Hidden Magic of Aldarae: Legacies, Chapter 2

They took a break in a small stand of trees just off the road when the sun was high overhead. Erryn had officially been awake for two days, and he was starting to feel the drag.

He, Gareth, and the servants unloaded some of the supplies the Warranhalls had packed into the back of the carriage while the nobles stepped down onto the grass and began to stretch their legs. They spread the food on a large square of fabric Ciara seemed to have materialized from somewhere, and the Warranhall family settled themselves down to eat.

"Simple fare," Lady Warranhall lamented, "but it will have to do."

Erryn and Gareth shared a look. Simple? Their mother would have had to spend a month’s wages on the food in front of them.

"Isn't this fun, Mother?" one of the little Warranhall girls asked, bouncing in place as she took a piece of bread. "Like a picnic!"

Her mother gave the girl a tight-lipped smile. "Yes. I suppose."

Lord Warranhall chuckled warmly, tousling his daughter's black hair. "That's my girl, always seeing the good in things."

The girl—he was pretty sure this one was called Mina, a girl of about eight—giggled and batted his hand away, then suddenly jumped to her feet. "C'mon Lisanna!" she cried, grabbing the other daughter's wrist and dragging her to her feet as well. "Let's explore the woods!"

Her sister, barely five, stumbled after her with a cry of "Wait for me!"

"Oh, no, darlings, don't—!" Lady Warranhall started, moving to get to her feet.

"It's alright, milady," Gareth said, stepping forward. "I'll go and keep an eye on them, shall I?

Lady Warranhall settled back with a sigh. "Yes, please do. I swear, one day those girls will have to learn some proper ladylike behavior..."

One of her sons, the second oldest, Erryn thought, chuckled softly. "They're just girls, Mother. Let them be children a while longer." He got to his feet as well and looked at Gareth. "I'll come with you. I'd like to explore the "woods" as well," he said, smiling at the rather overstated word his sisters had used to describe a few young trees.

Gareth hesitated a moment, and Erryn snapped his eyes to his brother. He was looking the young lordling up and down, taking in the olive skin and jet-black hair, the deep gray eyes crinkled at the corners with laugh lines. While Erryn often teased his brother for being scrawny, even Gareth had more muscle on him than this young man, who was probably a year older than him. Slender, that was the word for him. All in all, Erryn supposed the Warranhall son was rather attractive.

…Oh dear.

No one else seemed to notice the moment that Gareth took to look the Warranhall boy over before he nodded and said, "As you will, milord.” He turned to follow after the girls, who were now chasing each other between the thin trunks.

Another son—the youngest, a boy of twelve—rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like “Silly children,” which Erryn thought was rather rich coming from a boy his age. But then, he supposed nobles were expected to grow up rather quickly. After all, before the capitol had become too dangerous and the Ravenfell family had been moved to the coast, the young Lady Alinore had started to take over the duties of the Lady of the House with her mother’s failing health, and she was only a year older than the Warranhalls’ youngest boy.

Of course, he only knew that because he and the Captain had been spending quite a bit of time in the Ravenfell Manor this past year, trying to catch a thief who had somehow managed to sneak her way into the house itself, not to mention the good graces of its inhabitants, and steal a family heirloom. Almost a year searching and they had nothing to show for it—and this wasn’t the first time the woman had pulled some ridiculous heist and gotten away with it! He gritted his teeth, suddenly feeling the old frustration sweep over him.

“What are you thinking of, Guardsman?”

He jerked back to the present and saw the eldest Warranhall son watching him curiously with sharp gray-blue eyes. This one kept his black hair longer than his younger brothers, pulled back in a low horsetail at the nape of his neck.

He ducked his head respectfully, dropping his eyes. “Nothing of import, milord,” he murmured, “Just keeping watch.”

The young man chuckled. “Well, you were certainly thinking of something. You looked ready to tear that tree apart.”

Erryn looked down again, surprised and a little embarrassed that he’d let his emotions show so clearly on his face. “Forgive me, milord. I was thinking of a case in the capitol that the Captain and I have spent a good deal of time on.”

“Hm. Would you be speaking of the Shadow?”

The chatter of the family quieted slightly, and Erryn looked up. The eldest Warranhall—Jorren, that was his name—was still staring at him curiously, but now the others were too. Even Ciara and the other servants, though there was something unreadable in her eyes that didn’t match the morbid fascination in the others’ expressions.

“Yes, milord,” Erryn admitted quietly, letting his eyes drift to his brother and the other Warranhall children, just making sure they stayed in easy reach. The young men seemed to have joined the girls’ chasing game.

