.

Percy looked up sharply. Can you not rest until you have seized control of everyone and everything in your path?

I didn’t intend on killing anyone today, said Tobias. Penniman insisted on dying.

Enough. I cannot match your ruthlessness, nor do I wish to try. Percy stood and rubbed bloody hands on his dove-grey breeches. Come inside. We shall discuss terms.

Tobias stepped up on the porch of the governor’s office. A cracked plank creaked beneath his boot, and he determined it would need to be replaced.

Micos of the Este Nation granted us this land, Percy said from behind his desk. Only they can reclaim it.

I’ll deal with the consequences.

A rash move on your part?

A compulsion to seize an opportunity when I see one.

The other governors may not concede as readily as you expect, said Percy.

They already have. Annestown is my last stop.

Percy sank to his chair, and Tobias watched another ray of optimism fade from a world with too few rays to spare.

There’s a splinter of ice in you, Buchanan.

So I’ve been told. Though most would call it resolve.

A matter of perspective, I’m sure. Percy sighed in resignation. Fighting you is as futile an option now as ever.

So don’t fight me, said Tobias. This may come as a surprise, but I admire what you tried to do here. He nodded at the framed charter on the wall. Imagine what you might accomplish without kings and queens and trustees second-guessing your every move.

Your Rhynn king will be much more reasonable, of course, said Percy.

He won’t be my king, said Tobias. I’m giving you a choice, the same as I offered the other governors.

Swear Annestown’s allegiance to New Rhynn instead, Percy made the astute guess.

For now, yes. When the time comes, you could become mico of one of the largest New Rhynn towns in the Este Nation.

Percy’s eyebrows cocked. The clock on the wall ticked as a jaded idealist weighed a compelling offer. A gust rattled the windows and swept a former Innish governor down a path he might find uncomfortable, but would be worth every step he dared take.

Some townsfolk may not assimilate well, said Percy. They won’t condone the shift in my allegiance.

Put the naysayers on ships and let them follow Anne and Franz to Cadron. Let them start over in what’s left of Erusa. You know the few who hold the deepest biases. Be done with them and focus on the rest.

You have an inflated opinion of my abilities, Captain. Most would say I failed at the community I started out to build.

I have little regard for those who’ve never failed. It means they haven’t tried. It’s not our ability to right a wrong that measures us. It’s our willingness to try.

Percy steepled his fingers. After a moment’s consideration, he nodded.

Good. Start herding Annestown into the fold, and I’ll keep the wolves from your door. Tobias stood and pulled on his gloves. And I suggest you steer clear of Captain Dunbar until the urge to mount a resistance leaves you.

Chapter 2

Taegan

~

Tobias Buchanan

Rosemarsh, New Rhynn

Whitmoon, 4418

One place sat empty at the big table at Rosemarsh that evening. While Tobias had been away claiming Innish trade towns, more parcels had arrived from Rhynn. Taegan was in Tobias’ study reading the latest of his sister’s voluminous letters.

Tobias carried his saucer of apple pie up the hallway, curious to learn whether Avalee Buchanan’s letters had added any interesting details to the news they’d already received. He spooned up the last sweet bite as he reached the door.

The study was still his favorite room in the ever-expanding Rosemarsh estate. Furnished for comfort and filled with art and mementos gathered over the years he’d spent traveling the world, it reflected the hard work that had gone into building New Rhynn and Southern Hawk Trading Company, and the sacrifices he’d made for the sake of a dream.

Taegan was standing at a window, staring out into the darkness. Pages of a letter lay scattered on the rug. The scene did not portend pleasant news.

Any word fit to share? said Tobias lightly.

My father is dead.

The blunt pronouncement caught Tobias off guard. Information crossed the Atlassia out of sequence at times. A fickle wind could deliver older events behind the more recent. Naught arrived sooner than the two months at best it took to sail from Innis to Tallu.

I’m sorry, Taegan.

He died in the Battle of Twelvestones, Taegan said tonelessly. The battle claimed my grandfather, as well.

Tobias hesitated. The boy couldn’t mean Lyall or Dowan.

King Brynmohr, Taegan said, removing any doubt.

Tobias had heard the whispered rumor, of course, and had even accepted the likelihood of its truth. Still, it wasn’t the sort of thing one acknowledged in the Rhynn he remembered, where lineage and legitimacy determined one’s options in life.

