Amethyst

 Amethyst Tiara

Chapter 1 - Gimmel Ring

506 years after the founding of Breyconland

Walking into a drawing room was not more frightening than facing a dragon. Sheralie knew this from personal experience. Yet as she followed the servant through the doors her heart pounded with fear and her palms began to sweat. At least she knew what to expect when facing dragons.

Here she was on uncertain ground, about to face a man who had once threatened to destroy her reputation with the entire court. A man who had inexplicably helped her by bringing her cat familiar on a five-day trip from Stramere to Bridgewich. A man who had manipulated her into an unwanted betrothal just to keep her away from his son.

Prince Casimir rose from the couch in the center of the room.

“Lady Sheralie,” he greeted, with a perfectly executed bow.

Sheralie curtsied, hoping she was doing her old etiquette mistress proud. She’d finally mastered the art of dipping without losing her balance, even in a dress with ridiculously full skirts, like the one she wore now. “Your Highness.”

She made her way into the center of the room and chose a plush armchair directly in front of the couch and settled herself into place with perfect posture, every bit of her deportment training coming into play.

The footman closed the door and stationed himself next to the wall, presumably to provide them with discreet chaperonage. Sheralie figured he would probably get plenty of juicy gossip to share with the other servants for his time. She doubted this conversation would go the way she wished.

“Thank you for your willingness to meet with me.” Prince Casimir retook his seat. “I know you are preparing for your return trip to the capital.”

Sheralie inclined her head but didn’t speak. She was not going to make this any easier on the infuriating man.

“I will get directly to the point. My son has apprised me that he has formed an understanding with you. Is it true? Do you intend to marry Sir Jaron?”

Sheralie envied the way the prince’s face was completely smooth and blank, as if he was merely discussing the probability of rain in the evening. She was certain he could read her emotions on her face.

“It is. I have reached my majority and have made my choice. Jaron was gracious enough to offer marriage, and I accepted him.” Skies, she sounded as pompous and ridiculous as the prince did. But she didn’t intend to give him any reason to malign her behavior.

For a long moment the prince studied her face in silence. Then when he finally spoke, it was not what she was expecting.

“Queen Melania is gravely ill.”

“Yes,” she answered slowly. “It is one of the reasons I must hurry back to Stramere.” She did not mention the vitality apparatus. Only Jaron, her parents, and Emilio knew about her plans to heal Mel. Her father had guarded the device with vigilance since they stole it from the Restrictor on Waregate Islet, and their group had agreed that it must remain a secret.

“You are her heir.” Again, Prince Casimir was stating the obvious, but Sheralie couldn’t guess what his point was.

“Yes, I am.” Despite her determination to keep her face expressionless, she couldn’t help scowling. The prospect of becoming queen was something she wasn’t happy about, or even willing to contemplate.

“If—and only if—you ascend to the throne, I will give my consent and support a marriage between you and Sir Jaron.” Prince Casimir made the announcement as if he was granting her a generous concession.

Sheralie stared at him in disbelief, throwing all her deportment lessons out the window. “What in the name of Visroc is wrong with you?” She folded her arms and glared at him. “You want your son’s happiness to be conditional on your daughter’s death? What kind of twisted requirement is that?”

He didn’t even flinch. “I do not expect you to understand. However, I want you to be clear where I stand on this matter.”

Sheralie stood and placed her hands on her hips. The prince, ever mindful of etiquette, gracefully stood as well.

“It is quite clear that you are a heartless monster who does not care about his children at all!” She stared up at the prince in disgust, while he calmly stood before her as prim and unruffled as a porcelain doll. With all the emotions of one as well, apparently. “But it doesn’t matter what you want or what your opinion is. Jaron and I are both of age, and my betrothal to Sir Treyton ended with his death. We do not need your consent to marry.”

“You treat Sir Treyton’s sacrifice with such contempt. You were never worthy of him,” said the prince haughtily, “and you are certainly not worthy of my son.”