“So, there is no news then?” Lord Warranhall asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

Erryn bit back a sigh. Ever since the incident at Ravenfell Manor, all the nobility had become like this when the Shadow came up in conversation. When she was just a terror of the lower districts—an excellent thief, but never bold enough to steal from someone of real standing—the nobles had seemed to view her as a quaint gossip topic. Now she was a true threat, more real to them then the war encroaching ever closer to their borders, something they could focus their curiosity and anger on. Typical.

“No, we’ve had no news,” he replied, resigned. “I’m sure she’s up to her old tricks, but she hasn’t pulled a job large enough to come to our attention and allow us to track her, despite our best efforts—"

“Wait.” That was the second youngest boy, a lad of fifteen or so. He was holding up a hand to stop Erryn’s speech, frowning in puzzlement. “So…the Shadow is a woman?”

Jorren scoffed at his brother. “Of course, she is, Byron. She disguised herself as a noblewoman to get into the Ravenfell’s household, didn’t she?”

“Yes, but that could have been a man in a dress,” Byron retorted. His younger brother snorted in amusement at this idea and their father chuckled. Byron huffed, crossing his arms. “I’m just saying, it’s a possibility. And it’s not as though Lord Ravenfell has been exactly forthcoming with details about the incident.”

Erryn smiled a bit, but hid it quickly. “You’re right, it could have been a possibility,” he told the young Warranhall, who shot his brothers gloating looks. “But some of the Guard have encountered the Shadow before—albeit briefly—and we are sure she is in fact a woman.”

“Have you ever seen her?” Apparently even Lady Warranhall was curious about the Shadow. Her “simple fare” lay forgotten at her side as they all stared at him.

Erryn shifted uncomfortably under their collective gaze. He glanced up and saw Ciara was watching him with a fierceness that made him suddenly…well, almost nervous. He dropped his eyes quickly. “I have,” he admitted quietly. “Not very clearly, and I didn’t realize who she was until later.”

“What does she look like? Where did you see her? When? Did she try to steal from you? Did she try to kill you?”

“Farren, enough,” Lady Warranhall cut across her youngest son’s babble of questions with a sever frown. “That is quite morbid!”

Lord Warranhall chuckled again, and Erryn briefly wondered if there was anything this man didn’t find amusing. “Oh, he’s just curious,” he soothed his wife, patting her hand. She subsided with a slight huff and Farren looked back at Erryn expectantly.

He shook his head, still trying to sort through the rapid-fire barrage of questions. “I saw her outside a tavern when I was walking home from my shift one night a few years ago.” Just after his father’s death actually, but he didn’t need to say that. “And like I said, I couldn’t see very clearly…but I know she’s tall, almost my height. She has dark hair, I couldn’t tell if it was black or dark brown.” He trailed off and shrugged when they kept staring at him. “Like I said, I couldn’t see very well…”

The Warranhalls seemed to accept this and turned back to each other and more innocuous conversation. He had to stop from sighing in relief. Because there was one thing he did remember about the Shadow that he’d never shared, not with anyone, not even Gareth or the Captain. Because something about it just seemed…personal. And—and he could have imagined it anyway. It wasn’t exactly hard evidence. He’d been more than a little drunk that night, if he was being honest, and he’d only caught a flash of those eyes—the strangest shade of blue he’d ever seen, more like indigo—swimming in tears. Drowning in loss, a loss he recognized. The same loss he saw in Ciara’s eyes earlier that day, or in his own when he happened to catch a glimpse of his reflection.

He shook the thought from his mind, returning his attention to his brother and the Warranhall children as they weaved in and out of the young trees, their laughter echoing back to the group that remained with the “picnic”. He let his eyes scan the small grove, alert once again for any potential danger. Unlikely, almost impossible this close to the capitol, but one could never be too careful.

As he scanned back to the Warranhalls and their servants, his gaze caught on Ciara’s face. She was still watching him, expression thoughtful, calculating. She didn’t look away when their eyes met, evidently unashamed to be caught staring. Again, the piercing, fiery quality of that look made something inside him twitch uncomfortably with wariness. What was it with this girl? She was kind enough—he even liked her, or was starting to. But then she just…just stared at him like that, and there was something ancient and powerful in her eyes and—

He visibly shook himself. He was being ridiculous. He was simply overtired; he’d been awake for two sunrises in a row now, after all. Ciara was probably just curious about the Shadow, like the others. He was reading far too much into this.

The wind changed, bringing a familiar and unexpected scent. The horses—who had been tethered to the ground in front of the carriage—reacted instantly, eyes going wide with their whites showing all the way around as they tossed their heads and danced in place fearfully. His head snapped up, hand going to the blade strapped to his hip. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ciara tense and jerk her head to the northeast, where the wind was coming from. The Warranhalls and the other servants didn’t notice, continuing their chatter.