Grandfather was dear to me. Taegan hadn’t moved from the window. And my father… I thought I had more time.

We always do, said Tobias. Too soon, they’re gone.

No, not that. Taegan turned. I thought I had more time to gain your backing.

For what?

Declaring my claim to Dundarien.

With Gaven dead and Taegan orphaned in Tallu, Fergus Buchanan would likely put one of his own sons at Dundarien. Unfortunate for Taegan, but also telling that the estate was the boy’s first concern after learning he’d lost both father and grandfather.

Estates change hands, said Tobias. Timing. Luck. There’s opportunity enough for you here.

Yes, of course, there is. More opportunity than I could have hoped for at home. I’ve known that from the start. Taegan bent to collect the scattered pages. But if I stay here, Clan Buchanan will go the way of Clan Tavish. We’ll fade away to the minor septs because there’s no one fit left to lead us.

What happened to Fergus?

Fergus disgraced himself in the rebellion. Half his sons cowered with him. The rest are squabbling over who gets the spoils. Add the lot of them together, and they don’t have the intellect of a guinea hen.

Tobias had left his interests in Clan Buchanan behind, in Lyall’s capable hands, decades ago. Lyall would never have let the clan fall into such dishonor.

You think you could do better? he said.

I think I have to, said Taegan. I need Dundarien if I’m to establish my position in the clan. I can’t challenge Fergus for chief without a lord’s voice and voting rights.

The Rhi’Aleron didn’t mention any of this when he wrote.

He wouldn’t. He’d say what he thought necessary, no more. Seth Callan is a born leader, and he has grown accustomed to the loyalty he inspires in everyone around him. Fergus let him down, and that will have hurt. But he can’t let it show. His shell keeps the rest of us at a distance.

Sounds like his father, said Tobias. Lord Symon was a distant man, even to his sons.

Seth’s sons respect and obey him. There’s no room for anything else, said Taegan. He wasn’t always this way. Now that Rhynn is freed, maybe he can be more of the man he was.

Insightful for one so young. Taegan had a knack for taking a person’s measure.

At the moment, Uncle Seth is in Jorendon, busy avoiding being crowned king, said Taegan. Aengus Gruder is trying to keep Clan Buchanan propped upright in the meantime.

As a good Second should, said Tobias. He can delay Dundarien changing hands.

For a while, said Taegan. Unfortunately, Aengus seems to have decided it’s best to see Ava has somewhere else to go.

Unfortunately?

Before Father died, he proposed a betrothal between Ava and Aengus’ son, Duncan. Taegan made a sour face. I can’t let that happen.

Duncan Gruder. Tobias tried to recall what he’d heard of the Gruder sons. Is there some flaw in his character that would put her in danger?

Well, no, said Taegan. Not exactly. It’s just… they don’t suit.

Never known that to stop a Rhynn betrothal.

I thought I’d have time to let it play out. A year to gain your backing. The customary year of mourning for Ava. But I may have been wrong. Despite his cowardice, Fergus is still chief. He might sanction the wedding sooner.

To get Avalee away from Dundarien, said Tobias.

I don’t have clout enough to challenge him, said Taegan. But you do.

Your sister needs a guardian.

One Fergus won’t dare cross.

Gaven’s daughter needed protection from those more interested in seeing her settled than seeing her content. A niece of marriageable age.

If I claim guardianship, I’ll bring her here, said Tobias.

She’ll jump at the chance to come.

Withdrawing an offer proposed to Aleron’s Second could take some maneuvering. The Rhi’Aleron could intervene. So could whoever he makes king.

How do we convince them not to?

We make them a better offer. One their new kingdom needs, said Tobias. An alliance with the Este.

Rescue my sister from one ill-conceived betrothal only to toss her into another? Taegan frowned. Ava doesn’t take well to being tossed.

That might depend on who was doing the catching.

By her consent, then, said Tobias. Once she’s here, she can agree or not. You have my word.

Chapter 3

Roanoke

~

Nigel Willoughby

Port Roanoke, Tallu

Firstmoon, 4419

Nigel was off the deck as soon as the ship set anchor, anxious to fulfill his promise and get back to shaping the Rhynn he intended. Every hour spent away was adding to the mountain of decisions to undo and details to rearrange upon his return.

But he was here for Brynmohr. He owed him this.

