For Duty & For Love

By Mary J Nichols

Breaking an oath made in a god's name will damn one's soul. Is it not worth it for love?

The Dreaming Maiden. . .

Lady Leyena often fantasizes about adventures outside the castle walls-to learn, grow, and experience love-and those dreams involve Sir Markus. Yet she never expected to wake

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emvarr Publishing LLC
• Release date: Nov 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737452317

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Men shouted and wailed, and blood spilled onto ground hardened by heavy boots and stomping hooves. Amidst the battle in the western plains of Sharbrook, the sun’s descension welcomed dusk, and Sir Markus Falinstone gripped his broadsword and knife and held a quaking stance over his unconscious lord; Baron Rohland Dihrage’s breathing was laborious, yet it appeared he would live if Markus didn’t fall. Pain throbbed on the left side of Markus’ face where warmth slid down and dripped from his jaw. He couldn’t recall when he’d foolishly discarded his helmet, only that during combat throughout the long night, it had felt too heavy on his weary neck and shoulders. He stared at the wounded Yeltaran knight climbing slowly to his feet, the lone survivor from a small contingent that had attacked Baron Dihrage.

Markus blinked rapidly to fight the shadows at the edge of his vision and pointed his broadsword at the Yeltaran. Beyond the foreigner, men from Markus’ squad headed in his direction.

Thank you, Valorius. Markus swallowed to wet his painfully dry throat and croaked, Go. I don’t wish to kill you as well.

The Yeltaran swiped his arm across his nose, smearing blood over his cheek. You attacked my queen, he shook his head, and that can’t go unanswered.

Markus didn’t want any more men to die, Vruthians nor Yeltarans, but above all, he wanted his lord to live. He nodded toward the baron. Spare him, he said. The assault wasn’t by his order, and he spoke against it.

Yet here he is. The Yeltaran spat blood onto the ground. And here you are. He lunged, his blade moving surprisingly fast.

Markus blocked each swing, the hilts vibrating in his hands. His arms grew tired and his knees threatened to buckle beneath the relentless attacks. Both weapons were knocked from his grip. A blur, a sting upon his neck that quickly pulsed into a burn, and blood dispersed. Markus collapsed.

The Yeltaran’s sword rose.

Markus waited, his only fear being that he failed Baron Dihrage, yet he was ready to join his wife at Valorius’ Great Hall.

A crossbow bolt impaled his foe’s temple and another pierced his cheek. The Yeltaran’s weapon thudded to the ground. He dropped to his knees, then fell to his side; his gaze fixed on Markus. A few breaths released before it stopped and his pupils expanded.

Markus closed his eyes. Valorius, please spare the baron. He drew in a short breath and prayed that he’d earned a place at his god’s Feast.

The jagged, black stone beneath him made little sense, nor did the massively thick shadows shifting in front of him. Markus hadn’t even felt his life pass from the mortal realm. He viewed the vast obscurity of the cold Darkness. Why was he there? Wasn’t he faithful to Valorius?

Markus, a woman called from the swirling mists.

He focused on the dense haze. No—not here. It couldn’t possibly have been his late wife calling for him within Chaos’ silent realm. She was pure. Maralien cannot be here.

His tears of grief, more heartbreaking than what he’d shed upon her death, dripped onto the ground, echoing in the hush.

Markus. A dainty hand beckoned him to enter the Blackening, and a face formed within the thick mist. Come, my love. I miss you, she said.

He recognized Maralien’s beautiful features: her pert nose, sleek cheekbones, and fine lips, but her blue irises were void of color and light.

Join me, afore Chaos learns of your presence.

Maralien, he whispered. He exhaled in defeat and hung his head low. M’love. Markus moved his trembling hand into the freezing shadows and winced.

Do not leave me, Sir Markus. I need you, a maiden’s soft utterance commanded from afar, disrupting the ominous tranquility with life.

He stopped his advance and turned from the Blackening.

She spoke again. Fate, please do not take him. I beg You.

Markus sat back on his heels and drew in a deep breath of the bitter air as strength from the maiden’s prayer filled him. I know this voice, but . . .I can’t recall her.

His aching soul followed the loving petitions that guided him away from the mists.

No! Maralien howled. Her eyes widened and her flesh tinged gray, sagging as she revealed her true self. Sebysula, the Soul Eater, opened her toothy maw and emerged from the shadows, her steps shaking the ground. Come back to me!

I love you, the sweet call countered.