But Gareth noticed. Erryn saw him freeze in the act of lifting little Lisanna up over a particularly gnarled tree root. He shoved the girl to her brother, roughly, and pushed them back toward the others, ushering Mina after them as he drew his own sword. He looked back to his brother and green eyes met their father’s hazel in a flash of recognition. “Ryn—!” he called, eyes hard and muscles tense. Ready for a fight.

Erryn nodded, eyes telling him to be quiet. As the other three Warranhalls stumbled toward the rest of their family he barked quietly, “Get up. Everyone, get up. Get into the carriage, quickly.”

“What—?” Farren started, but his parents shushed him and obeyed Erryn’s orders without question. Lady Warranhall waited the three moments it took for her daughters and second eldest to reach them before she hoisted Lisanna onto her hip and gripped Mina’s hand tight, ushering them back toward the carriage. The girls questioned her and the others, asking what was going on, but they fell quiet when Erryn snapped, “Shh!”

Gareth had fallen back, only a few yards away from him now. They began to circle the carriage, making sure the Warranhalls were safely inside with their servants. A little cramped, but no one was complained, too tense to do much but huddle and wait.

“What is it?” one of the manservants, Ciara had said his name was Jem, hissed in after several achingly long moments.

“Wolves.”

Erryn didn’t start as badly this time, simply jerked around to find Ciara standing at his left, eyes hard and a small dagger—no, not even a dagger, one of the dining knives—gripped in her fist. She bit her lip, brow furrowed in confusion. “But this doesn’t make sense. It’s broad daylight, and this is too far south for them this early in the year. And they would never come near this many human settlements willingly—“

“Get in the carriage!” Erryn spat. He couldn’t fight off a pack with just his brother for support and look after this impossibly vexing woman, too.

She met his gaze evenly and replied with a calm certainty. “No.”

He was about to yell at her, order her to obey him, but at that moment the wolves appeared. They crept through the trees, panting and growling and uttering soft, yipping barks. At least a dozen shaggy bodies, brown and black and gray, circling, circling. The horses were in a panic now, straining against the ropes that tied them in place, bucking and rearing and screaming their distress to the sky. He fell back beside the carriage, grabbing Ciara’s arm to drag her with him, and yelled for Gareth to do the same on the other side, praying that for once his little brother would listen to him.

He’d only fought wolves once before, when his father and Captain Reynard had brought him on a camping trip with the Guard when he was fifteen. But he would never forget the mountain-woods-musk scent of them, the flash of predatory eyes and glint of snapping jaws. That pack had been weak and starving, and still had managed to nearly kill two well trained Guardsmen. And that had been while fighting a whole patrol.

He swung his sword and shouted wildly, vainly hoping to scare them off. That had been what his father had done all those years ago. The pack hesitated. One of them—a huge, steel gray creature—seemed to regard him with burning yellow eyes. For an instant, Erryn could have sworn he saw intelligence glinting in the animal’s gaze; not a human intelligence maybe, but it was there all the same.

Then the wolf shook its head and growled, and the pack began closing in again. Their yips and growls were growing in frequency and volume as they drew closer, step by step.

“Don’t let them get their jaws on you,” he called to Gareth, hoping his brother was listening. “Go for throats and stomachs, but don’t get too close. Once they bite down, they won’t let go.” He and his brother were both wearing chainmail, so it would be harder for the wolves to get a good grip on them. Difficult, but not impossible.

They were close now, a few scant yards away, still circling and growling, sizing up their prey. Why wouldn’t they attack? Erryn was so tense he vaguely thought there was a decent chance he might just fracture into pieces. He glanced to the side—hoping Ciara at least had the sense to stay behind him—and his jaw dropped.

The girl had disappeared.

In a series of brief instants, he glanced at the window of the carriage. Not in there, though the other maid and both Warranhall girls were now crying quietly. He looked to his other side—maybe she had crept around behind him to guard the back of the carriage?

Not there.

Then he heard the horse’s scream, and the “Whoa, there! Easy, easy.”

Demons above and below! The idiot chit had gone to the animals to try to calm them! Not only was it crazy, but what earthly good could it do them in this situation?

Well…if they managed to get the horses hitched up, they could attempt to make a run for it—okay, maybe not completely crazy, but still suicidally stupid! Even if the wolves didn’t tear her to shreds, the panicked horses could trample her to death.

He ground out a few curses and began edging toward the front of the carriage, eyes never leaving the wolves that still paced around them—why were they still not attacking?—and hissed, “Ciara, get over here.”

No response, just a few murmured words to the horses. He gritted his teeth and actually growled. In a single, fanciful moment, he imagined one of the wolves, the same huge brute that had looked into his eyes before, cocked its head slightly and gave him a curious look at the sound. “Ciara!”

Suddenly he heard…something. A sound like the rustle of wind in dry leaves and water bubbling over rocks and fire spitting heat to the sky all at once, but still it was somehow words. A language.