Nigel strode briskly from the wharf to the main street, such as it was. As tiny Innish coastal towns went, Roanoke was unremarkable in every aspect he’d ever considered and some he’d yet to imagine. The obscure port was his destination solely because it was the closest from which to start his trek to Crystal Springs.

He stopped in the street and scowled. What passed for a damned tavern in this town?

Good day, pilgrim, said a squat, bearded fellow in a pointed hat, looking for all the world like a gnome had stepped out of a faery tale. Might I be of help to ye?

Where is the tavern?

The gnome chuckled. It was an absurdly jovial sound, coming from one stranded at the outer fringes of civilization.

Ye’ll find no tavern in Roanoke. No brothel or gaming table, either.

Why ever not? said Nigel. Was there a misfortune? A fire?

Divine revelation. The fellow’s cheerful smile widened.

He’d happened upon the village idiot. He sighed and scanned the street for anyone of sounder mind.

I take it ye didn’t know, said the gnome. Roanoke is home to us Pathlighters. Have ye heard the blessed teachings of the Red Prophet?

The gods deliver him. If Nigel had started his trek from Annestown instead, it would’ve taken longer, but at least he’d be on his way by now, accompanied by mountaineers of relatively stable mind. Pathlighters did not fall anywhere near that category. Passionate in their convictions, inspired by the teachings of the same Brother Danyl he’d had kept out of Deighton’s fires, they eschewed any of life’s pleasures they deemed sources of discord in their tight-knit community.

Seek the will of the Watchers, pilgrim, said the gnome. Be what they guide ye to be, a child wrought in their image, with a clear mind and a clean conscience.

It was a paraphrase at best, and not at all what Danyl intended. But after a few bothersome priests twisted the message to appeal to the disaffected masses, the Pathlighter frenzy leaped across the Atlassia before common sense had time to pull its boots on.

Come with me to the chapel, will ye?

Perhaps after I’ve rested from my journey, said Nigel. Where does one go for a cup of tea in Roanoke?

The meal house. The gnome gestured down the street. All the Watchers’ children are welcome. May their benevolent eyes follow ye, my friend, he said and set off with another tip of his ridiculous hat. Perhaps it was supposed to make him easier to spot from the sky.

Nigel found the meal house without further assistance or trials of patience. It was a big, white, clapboard box, bland and unimaginative from the outside. After seeing the expanse of riotously colored gingham-draped tables inside, he wondered if anyone in Roanoke ever took a meal in his or her own home.

Nigel pulled off his gloves and sat at the end of a long bench, his being the only head not topped by one of the silly hats, determined to be gone as soon as he’d secured the necessities for his journey into the mountains.

Pardon me, Lord Nigel?

Nigel glanced up, surprised to hear a cultured Rhynn accent in such a remote locale. A young man stood watching him.

Yes, I thought I recognized you. I hope I’m not intruding. I’m Taegan Buchanan.

The young man took off his absolutely normal, respectably shaped hat. Fair-haired, with the sinewy leanness of a son of the Firstborn, his face sliced bittersweet recognition from Nigel’s heart. Taegan Buchanan was a mirror image of Brynmohr in his youth, but for the color of his eyes.

Lord Taegan, said Nigel, forcing a reply past the knot in his throat.

It’s the Buchanan part that carries more weight around here. Taegan glanced at the empty bench across the table.

Forgive my surprise, said Nigel. It seems to have affected my manners. Please, join me.

Taegan slid to the bench, all hesitance dissipating at the invitation. Something akin to awe looked back at him from across the table.

Gods, how he favors Bryn.

My sister wrote of Grandfather’s sacrifice, the young man said quietly. No, he wasn’t a man. He wasn’t a nene. He was the best of the Joining, the prize Nigel had dedicated his entire life to seeing realized.

Ava said you were with him when… that you and Grandfather reconciled before he died. Taegan’s earnestness belied the quiet statement. He truly seemed to need the affirmation.

We did, said Nigel.

Good. You meant a great deal to him.

Taegan leaned on his elbows, studying Nigel with undisguised curiosity. Though Brynmohr had obviously expended considerable effort in getting to know his progeny, Nigel was at a loss. He had no idea what complexity or simplicity of character sat regarding him across the table.

As did you, said Nigel. Brynmohr cherished his grandchildren.