Warmth surrounded him and his hands radiated a soft illumination. He turned toward Sebysula. You can’t have me, Demoness.

Markus ignored her yowling and walked toward a glowing portal, the chill dissipating from his soul. My Light, I come.

His chest rose and fell in a shallow, erratic pattern. Sometimes Markus’ breath trembled, other times it seemed to stop, yet it remained raspy and soft. Blood spotted through the bandages over his throat and the left side of his face, his skin was deathly pale, and perspiration saturated his dark hair.

Leyena Dihrage gently combed the wet strands back with her fingertips. She grazed his cold skin and pulled her hand away.

Sir Markus, she whispered, I hope you can hear me. She patted his forehead with a dry cloth. Get better. We need you.

Leyena surveyed the chamber to ensure none of the physicians were nearby. There were other wounded and dying men in the infirmary, but none deserved her attention more than Sir Markus Falinstone.

"I need you. She rested her head on his pillow and her chin on his shoulder. You cannot leave me."

Unable to bear the blood on his bandages any longer, she collected clean wrappings and blue arscue ointment. Leyena laid the items on the mattress and silently offered a prayer to Vynia, the Earthen Goddess. Give me the ability to heal him with Your gifts.

Someone gently squeezed her shoulder, and Leyena yelped.

Father! You frightened me.

Why are you still here? Baron Roland Dihrage knelt beside her. Wincing, he placed his hand on his ribs. You should be in bed, Leyena.

I am fine. She lowered his arm from his side and touched the injury located just below his heart. "You should be resting."

It has been three days, and there are other men needing aid. He pulled her near and kissed her temple.

She rested her hand on top of Markus’ cold fingers. There is no duty more important than tending to the knight who saved your life.

He is brave, but what more can you provide that the physicians have not? her father asked. If Fate decides Markus’ time to enter Valorius’ Great Hall is now, then there is nothing we can do. He slowly rose, cringing. Our god may be calling to His servant.

She glared at him. How could you?

Leyena—

You desert him so easily. She jumped from her seat and stood tall, her chin barely reaching his shoulder. I will stay until his breathing is normal and his flesh is pale no more.

Her father’s firm blue gaze searched hers. "Leyena. . .he is a knight."

"Whose neck was slit instead of yours! She raised on her tiptoes. He saved you, and I will give him all my effort." Leyena knelt at the bedside and clasped Markus’ hand, fearing what her father might do about her outburst.

He exhaled loudly. I understand, Leyena. However, you must return to your room tonight for proper rest. You may tend to him in the morning. He plodded from the chamber.

Leyena opened her eyes. I love you, Sir Markus, she whispered, then kissed his fingers.

A few torches cast shadows in the large room, entrancing him. Markus was alerted to the presence of others by their coughing and wheezing, and he tasted the stench of blood and death. He fought the exhaustion from his soul-journey, but his body begged for more sleep. Someone shifted at the left side of the bed. Markus twisted his neck. A sharp sting jolted to his jaw, and he winced.

The sconce from the wall shone through the dark waves of her hair, and she glowed like a spirit from Fate’s White Plains. She held his hand and moved her lips in a silent supplication as tears escaped from beneath her closed eyes.

Leyena? She’s my Light. His heart soared as it hadn’t since Maralien. What a beautiful sight.

With Leyena’s nearness warming him, Markus sank into a calm slumber.

He woke the next morning delighted that Leyena was still with him; she was sound asleep, her long hair spread upon the side of the mattress and over his arm. He wanted to touch the brown locks and know she was real, but he didn’t wish to stir her.

I am pleased to see you are awake, a familiar voice whispered from the foot of the bed.

Markus faced the baron. Your Lordship, he said hoarsely, his throat aching.

She has been here since you arrived, Rohland said. She even rejects my orders to return to her chamber for rest. He stepped to the opposite side of the bed from his daughter. I am afraid Leyena fancies you, Sir Markus. The warning in his tone was subtle.

Markus nodded slightly to avoid causing more pain to his neck. I understand.

Now that you are awake, she shall return to her other responsibilities.

Yes, m’lord.

You shall finish your recovery at your orchard. Rohland smiled. Then you can resume your duties.

Yes, m’lord.

Get some more rest. The baron pivoted on his heel and made for the exit.

Markus caught a lock of Leyena’s soft hair with his quivering fingers. She fancies me? What’ve done for such an honor?

Leyena hurried into the infirmary, pushing her way past the busy physicians to reach Markus’ bed. He was gone. Quaking from the argument with her father, she sat on the cold cot and wiped her cheeks dry. I will always love you, my knight.