Old Tongue.

From one instant to the next, the wolves changed from feral, hunting beasts to tame lapdogs, the tension leaving their hackles and tongues lolling out in a happy, friendly way. The steel gray beast that kept drawing his attention barked once, sharp and loud, and suddenly the others turned tail and loped away into the trees, back the way they had come. The packleader, for that must have been what he was, stayed a moment longer, gaze once again locked with Erryn’s. Then…

No, he must have imagined it. That wolf did not just wink at him before he sprinted off after his pack.

Soldier’s instincts kicked in and he called out to Gareth, who answered with an “I’m fine!” that struck Erryn with such profound relief he felt his legs shake for a moment. Then he made his way to the front of the carriage.

Ciara stood among the perfectly calm horses, rubbing a comforting palm over her own now perfectly peaceful and placid mount’s neck, murmuring softly to the animals. She looked up at Erryn when he stopped a few feet away from her, flashing him that dimpled smile.

“Well, now,” she said, laugh bubbling in her voice, “that wasn’t so bad after all.”

He didn’t have time to respond, because at that moment the Warranhalls crowded around them, laughing with relief and praising him and his brother—who had somehow wound up squashed against his side—as heroes. The older boys clapped them on the shoulders and the girls ran around their legs, shrieking with the kind of glee only a child who believes herself immortal can possess. The servants began packing things up, shaken but laughing at their narrow escape.

“Can’t believe it, they just left—"

“Must’a been the Cooper boys, yeah? Scared ‘em off.”

“Like nothing I’ve ever heard of—"

“Wait ‘til I tell Maria about this—"

Erryn helped pack up, secured the Warranhalls back in their carriage, and mounted his own horse in a daze. When they set off again and Ciara began her now almost routine switching between riding next to him or his brother, he found himself staring so hard at her perfectuly innocuous face he thought he may burst his head. She didn’t seem like evil incarnate…

But he had heard the Old Tongue. And what else could that mean?

Nothing out of the ordinary happened in the next three days of their journey, though Erryn refused to relax his watch on Ciara. Every time they stopped at an inn or some other noble’s manor for the night, he made sure she was sleeping as far from him and his brother as he could get her. When they packed up in the morning, he surreptitiously checked all of his charges—even the other Warranhall servants—for signs of…something. Whatever witchy thing the girl may have done. He thought he hid his wariness well; only Gareth seemed to notice he was behaving oddly, but he didn’t mention it aside from a few raised eyebrows and questioning looks.

But when, on the fourth morning, there was still no sign of anything…unusual, he began to relax his guard. Perhaps he was simply overreacting. It was entirely possible that the tension and adrenaline of the situation had caused him to imagine the whole thing. In fact, as the day wore on and Ciara came to ride beside him for an hour or so, chattering away cheerfully, he became more and more certain that was exactly what had happened.

This realization helped him relax considerably, and he found himself once again able to engage Ciara in that easy back-and-forth they had been approaching on the first day of their journey.

She seemed delighted he was finally responding to her again, and he felt a tiny stab of guilt for his suspicions. There was no way this chatty, carefree, life-loving girl could be a witch. Witches were evil, calling on dark powers to achieve their nefarious ends. Ciara was the furthest thing from a witch.

Perhaps…well, perhaps she had spoken in Old Tongue in her effort to calm the horses, but that didn’t mean she was using magic, did it? He had met a few people in some of the capitol’s lower districts that knew the language itself, but lacked the powers born to witches and sorcerers… Though none of them under sixty, he had to admit. His father had even used these people sometimes to track down the real magic users; they could translate the runes or other remnants that were sometimes left behind at the scene of a magical crime, even if they couldn’t perform the spells.

And he had thought before that her name was a bit odd, reminiscent of a time long lost. It was entirely possibly her parents or grandparents were some of those social outliers who knew the dying language and had passed it down to her. Yes, that made sense. Of a sort.

All these thoughts swirled around in his head as they rode on through the day, but he couldn’t be completely rid of that tiny, niggling doubt in the back of his mind.

What if his first assumption had been right?

When the party arrived at a large inn set on the edge of the city of Caine—the halfway mark of their journey—he decided he would just ask her about it. If it really was nothing to worry about, as he had almost fully convinced himself, she may be a bit offended, but he could live with that.

If she was a witch…well. His father had taught him how to spot a liar.

Of course, determining to talk to her and actually getting around to it were two entirely different matters. First he, Gareth, and the servants had to make sure the Warranhalls were all comfortable and safe in their rooms, then they had to head to the stables to make sure the inn’s stable hands were treating the horses properly, then they were to eat their supper, then they had a moment or two to themselves.