We knew he did, though we could never let on to Father. I wish it could’ve been different between them. Taegan sat back. What brings you to Tallu, Lord Nigel?

I’m visiting an old acquaintance, he said. And you?

Father sent me to foster with Uncle Tobias. A few years in Tallu to make a man of me, said Taegan, bitterness edging his tone.

Understandably so. Gaven Buchanan wouldn’t know what to do with a son who hadn’t grown into the usual Buchanan brawn. But making a man of him would be a sorry waste of Taegan’s potential.

Roanoke is a long way from Buchanwick. Nigel tapped the hat Taegan set on the table. Are you here considering a conversion? Because if you are—

You’ll be obliged to talk me out of it? Taegan flashed a good-natured smile. For all their fanciful notions, Pathlighters are good-hearted, hardworking people. They tend a common field and share a common table. They take care of their own. His smile faded. And they are always, reliably, unfailingly, sober.

It was no secret Gaven Buchanan had taken to drinking to dull his grief. The man’s habits had not been Nigel’s concern until now. Perhaps he should have looked into the matter.

So you respect the Pathlighters, he said, ready to correct such misguided thinking.

Don’t worry. I’m not here to join them.

Nigel paused. He reads my intent. A bright young mind would, of course. It didn’t necessarily mean…

I’m here because Tobias saw something useful in me. Taegan shrugged. I’m endeavoring to wrestle society’s castaways passing themselves off as former Innish colonies into the vastly superior civilization known as the Este Nation. The smirk was pure Brynmohr. None of us would be here if we were averse to challenges.

Or to exercising a mindgift or two?

Perhaps one or two.

You’re young to be put to such challenges, said Nigel. Brynmohr wouldn’t approve of you being sent here alone.

He’d approve less if I were stuck in the safety of mediocrity, said Taegan. Grandfather made sure we understood who and what we are. He taught us we’ll matter as much as the lives we dare live.

Nigel swirled the tea in his cup, unwilling to toss back a quick reply. Despite all the years he and Brynmohr had spent at odds, his brother had understood the importance of the Joining. Perhaps all this time, they had been fighting together, even if on opposite sides.

My acquaintance I came to visit lives at Crystal Springs, said Nigel. It’s been many years since I was there. I hoped to hire a mountaineer to accompany me.

I’ll take you.

Convenient, but it would require exposing a few long-held secrets.

You have challenges to attend to, said Nigel. A competent local will suffice if you can recommend one.

You’re going to see Jenna.

So much for secrets.

I promised Brynmohr I would.

That’s too bad. Taegan rested his chin on his hand. She doesn’t see visitors.

Yet, you’ve seen her?

I’m kin.

And I’m not?

It’s a bit of a stretch, from her perspective, said Taegan. Considering the circumstances.

Children of Promise. Nigel knew Madelyn and Dara reasonably well, and enough of Isobel to have earned his respect, but sadly little of the many others Bryn left behind. He wanted to know Taegan. He wanted to know each of them. Could he even name them all, if pressed?

They were his to watch over now.

Rhynn could wait. Brynmohr’s legacy would not.

Chapter 4

Sins of the Father

~

Nigel Willoughby

Crystal Springs, Tallu

Taegan untied the baskets from an intractable old mule they had taken turns coaxing, pushing, and threatening up the mountainside for the better part of the day. Nigel helped him pile their supplies beneath the canopy of a sprawling oak.

Wait here, said Taegan. Don’t venture into the woods. Nunyaehi tend to be suspicious of strangers wandering their land.

Yes, I recall. I suppose I would seem like a stranger to them now.

Nigel Willoughby certainly would. Taegan started down the path and glanced back. I hope I won’t come back alone.

From Nigel’s vantage point above the waterfall cascading into the verdant valley below, one might think there was no one else around for miles. In truth, Crystal Springs lay hidden beneath the mountain, in a honeycomb of subterranean grottos the Nunyaehi called home.

Jenna will see me, he told himself. She must see me.

Nigel unrolled a blanket and shook it out, flinching at the tug of burn scars on his hands, now faded to spidery white lines. He opened a basket and rummaged through its depths.

Ah, goat cheese, he said reverently. Tallu produces the most exquisite cheese. Goats here must have better grazing fodder than we have in Innis. In Rhynn, he corrected himself.