Sheralie drew in a shaky breath. Guilt still plagued her about Treyton’s death, despite the fact that logically she was not at fault. Maxent’s men had killed him when they abducted her from an inn less than two months earlier. Contempt was not the right word to describe her messy feelings about Treyton. In any case, she did not want to discuss it with this aggravating statue of a man. She took a breath, stifling her unruly emotions and bringing her temper back under control.

“You will have to take your concerns to Jaron.” She forced herself to stand straight and gave him a brittle smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another matter to tend to before dinner.”

Prince Casimir gave her another bow, though he didn’t speak. Sheralie spun on her heel and headed directly for the door. The footman beat her there, opening it smoothly in time for her to sweep through and into the main hall. No doubt quite a tale would spread among the servants by nightfall.

The sooner they left for Stramere, the better.

***

Dinner was a painful experience, though it wasn’t the fault of their hostess. Jaron’s cousin, Lady Nulene, was a gracious and friendly woman, and she tried to keep the conversation light and flowing, but it was an uphill battle. Kattie was polite instead of critical, for once, but she was more focused on savoring the food than speaking. Emilio silently pushed his food around his plate, though he smiled and responded when Lady Nulene’s husband spoke to him. Sheralie’s father gravely listened as Prince Casimir reported on the damaged state of Bridgewich, and Sheralie silently fumed, wishing she could abandon dinner altogether. Jaron was still in Bridgewich—he’d left to coordinate their return to Stramere with the commander stationed there. No one felt like traveling without supplies and a military escort, not after what happened on the trip to Bridgewich.

Was that only six weeks ago? It felt like a lifetime to Sheralie.

When the endless dinner drew to a close, Sheralie did not think she could face an evening of small talk in the drawing room, especially not sitting across from a prince who pretended to be civilized and polite while in truth he loathed her.

“I think I’ll retire early for the evening.” She placed her napkin on her plate, eager to escape but not wanting to offend her hostess. “Dinner was lovely. Thank you, Lady Nulene.”

Her father eyed her in concern, but Kattie nodded. “You could use the rest.”

Emilio pushed his chair back. “May I escort you, Sheralie?”

Lady Nulene was too well-bred to even raise an eyebrow at this unorthodox request. She merely wished Sheralie a good night and reminded her that her assigned maid would see to any of her needs.

After a few more murmured polite niceties among the group, Sheralie was finally free to escape the dining hall on Emilio’s arm. But instead of escorting her up to her room, Emilio led her out to the front gardens.

Once outside, Sheralie exhaled deeply, enjoying the warm late summer breeze. The sun had already set but the sky was a glorious deep purple in the west, with the first stars pinpricks of light in the east. The air was heavily perfumed by the flowers, and for the first time in months Sheralie simply relaxed and enjoyed the environment around her.

“I thought so,” Emilio said smugly.

“What?” She lifted startled eyes to find that he was studying her face.

“You’re not tired. You needed to escape.” He tugged her toward a path that wound between two manicured hedges. “Come on. The fresh air will be good for both of us.”

They walked in silence for several minutes, while Sheralie shut everything else out and focused on the calming sights and sounds of the gardens. Eventually Emilio broke the silence, though he was almost speaking to himself.

“There were days when I thought I would never walk through a garden again.”

Sheralie’s hand tightened on his arm. “When you were trapped in Maxent’s basement?”

“It was a nightmare that went on and on until I wished for death, every day. But though Maxent was willing to have me tortured all too often, he always ordered his men to treat my wounds. He refused to let me die. And apparently I have a stronger will to live than I realized. I never stopped eating, for example.”

Sheralie leaned her head against his shoulder, briefly offering wordless comfort. Maxent had kept Emilio imprisoned for almost three months.

“But when Cane carried you into that basement—when Briggs used the auto-torch on you—” Emilio swallowed painfully. “Well, that was the worst torture I’ve ever endured. It’s haunted me ever since, Sheralie. If it wasn’t for me…”

Sheralie stopped, pulling Emilio to a halt beside her.