CHAPTER 1

You see, Lady Leyena, over the past two years, since King Oliven made your father Duke of Fairlowe, the land and people have prospered and my business has grown. Billan Sherl fixed his lacy sleeve and smiled down at her. I own a substantial amount of property at the corner of Steilvale County—near Sharbrook, that is—and do well with the river trades. The duchy certainly gains from my practice. He lifted his glass and winked. You shall want for nothing."

Leyena lowered her fork and turned her head toward the man seated next to her. The sea fare merchant had spent the past twenty minutes boasting about his growth in wealth and influence in a river city she cared nothing about, for she would refuse to marry him. Billan was attractive; however, there was no man who held her interest except one, a knight she had not seen in two years. She wished the minstrels’ music from the gallery would drown Billan’s voice. In fact, she hoped he would say something upsetting enough to have her father lose any consideration of accepting his proposal.

Leyena scrunched her face in an exaggerated smile. I want for nothing now, she said.

Her closest friend, Dernae Graziel, suppressed a giggle from across the table, and Sir Torbyn Steilvale, who sat beside Dernae, covered his mouth with his fist and coughed dryly in an obvious attempt to hide a laugh.

I think his home sounds fascinating, Leyena’s mother said. Her green eyes showed nowhere near as much delight as her voice, but Billan did not appear to notice.

Leyena stared at one of the many hunting tapestries on the wall. Certainly, she sighed, if you like the stench of fish.

Her father’s brows lowered. Leyena.

It is quite all right, Your Grace. Billan dabbed the corners of his lips with a blue satin cloth that he brought with him. It does take time for those unaccustomed to the river life to adjust.

Did you say— Leyena swung her arm in the prospective suitor’s direction and struck his glass, spilling red wine on his white blouse.

Billan jumped from his seat, his face bright red and his lips curled in a snarl. You clumsy little strumpet!

Leyena gasped and swiftly worked up tears while feigning sobs. The minstrels’ soft music came to a slow stop and the Great Hall silenced, apart from Leyena’s weeping.

Billan turned toward the duke and swallowed a noticeable lump. Uh. . . Fo-forgive me, Your Grace.

Sir Torbyn, Leyena’s father said in a surprisingly calm manner. Have Captain Mardalion escort this muskrat from my home.

The knight was already out of his seat and rounding the table before the order was finished. Yes, Your Grace.

Leyena rushed to her handmaiden’s arms and melodramatically cried upon the middle-aged woman’s shoulder. What. . .an awful. . .man!

There, there. Sarina patted Leyena’s back and whispered, This is your worst performance yet, m’lady.

It worked, did it not? Leyena uttered.

Enough. He is gone, her father said. Finish your supper. If you think you can.

She wiped her cheeks dry and sat.

He leaned toward her. Another suitor? The frustration was evident in his voice.

She lifted her fork and poked the roasted pheasant, one of her favorite dishes. Another dreadful man. Do you not agree, Dernae?

Absolutely, her friend said. Did you hear what he called your daughter, Your Grace?

Of course, I did.

Once again, I have exposed how horribly I would have been treated. Leyena sighed toward her mother. There has yet to be an appropriate suitor.

Her mother smiled sadly. That decision is your father’s.

Leyena would not look at him, yet she felt his heavy gaze.

He poured wine into her cup. It has been two years, he whispered. My mind has not changed.

She pouted toward her half empty plate.

Torbyn reentered the chamber and settled in his seat. Leyena would say nothing further in front of the First Knight of Fairlowe, but she leered at her father, letting him see her displeasure. She decided the matter of suitors was finished for the evening and focused on her friend’s flirting with Torbyn. Dernae giggled and brushed her chest on the knight’s arm while flinging her straight golden hair over her shoulder.

The young maiden held a strong fondness for Torbyn, yet he had shown no interest other than for an occasional thring, which Dernae was willing to accommodate. Leyena did not understand why her friend often put such effort into gaining access to Torbyn’s bed, and she feared Dernae would one day suffer the denial of true affection.

Would you walk with me this evening? Dernae asked him.

Torbyn managed a swift once-over of her and licked his lips. That would be lovely, my lady, he said, and assisted her from her seat.

Dernae wrapped her arms around Torbyn’s and bowed to Leyena’s family. Goodnight, my lord, my ladies.

They offered a farewell to the two as they departed.

What a fine match, Leyena’s mother said.