Even such a delectable morsel would sit like hot coals on his anxious stomach. He uncorked a wine flask instead and ventured from the oak, climbing to the top of the falls, and perching on a flat rock worn smooth by the rushing water. Mindlessly, he plucked a bright red leaf from a sumac branch and set it floating in the current. The fiery little ship darted around rocks, glided under a branch, and disappeared over the falls.

Tell her… What would he say after all these years? Tell her… he wanted…

A twig snapped behind him. Jenna was there, picking a path up the rocks.

Wait, he said. It’s steep.

Nigel scrambled down and stopped an arm’s length away. The years had added a few creases to the corners of her eyes, but her beauty was timeless. Bryn would have thought so.

Jenna measured him with an unblinking stare. She had no fondness for him. Of that, he was certain.

Nihyllen o’Berwyn, she said, drawing out his given name. The renowned Lord Nigel Willoughby. You crossed the Atlassia to stand before me. To tell me Brynmohr is dead.

So, the bitter news had preceded him. A part of him was relieved not to bear the duty of telling her.

I considered writing, he said. But I owed him better. So I abandoned a broken kingdom and came to tell you how much my brother loved you.

Do not patronize me. Jenna’s eyes flashed. I lost Brynmohr on the day I betrayed him. And I have mourned him every day since. Go back to your broken kingdom. Leave me to grieve my mistakes.

Your mistakes? Nigel puzzled over the woman. The shock of seeing him had unbalanced her.

More mistakes than I can count. Brynmohr rescued me from a life not worth living. He defied his father. He defied your Dawnguard. For me.

Because he loved you.

And I betrayed him. I ran away because I didn’t dare face the consequences. I put secrets between him and the son he loved. I abandoned my children, not once but twice. I wasn’t there for Madelyn and—

—and Brynmohr blamed himself.

For trusting me? she said bitterly. I failed him again, year after year, by not returning to face his anger.

His anger? He thought he killed you. Staying angry would’ve been rather petty.

Say what you came to say and go.

Bryn wanted me to tell you… wanted you to know… he tried. He wanted to be better than he was. Nigel sighed. Better than he thought he was.

Yes, I know how hard he tried, she said, fighting tears. He shouldered the duty you refused to bear. He idolized you, but you left him to the mercy of Berwyn and Glyneth and the Fervent. You abandoned him.

It wasn’t entirely my—

Why? Because Rotharia recruited you and not him. Why take one prince and leave the other? Bryn would have followed you anywhere.

Nigel didn’t know why. He’d never questioned it before, but Jenna was right. They would have been stronger together. Stronger than Rotharia could’ve handled?

We all lived lies, Jenna, and our lies scarred us. There’s much Bryn wanted to undo if given the chance. Much I would undo if I knew how. But some wrongs we can’t set right.

Jenna looked away, and Nigel was certain he had never heard a sigh steeped in such sadness.

We both let that chance slip away, she said. So we’re left with naught but our regret for the damage we did him. But we can both make him a vow.

What would you have us promise?

We will see his children and grandchildren remember him as the gentle nene he would’ve been, if he hadn’t been forced to live your life instead.

Chapter 5

Runaways

~

Ava Buchanan

Iversport, Iverach

Ava shoved a coin pouch into Rory’s hands. Idalia craned her neck, searching up and down the Iversport wharf, as if their entire families might descend upon them at any moment.

Book our passage. One cabin, said Ava. Tell the captain we’re married.

Whoa. Married is not what I signed up for. Rory pushed the pouch back at her.

I’m going to regret helping you this time, aren’t I? said Idalia.

Sweet Mother, it’s only a story. Harmless misdirection, said Ava. When they come looking for us, the passenger list will show a respectable married couple sailed for Tallu today, not runaway cousins.

I knew it would happen someday, said Rory. Those stories of yours turned you daft.

Then it’s a good thing I brought you along. You’re the epitome of wisdom, said Ava. And don’t get too creative. Give us boring names.

She’s daft, Daly. Daft beyond any hope of recovery, Rory said, pocketing the pouch.

Of course she is, said Idalia. But for some reason, we keep indulging her anyway.

Ava offered a pair of curious dock urchins a few coppers for the promise they’d run fetch Rory if anyone tried absconding with their trunks. She dragged Idalia down the wharf and hailed a carriage to the business district.