“I think I’m going to take a walk,” Gareth said from the other side of the room he and his brother were sharing. Erryn looked up; he had been lost in thought, trying to figure out the best way to politely ask Ciara if she was a murdering witch. Gareth had shed his chainmail and uniformed tunic in favor of a simple green shirt and tan breeches. For a moment, Erryn saw a younger boy wearing similar clothes as he waved his brother off to his first day of training

He pushed the memory away and frowned slightly at him. “No,” he said firmly. “You shouldn’t go anywhere alone, no matter how safe they claim this inn is, and I can’t go with you just now.”

Gareth sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, but—" he added quickly when Erryn opened his mouth to argue, “I’m not going alone. Aiden said he’d like some fresh air after dinner, and I said I’d accompany him. For safety.”

Aiden. the attractive, second eldest Warranhall son. Erryn narrowed his eyes. “Gare…” he said warningly.

His brother widened his eyes innocently. Too innocently. “What?”

He sighed heavily, feeling suddenly drained. “Nothing. Just…just be careful, yeah?”

Gareth rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” He left with a slight huff.

Erryn waited a moment before following him out. He hesitated just outside the door, debating whether or not he should follow the younger man further. He decided against it; he would almost certainly get caught, and the second half of this trip would be long enough without his brother pissed at him. So, he set his shoulders and made his way to the room Ciara was sharing with Elsya, Lady Warranhall’s maid. He passed the Lord and Lady’s room, which was right next to his and Gareth’s, then the room the Warranhall girls were sharing, then Byron and Farron’s, then Aiden and Jorren’s, then the menservants’ before finally reaching his destination.

This is ridiculous. Our party takes up a whole hallway, he thought idly to himself as he knocked.

“Who’s there?” Ciara’s voice, muffled by the thick wood.

“Erryn. I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment.”

“Oh, sure. Door isn’t locked, come on in.”

He pushed the door open and was already lecturing before he’d even fully stepped into the room. “You know, it really isn’t safe to leave it unlocked like that—"

Ciara’s laugh cut him off and he looked up to see her perched on the edge of the small bed pressed up against the window. His voice sort of dwindled off when he saw her. It was strange to see her out of her day clothes, with her deep red-brown hair curling loosely over her shoulders and her thin, sleeveless nightshift rather than a sturdy woolen dress and her curls pinned back beneath a kerchief. He’d thought her thin before, but now he realized lean was probably a better description; she was certainly petite, but she had wiry bands of muscles running down her arms and legs that he’d never noticed before. Muscle that one typically didn’t acquire working as a lady’s maid.

She quirked an eyebrow and he realized he was staring. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, you should be more careful,” he concluded his reprimand lamely.

Ciara laughed again and rolled her eyes in a way that was so similar to Gareth it made him a bit uneasy. Yes, the two of them got along almost too well. “So, what did you come here to talk about?” she asked, drawing her legs up onto the bed and tucking them under her body like a cat.

He hesitated, eyes flicking toward the still open door. “Ah…is Elsya coming back soon?” he knew the maid would most likely be preparing her lady for bed.

“Not for another hour, at least. She and Lady gossip like pigeons,” Ciara answered. Her quirked eyebrow crept higher, as though it had a mind of its own. “Though your interest does raise some questions. What’s so secretive you can’t let Elsya hear it?” She widened her eyes dramatically and one hand flew to her chest as she leaned back in a mock swoon. “My stars, Master Cooper, you can’t mean to proposition me?” She batted her eyelashes.

Erryn laughed. He couldn’t help it. She was just so…silly. Someone this daft couldn’t be a witch, she just couldn’t. “Sorry to disappoint, but that wasn’t my intention,” he chuckled, eyes sparkling.

She gave a theatrical sigh. “Pity. It would add such a note of intrigue to this whole venture.” In an instant she was back in a proper seated position, hands resting demurely in her lap. “Alright, out with it. What’s the problem then?”

Now it was his turn to quirk an eyebrow as he crossed to the room’s other bed, taking a seat. “Who says there’s a problem?” he asked innocently, determinedly ignoring how like Gareth he sounded when his little brother had done something wrong.

Ciara’s look told him she wasn’t fooled, but she didn’t say anything. He admitted defeat with a heavy breath. “Alright. Honestly, I have a question for you.” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs and lowering his voice. Ciara mimicked his movements, eyes suddenly sharp and wary. “A few days ago,” he started slowly, “with the wolves, I thought…I thought I heard someone speaking Old Tongue…”

His eyes were trained on her face, so it was impossible to miss the flash of surprise, then fear, that cracked through her expression before she hid it away.

“It was you,” he murmured, setting his jaw. He’d left his sword and dagger back in his room, because she couldn’t really be a threat, right? Stupid.

He waited for her to say something, begging internally that she would prove her innocence.