Leyena and her father snorted. Leyena had heard a common rumor from several sources about Torbyn; he was a loyal and faithful knight to the Vruthian kingdom and the Fairlowe duchy, but he was not a man true to one woman. Leyena feared her friend’s heart would break if she continued to pursue him.

Alysa, leave us, her father said.

Yes, darling. Her mother signaled for a guard to escort her and her handmaiden from the hall, and they left through the rear door to the family tenements.

Her father pushed his plate aside. This cannot continue, Leyena.

I do not want any of those men.

Do you believe your mother wanted me?

The question surprised her.

Of course. Mother loves you.

It was not so in the beginning. He tapped his fingers on the table and stared at his unfinished supper, as if in deep thought. His blue eyes met hers. Your mother was sixteen when we married and I was two years short of thirty. She was dismayed with the arrangement, and to be truthful, I was not fond of her, yet we made our marriage bed and had you within the first year. He smiled. You were three when we finally admitted affection for one another.

Leyena’s stomach tightened. She had believed they were always in love.

The point is, he continued, you may not like your suitors, but the one you marry may eventually make you happy.

Or he may always make me miserable. Leyena slouched. Why can I not marry the man of whom I am fond?

His cheeks reddened. You know him not!

I have known Sir Markus all my life!

He lifted his mug and laughed into it. You would be surprised by the sort of man he is.

She frowned, confused by the statement, for Markus was a devout and brave knight.

Her father finished his drink, then slammed the cup on the table. You have not seen him in two years, he said. He could be married again, and could have fathered children with many women. You simply know not what he has been doing since his wife’s death—since the end of the war. Do you believe he thinks of you? Markus did not seek you out after he recovered. He was back at his orchard the moment he was well enough. No, ‘Farewell, my lady’. Nothing! He was gone.

Leyena was stung by what he said because it was true. Yet Markus had always been kind and loyal. She straightened her back and tilted her chin up. I am shocked you speak of him in such a manner. He saved your life.

Her father squinted. I know my knights, and Sir Markus is not worthy of you. He pushed his chair back, scraping the stone floor. It will never happen.

Your Grace! A servant sprinted from the entrance to the head of the table. A message from Barnaw has arrived.

Her father read the parchment, his forehead furrowing. He motioned for the servant. Send for Gulhys, he said, his voice subdued. Order the house maidens to prepare the guest quarters and the cooks to arrange a menu. He looked at Leyena. We are to host a Feast for a Fallen.

Leyena’s mind was at ease over the past five days since the feast was not for her beloved Markus, for it was to honor a knight from Barnaw County; however, another message arrived two evenings ago, and her father’s mood grew anxious. His insistence that she and her mother attend the event was unexpected, and the worry in his eyes left Leyena fearing something dreadful had indeed befallen Markus.

The mix of colorful standards and leather armor crowded within the courtyard below as the guests swarmed in beneath the autumn afternoon sun. The occasion would consist of not only the knights who oversaw each of the four counties of the Fairlowe duchy, but also three knights from Corindale, two from Lavis duchy, two from Aurulian, and three from the Catrolys duchy where the Vruthian capital city, Tlenilin, was located. Each knight present oversaw a county, which was given their surname. The last time Leyena recalled such a congregation was upon the king’s order to plan a march to the edge of Myndrose and attack the Yeltaran queen who had crossed the Silver Sea with a large host of men from Yeuroth, the Southern Continent. Leyena’s father’s success in that battle led to his acquiring his current title and the Fairlowe duchy.

Squires bustled between knights and horses, attempting to move them in prior to the feast. The duke’s servants tried to assist, but were met with arrogance and resistance, for the knights wanted none other than their squires to handle their mounts, and the whole situation grew chaotic as arguments ensued.

Leyena giggled and continued seeking for Markus’ standard of a stallion leaping over a caldin tree, but it was not amongst them.

Your Ladyship, the head of the palace guard said.

Leyena spun away from the window and hoped her demure gave the impression she was not the least bit interested in the happenings outside. Captain Mardalion.

Josen Mardalion smiled crookedly. Aren’t you supposed to be in your room, m’lady? he asked, gesturing toward the corner of the hall.

She sighed heavily and dragged her heels as they walked to the hidden door. I only wished to see—

If your knight has arrived?

Leyena sucked in a sharp breath and gawked at him.

Josen pushed the mechanism to open the door. I would’ve imagined by now that you knew I’m aware of all the secrets within these walls, Your Ladyship. He winked.