#  #  #

Take us to see Solicitor Meridan, Idalia ordered the clerk seated behind the reception desk in the offices of Meridan and Associates. Come, now. Be quick about it.

The mousy little woman of indeterminable age blinked her beady eyes at them. Sitting straight as an arrow behind a ridiculously large desk, she assessed them for a moment before returning her attention to her ledger.

Ahem, Idalia cleared her throat. Quite authoritatively, in fact. Her flair for theater was becoming rather enviable.

Beady eyes glanced up again, sternly.

Be seated. When I am done with the morning’s accounting, you may request an appointment with one of the firm’s junior associates.

Oh, how entertaining. Idalia clapped. Which of your ambitious young solicitors should I choose? The most handsome of the lot, if there is one. I’m particular about whose careers I advance.

I am not amused. Be seated, said the clerk.

Quite tragic, actually. Idalia shrugged at Ava. Solicitor’s clerks have no sense of humor. It’s a flaw inherent in the profession.

Be. Seated.

Have you noticed how they tend to repeat themselves? said Ava. Repeat themselves.

Peculiar, isn’t it? said Idalia. Very well. Send out your most charming solicitor-in-training. I adore how giddy they get when they scurry off to tell Solicitor Meridan.

Tell him what? the clerk bit at the bait.

Idalia Iverach is here, and she’s annoyed at being kept waiting.

#  #  #

Ava feigned confidence as she slid the envelope across Solicitor Meridan’s even more ostentatious desk. Ranald had been relatively optimistic the ploy could buy the time she needed. She swallowed hard and hoped he was right. It was the only chance she had left.

I claim Dundarien on behalf of my uncle, Captain Tobias Buchanan.

Solicitor Meridian put on his spectacles and read over the documents. Idalia gave Ava a conspiratorial wink and wandered over to browse Meridan’s bookshelves.

Legitimate, he said, setting the letters aside, But highly unusual. Disputes over estates within his province are normally arbitrated by the Rhi’Aleron himself.

Unusual, yes, said Ava, But these are unusual times.

Indeed, they are. Meridan rubbed his chin, considering her. Daor Ranald’s letter offers compelling commentary on the precedents. Though it’s rare for any within the clans to do so, they can seek the arbitration of a disinterested third party rather than take a dispute to their rhi.

Lord Fergus and Captain Buchanan are both my uncles, and with the Rhi’Aleron still so busy in Jorendon… Ava hesitated. Well, having someone of your objectivity weigh their claims seemed the best way to remove myself from an awkward situation.

And so soon after your father’s passing, Meridan said, shaking his head. I can understand your wish to avoid the unpleasantness of seeing his estate contested.

Oh, yes. It would be terribly distressing for her. Idalia dabbed a handkerchief to her cheek. Dundarien has been Avalee’s home since the day she was born. To be faced with such uncertainty… and with the memories so…

There, there, Lady Idalia, Meridan soothed. No need to worry over her being uprooted quite yet. Submitting Captain Buchanan’s claim for arbitration means Dundarien cannot change hands until all parties have an opportunity to present their arguments.

I’m afraid I can’t set my worries aside. Ava sighed. When the Rhi’Aleron learns I am the one who went outside the clan for arbitration…

He need not know. Who requested my services is irrelevant. The claim bears Captain Buchanan’s signature.

#  #  #

I can’t believe you faked a claim! Rory paced. Even you have to realize that’s illegal.

Stop being so melodramatic. It’s over and done.

Melodramatic? You have met my father, haven’t you? said Rory. "His Grace will toss me in a cell for not stopping you."

Sweet Mother, it was only a little—

—forgery and perjury, Idalia supplied unhelpfully.

Just until we bring Taegan back with the real claim, said Ava. But don’t tell that part, Daly. Tell your father you ran into us here quite by accident, and we confessed. We’re running away to seek our fortunes… to… to buy Dundarien outright if need be. You tried to stop us, but we were simply—

Swept up by adventure’s wind, Idalia said dreamily. Lured by the siren’s sultry call.

By utter madness, Rory muttered.

Young hearts yearning to fly free, Idalia carried on unabated. Fleeing the cruel authority determined to cage them.

Ava rolled her eyes and turned to Rory. Did you book the cabin or not?

Booked and awaiting us, sweetheart. Rory broke into a grin.

Don’t call me that.

We have to keep up appearances, darling. It’s a long voyage.