“Please…” Her voice was small and scared and heartbreaking. “Please, I-I’ve never hurt anybody or anything, I was just trying to help—"

“I believe you,” he said quickly, relieved. No, she wasn’t a witch. How could she be? “And—and I don’t think you’re a witch. I know your parents must have taught you Old Tongue or something, my father had plenty of informants like that in the lower districts. And you were just trying to calm the horses, right?”

Surprise again, then relief. “Yes. Yes! I only wanted to help,” she said quickly. Suddenly she had slipped off the bed and was on her knees before him, clasping his hands in her own. He jerked back in surprise, but her fingers were like slim bands of iron. “Please don’t say anything,” she begged quietly. “Even though I don’t—I don’t have magic—" Her voice suddenly dropped so low it was almost inaudible. “They’d turn me in for witchcraft anyway. You know they would. It’s just a language, it’s not hurting anyone. Please don’t tell.”

Erryn shifted uncomfortably. He’d assumed that, after confronting Ciara, he could explain the situation. First to Gareth then to the others. It wouldn’t do to have secrets among their company, and it was his duty. His job. But she was staring up at him with those huge, pleading doe eyes, and suddenly he wasn’t sure…

Well, it’s not like she was doing any harm, right? Shoving away the prick of guilt in his chest, he nodded. “Very well. But don’t do it again, alright? You could give people the wrong idea.”

Relief so profound it rocked him etched itself across her face. “Thank you,” she breathed, head hanging forward, and he suddenly wondered how long she’d lived like this, lived in constant fear that someone would learn her secret and turn her in for a crime she had never even contemplated committing. Without really thinking about it or making the conscious decision to do so, he reached out and put a hand gently on her shoulder. It was an instinctive gesture, as he would have squeezed Gareth’s arm in passing or patted his mother’s hand.

Ciara jerked slightly under his touch, and he snatched his hand back, immediately starting to apologize, “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

She looked up at him with wide eyes and offered a tiny smile. “No, no, it’s fine. I just…wasn’t expecting it.”

He smiled back, feeling a strange surge of protectiveness that reminded him of the way his stomach sometimes flipped when his little brother did something particularly stupid or dangerous.

If Gareth and I had a little sister…he mused idly. Then he snapped back to himself and pulled away, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Well. That’s—that’s all I came to say, really, so I suppose I should be getting back…” He made to stand.

Ciara scrambled to her feet. “Oh, couldn’t you—I mean, could you stay just a bit longer? It’s awfully boring without someone to talk too, and it’s too early to sleep.”

He saw the request for what it was. She was still shaken from his confrontation and didn’t want to be alone—even if they only company she had was a man who had just scared her half to death. He winced internally, guilty at making her feel that way, then nodded. “Sure…why not?” He sat back on the bed and Ciara smiled, settling onto hers. He felt he owed it to her.

“So. Where’s Gareth?” she asked, shoulders relaxing.

Erryn shrugged. “Taking a walk.” He was surprised at the tight frustration in his own voice and frowned.

Ciara raised an eyebrow at his tone. “And that pisses you off because…?” she prompted with a dry look.

“Because he’s out with Master Aiden,” he admitted with no small amount of irritation.

Ciara’s other eyebrow crept up to join its sister. Erryn let out a huff of air and crossed his arms. “I think he…likes him,” he grumbled, scowling.

“Well, yeah.”

He blinked and looked back up at Ciara, who wore an expression akin to one a person might have if a child had just told them the sky was blue. She shrugged. “It’s not exactly a secret, at least among noble circles. And I mean, he’s not the oldest, and the Warranhalls have three other sons to carry on the name, so no one really seems to care that he likes men. And your brother’s pretty attractive, so it’s not really surprising—"

“Hold on.” Erryn held up a hand. He squinted at her. “You think…Aiden likes Gareth, too?”

Her eyebrows were in her hairline at this point. “Well, yes,” she said as though talking to a small child. “And your brother isn’t the most subtle person in the world, so I’d say the signals are pretty clear.”

“Oh.” He sank back of Elsya’s bed. Well then. He bit his lip, frowning. “Damn,” he muttered after a moment. That only made things more complicated.

Ciara frowned at him. “What’s the problem?” Then her eyes went round and her lips tightened. “You don’t have a problem with Gareth being—?”

“What? Oh, no. No, I don’t care,” he said quickly, seeing where her question was going. “It’s just…he always seems to pick the most inappropriate men. Never quite to this extreme before, I’ll admit, but—“

“What makes Aiden so inappropriate?” she asked, tilting her head to the side inquisitively.