She stared at him, curious about his statement. Josen was like an older brother to her, a much older brother. He was in his mid-forties; white showed in his red hair and beard, and his brown eyes were the kindest Leyena had ever seen. Josen had cared for her nearly as much as Sarina over the past fifteen of her nineteen years, and he watched over and protected Leyena, especially when she was outside the castle.

Sir Markus hasn’t yet arrived, he said, guiding Leyena into the dimly lit stairwell. Now to your room. Sarina should be there soon.

He remained in the doorway until Leyena descended a level to the family quarters.

A torch flickered twenty feet from the secret door. Leyena listened to ensure none were in the corridor, then hurried to her bedroom, finding it empty. She opened the door to the bower; the handmaiden was not there either.

Leyena walked past the table where a spread of fruity sweet cakes and wine tempted her to indulge before supper, brushed her fingertips over the cushion-backed chair, and sat at the vanity. The many tapestries on the walls had once been colorful images of places she fantasized about visiting: forests, seaports, and mountains, but now they were drab blurs in the background, swaying when the wind blew hard enough through the cracks. Leyena dreamt too often of things she could never have, Markus being one of them.

She gazed at her reflection. Perhaps he shall be too busy to notice me tonight.

With the number of men expected at the feast, Leyena might not find a moment near Markus. The previous day, her father had told her several times that she was to be quiet and limit her interactions with their guests.

This shall be a dreadful dinner, she said, tugging on the lacy cuff of the blue dress she had donned. Sometimes I wish Father was not a duke.

How can you say such things? Dernae asked from the bower entrance.

Darling! Leyena squealed.

Dernae smiled as she ambled with regal grace into the room. The daughter of a late count, Dernae had acquired similar luxuries as Leyena, even sharing the same teachers.

Leyena hugged her. I am so pleased you came.

Of course, you are. Dernae giggled and glanced around the room. Where is Sarina?

Father sent for her an hour ago.

I see. Dernae shrugged. Although I am not invited, I shall do what I can to help you prepare in her absence. She ran her fingers through Leyena’s hair. And I can do better than this.

Leyena rolled her eyes and returned to the vanity, giving the brush to her friend. She watched Dernae, envious of the young woman’s beauty, charm, and free spirit. Dernae could often bend men to her will, even as an adolescent. Five years ago, at the age of fifteen, she had received four marriage proposals, all of which her overprotective father had rejected.

Thinking about Dernae’s past suitors, Leyena remembered the evening she last saw her. What happened with Sir Torbyn the other night?

Dernae’s cheeks turned bright pink. Unless you want every detail, never you mind. She pinned the sides of Leyena’s hair with a decorative wooden comb. Her brown eyes danced in the mirror’s reflection. "He is wonderful. I wish he would ask me to marry him."

Leyena scratched gently behind her ear. "You have heard the stories told about Sir Torbyn, have you not?"

Dernae’s smile disappeared. I believe he would change if he found the right maiden for a wife.

Why would he cast aside several lovers for one woman? Leyena was sorry to see the hurt in Dernae’s eyes.

For love, her friend said.

Leyena turned and clasped Dernae’s hands. He is a fine knight, and one we know would give his life for us, she said. "You deserve a man who will love you and whose devotion will be for you alone. I fear that Sir Torbyn is not he."

Dernae was silent for a moment. She showed a slim grin. You shall have the attention of every man this evening, my lady. Blue certainly is your color.

To avoid an argument with her only true friend, Leyena desisted on the subject about Torbyn. She tittered and tried to appear disinterested. You know I despise such dinners. They bore me. She looked at herself in the mirror and pulled her hair over her shoulders to continue with the act.

I believe you shall enjoy this one. Dernae parted the curtain to the only window of the bower and opened it. She breathed in deeply, faced Leyena, and beamed. Sir Markus has arrived.

Leyena’s eyes brightened in her reflection. Ha-has he?

Dernae sat on one of the comfortable chairs and chose a plum sweet cake. He was truly gallant and escorted me into the castle. She shoved the whole tiny morsel into her mouth.

Leyena recalled her father’s words about Markus. Her stomach fluttered and the joy felt only seconds ago left her. I would not be surprised if he returns married or promised to another woman.

Dernae stopped in the midst of licking her thumb and stared at Leyena. She finished cleaning off the sticky glaze and poured a glass of wine. You know not if he has remarried or gained a new lover.

However, I am certain he shall always see me as a child.

Dernae flicked her hand dismissively and sipped from