If you’re done amusing yourself, maybe you could help me with the trunks.

Done. I paid your urchins a few more coppers to haul our trunks aboard.

Oh. That was—

Uncharacteristically competent of me?

Well, yes.

You see? I exceeded your expectations of a husband already. This marriage stuff isn’t as hard as it’s rumored to be.

Pretend marriage.

All the bindings with none of the benefits. Why was it I agreed to this?

Because you want to see Tallu? said Idalia.

Right. That’s the reason, said Rory.

Because you’re doing me a favor, said Ava.

Always a risky proposition, said Rory.

Chapter 6

Kittens and Sparrows

~

Seth Callan

Jorendon

Jorendon was as familiar as it was foreign to me, I recall. Much had changed since I’d lived and died there. But enough remained from the past to rekindle memories I didn’t dare share with anyone.

So I take it you seldom got lost in its alleyways, my friend says with a smirk.

Oh, I lost myself in Jorendon, all right. But in a far worse way than turning down the wrong street.

Big as any Buchanan ever to shoulder through Dundarien’s halls, with a booming voice and quick smile, Captain Kojo strode down the wharf to greet them, cutting through the crowd like a ship in full sail. The senior captain of the Southern Hawk fleet wore a red Estean cap, a Rhynn longcoat over a Southern Hawk breclan, and glinting silver aplenty.

Captain Buchanan is a man of his word, Seth said, wincing in the vice of the man’s handclasp.

Never a doubt of that, said Captain Kojo. The rangers, they’re well settled?

A few had forgotten how a Rhynn winter can bite, said Aengus. We stoked the fires in the barracks and rolled out a cask of aurello. Warmed them right up.

As my fine dinner at Bakari’s inn warmed me. Captain Kojo patted his belly. I’d missed the fiery spice of Wodian cooking.

Abu Bakari is renowned for his hospitality, said Seth. He might’ve turned up the heat a bit in your honor.

And offered a temptation to stay longer. But it’s time for traders to get back to trading. The rangers I’m leaving you are fine soldiers. It was an honor to fight beside them. When their service here is done, Captain Buchanan guarantees free passage to any who wish to return.

The New Rhynn that Tobias had dedicated his life to building had proven a ready but unused refuge, in the end. Hawks had reclaimed the old Rhynn instead, and Seth was tasked with seeing it restored on a solid foundation.

Please convey my respect to the captain, said Seth. Tell him the rhiem will remember New Rhynn was our first and best ally.

Aye, Your Grace, and good luck to you here. The captain nodded a brisk farewell and left for his ship.

What do you say we walk back instead? said Aengus. All this damned carriage riding is making me lazy.

Clear skies and warm boots, said Seth. Can you keep up with me?

The last of the guard companies from Glenayre, Windermere, and Rothcraig would be waiting for them back at the barracks, packing and readying to leave for home. Seth would miss Aengus and his blunt advice, just as he missed Isobel’s insightful counsel. He could’ve used them both to help him set the right course for this newly liberated Rhynn, a task which often seemed to be resting solely in his hands.

But Aleron needed them more. Someone had to watch over his Hawks until he was finished here. Surely it wouldn’t take much longer. Soon, he could go home, too.

Oswald says it’s done but for the ink drying, said Aengus. The People’s House couldn’t come up with any better ideas. The king’s to be one the rhiem, chosen by his peers.

The delegates had spent weeks debating how to choose a king, but there were many new faces and agendas in the freshly expanded People’s House. They didn’t yet trust each other enough to agree on much of anything, so they entrusted the choosing to their rhiem.

So we’re to pick a king from amongst ourselves, said Seth. I’d hoped they would at least widen the field.

An old man tipped his hat as they passed. Seth wondered at the gesture, then realized his breclan had drawn the acknowledgment. After years of being banned, the heraldry of the proud Rhynn clans was garnering respect on Jorendon’s streets again.

You may as well get fitted for the crown, my friend, said Aengus.

I don’t want it.

That’s just it. You never want it, said Aengus. It finds you anyway. It’s just how you’re made.

Not this time.

Seth, the rest of the world is largely comprised of sheep standing around, waiting to be told what to do. There will always have a queue of them trotting behind you, expecting you to teach them to fly.

Not your best analogy.

It’s this damned city. Stifles my creativity, said Aengus. "Look at your alternates. The Connor boys