He sighed, grinding his teeth. A bad habit he’d picked up from his father. “Well...he’s a lord. He may not be the eldest, but there are still certain…expectations. Even if the Warranhalls are fine with their son taking a male lover, they won’t let it be just anyone. He’ll have to pick someone like a Duke or even a well-off merchant, someone worthy of his station.” He let out an angry breath through his nose, rubbing his temples. “He’ll be fine messing around with Gareth for a couple weeks, or months even, but when push comes to shove…” He looked up to meet her eyes, which were warm and understanding. “I just don’t want to see him get hurt,” he finished quietly. The he cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly, unused to sharing so much of how he felt with anyone other than Gareth himself—and it wasn’t like he could talk to his brother about this.

Ciara was quiet for a moment, then she said softly, “You know, I’m not sure if it will make you feel better, but Aiden isn’t that kind of person.” She shrugged a bit when he looked up at her, clearly reading the incredulity in his face. “Really, he’s not. If he and Gareth ever got serious, he wouldn’t let something like his title stop them.” Then she smiled slightly. “Besides, so far they haven’t, ah…gotten serious, as it were, so I think you may be overreacting.” She grinned wickedly as Erryn felt his face heat at her implication. He did not need to think about that. Then she added with a small chuckle, “And you know, Gareth is a grown man. He can make his own decisions.”

He rolled his eyes and grumbled, “I’d feel better about that if he didn’t historically make bloody terrible ones.”

Now she laughed outright. “Oh, Erryn. I know you want to, but you can’t protect him forever.”

Erryn gave a bitter chuckle as she voiced what Gareth had been telling him for years. “Maybe, but I can sure as hells try,” he muttered.

Ciara laughed again and rolled her eyes. She might have said something else, but at that moment the door flew open and two small girls launched themselves at her bed, shrieking, “Cia!”

“Oomph!” She fell back on her bed as Mina and Lisanna tackled her, giggling. “Oi, get off! What are you, savages? I know your mother’s taught you better’n—ouch! Gods and demons, Lise, that was my ribs! Mina, get off my—ach!”

Erryn laughed, hard. The image of the three of them tossing around on the bed, Ciara tussling with the girls like she was no older than them herself—it just made him smile. It had been a long time since he’d been around people so carefree.

Ciara glared at him from under a skinny elbow as the girls continued shrieking and giggling. It sounded like they were saying something like “story”, but he couldn’t be sure. “Could you quit your merriment and help me here?” she demanded, then oofed as Lisanna’s bony knee stuck into her gut.

Still laughing, Erryn got up and shepherded the girls off of the bed, using his bulk to playfully block them from climbing back on. “Here now, is that any way to treat Ciara if you want a story from her?” he asked, having pieced together that a bedtime story was what the girls had attacked their maid for.

Almost instantly they settled, and he let them clamber back to Ciara, snuggling up against her sides.

“Please, Cia, please tell us a story?” Mina begged with huge, pleading eyes.

“Mama said to ask you,” Lisanna added softly, sinking into her beribboned nightshift.

Ciara gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes, but Erryn saw her mouth quirk up at the corner. “Oh alright,” she relented, and the girls squealed with glee.

Erryn smiled, then nodded as he made his way to the door. “I’ll just be going then.”

“No no no, stay!” Mina demanded, twisting to look at him. “Ciara tells really good stories, you should stay and listen!”

Lisanna nodded sagely. “The bestest.”

Erryn looked from one girl to the next helplessly, then up at Ciara, who seemed simply bemused. He looked back at the youngest Warranhalls and opened his mouth to tell them he really should be getting back to his own room, but what came out was, “Well, alright then.”

They beamed. Ciara shot him a triumphant look and mouthed, Sap

But really, how was he supposed to say “no” with those pleading eyes just staring at him like that? So he settled himself back on the other bed and waved a hand at Ciara for her to get on with it.

She stuck her tongue out at him like she really was Mina’s age, then settled back and gathered the girls closer to her sides. "Alright then. Which story do you want tonight?”

“The Lost Queen,” Mina said immediately, and Lisanna nodded enthusiastically.

Erryn raised an eyebrow. That was an odd request; it was a story most every child knew, but he’d never thought of it as particularly happy or comforting. Quite the opposite.

But Ciara just laughed and said, “Alright, for the thousandth time.” Then she cleared her throat and began. “Long ago, when magic and myths still roamed our land, there was a beautiful young queen who ruled with wisdom and grace. She lived in the palace with her servants and her younger brother, who she loved dearly, and she had jewels and fancy dresses and a crown of silver and gold. But she was not happy.”

Erryn frowned. He didn’t remember the story going quite like this…

“For you see,” Ciara continued, voice lilting pleasantly with the tale, “the young queen did not want the responsibility of ruling. She wanted to be free of her crown and dresses and nobles. As she approached her twenty-first birthday, her noble advisors began pressuring her to choose a worthy man to become her king.” She screwed up her face and the girls giggled. “But the queen didn’t want to take a king, so she kept putting it off, making excuses and stalling on and on. Her nobles grew more and more restless. Despite the famine spreading across the land, all they seemed to care about was when she would hold the next ball or festival.”

Erryn’s frown deepened. He definitely didn’t remember this part.

“Then one night, something amazing happened.” Ciara let her voice drop to just above a whisper and the girls leaned forward, eyes wide, despite having apparently heard this story many times. “As the queen stood in her dark throne room after the rest of her council and courtiers had left, she had a very strange visitor.” She smiled at her charges. “Can you guess who it was?”

“A faerie,” Lisanna breathed

“Aurelia the Adventurer,” Mina added. Erryn had the feeling this character had featured in other bedtime stories.

“Yes,” Ciara answered, still smiling. “Aurelia the Adventurer, She of the Golden Light. tiny pixie though she was, she seemed to fill the queen’s desolate throne room with her glow. And she offered the queen a choice.” Her expression turned serious. “To come with her and live a dream, or to stay in the human realm with its chains of jewels and expectation.” She paused for a moment, then suddenly her face softened, and her mouth quirked up at one corner. “Of course, most people would assume it would be an easy choice, but the queen had been raised to always think of her kingdom’s needs first. And if she left, what would happen to them?”

“But she had her little brother!” Lisanna cut in. Mina shushed her angrily.

Ciara laughed. “Yes, she had a brother. And it was this thought—along with the knowledge that the ambitious young prince would probably kill her for the crown sooner or later anyway—that finally prompted her to make her decision.” She shifted a bit, putting her arms around the girls and squeezing them close. “She left with Aurelia to the Faerie Realms, and every day was like a dance of light and love, and she did not have to answer to anyone.”

“And she lived happily ever after,” Lisanna said happily.

Ciara chuckled. “Yes, she did.” She looked up and met Erryn’s skeptical gaze. Her lips twitched. “Not the version you’re used to?”

He quirked an eyebrow. The version where the queen was kidnapped and tortured by wicked fey and fell creatures, where her brother, desperate to find his sister, sent out swarms of soldiers to capture or kill any faerie they found in the hope that they might reveal the lost queen’s location, where once her broken body was found in a dark forest the very mention of magic became a death sentence all across the kingdom? “Hardly,” he said dryly.

Ciara smirked.

“I like Cia’s better,” Mina said sagely. Lisanna nodded. “The other one is sad and scary. And Cia says that version was told by King Rolond so that people would hate faeries and magic and no one would try to find the Lost Queen—“

“Ah, yes. Well, that’s the version I was told anyway,” Ciara said quickly. She shot Erryn a wary glance.

Hm. It seemed knowledge of Old Tongue was not the only questionable legacy the girl’s parents had left her.

“Do you think she’s still alive?” Lisanna asked with big eyes, bringing his attention back to the children.

Mina scoffed. “It’s just a story, Lise.”

“But King Rolond was real,” the younger girl protested, pouting. “And he did have an older sister…” Her brow furrowed in concentration and she looked over at Erryn suddenly. “Right?”

“Ah—yes, that’s true,” he admitted.

The little girl stared at him with an intensity that only a young child could possess. “Do you think it’s real?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “Maybe…parts of it. But it’s been almost three hundred years since King Rolond’s reign. Most of the story probably got twisted over the years.”

Mina nodded in satisfaction and Lisanna’s pout deepened. Feeling guilty, he hurried to add, “But, well, I suppose any of it could have happened.”

That seemed to content both of them. Ciara raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing until Lisanna began tugging at her nightshift. “Do you think she’s still alive, Cia?”

“I do,” Ciara answered without hesitation, lifting the girl into her lap. “I think she and Aurelia and the other faeries have hidden themselves away in the Faerie Realms where no one can hurt them.”

Erryn shifted uncomfortably. Harmless as a bedtime story may be, the conversation was now dangerously approaching heresy.

“Does she have a name?” Mina asked suddenly, looking back and forth between the two adults. “You never told us, Cia.”

Erryn shrugged. “She must’ve, but it’s been lost in the centuries.”

Ciara was silent for so long that the other looked at her curiously. Finally, she gave them a half smile and said quietly, “My mother told me her name… I’m not sure if it’s true, though.”

“What is it?” Lisanna demanded eagerly.

Her smile was equal parts wistfulness and something very like bitterness. “Ciara,” she replied softly. “My mother used to tell me she’d named me after a mythical queen in the hope I would do something great with my life.”

Well, that explained a bit about her knowledge of topics that bordered on treason. Her mother really must have been a fanatic. But Erryn had made the decision to trust Ciara, and he’d seen and heard nothing that should truly worry him. So he rose with a smile, bid the girls goodnight, and retired to his own room.

The Lost Queen...

He tried not to dwell too long on bedtime stories.