“If it wasn’t for you, I would be dead.” She willed him to hear her—and believe. “Emilio, I don’t blame you. Do you blame me for your torture? Maxent never would have done it if not for the hope of forcing me to serve him.”

“Of course not,” Emilio huffed.

“It’s no different. Maxent tormented both of us, and neither one of us is responsible for that.”

Emilio digested that in silence, and Sheralie started walking again. After a long moment, Emilio sighed. “I don’t know how to forgive myself for my failures. You’re all I have left, Sheralie, and I’ve failed you so many times…”

“Shall I make you another list—of all the ways you sacrificed and saved me?” Sheralie shook her head. “Look, I’m not an expert, but isn’t that what true family does? Hurt and fail, sacrifice and save each other? You’ve made awful mistakes, but Emilio, you’re practically my brother, and I love you. I forgive you for not being perfect, all right?”

A ghost of a grin passed over Emilio’s face. “Fine. I’ll try to accept that I’m not perfect.”

She playfully bumped his arm. “Good. It’s about time.”

Emilio tilted his head. “Speaking of family…I take it I am going to have to accept Sir Jaron as part of it?”

“Only if you plan to spend time with me.”

Emilio shook his head. “Well, it could be worse. He’s grown on me. You know, I was actually relieved when he appeared at the Cynewulf’s house.”

That sounded almost unbelievable. Her skepticism must have shown on her face. Emilio shrugged. “I knew I was incapable of rescuing you, and he wouldn’t rest until you were safe.”

The path branched off in two directions, and Emilio chose the right turn. “I only want you to be happy. If he makes you happy—well, who am I to stand in the way?”

“I wish his father would look at it like that,” Sheralie muttered darkly.

“What is the problem with Prince Casimir? You were staring at him all through dinner like you wanted to stab him with one of those fancy silver forks.”

The cool breeze blew a loose strand of her hair into her face, and she tucked it behind an ear. “He doesn’t like me. He refuses to approve a betrothal between me and Jaron.”

“What? Why in the name of Visroc does he object?”

Before Sheralie could launch into her history of interactions with the haughty prince, the echo of pounding hooves filtered through the hedge.

“Someone is in a hurry,” Emilio observed warily.

“Maybe it’s Jaron.” Sheralie pulled at Emilio’s arm hopefully. “Let’s go see!” Then she turned back and forth on the path, unsure which direction would lead them out to the house more quickly.

Emilio rolled his eyes at her eagerness, but he led her forward. “This way.”

A couple of minutes later they emerged onto the main lane leading up to the house. A servant must have come outside while they were walking and activated several outdoor lambent globes. They lined the drive and flooded the entry to the house with a steady, non-flickering glow, making it easy to see in the deepening night.

The rider was dismounting at the bottom of the steps, a groom appearing to take the horse. Sheralie broke away from Emilio and dashed forward. “Jaron!”

He turned with one foot on the front steps and then spun all the way around and headed back down the drive. “Sheralie!”

They met just inside the circle of light, Sheralie throwing her arms around Jaron and greeting him with a hug. Jaron laughed but returned the hug, pulling her into his chest and dropping his cheek to the top of her head. “It has not even been a full day, but you are greeting me like I left a week ago.”

She looked up at him and smiled widely. “It might as well have been a week.”

Jaron bent closer to kiss her, but Emilio cleared his throat loudly behind them.

“You do realize you have an audience, right?”

Jaron’s eyes slid to the groom, who stood nearby with the horse, goggling at them with avid interest. He leaned back, and Sheralie grumbled in disappointment.

“Who cares? I can be a scandalous duchess, Mel said so.”

Jaron laughed again, but infuriatingly, he still pulled away.

“What are you doing back, Sir Jaron?” asked Emilio, stepping up next to Sheralie. “I thought you were staying at the garrison tonight.”

All the mirth immediately drained from Jaron’s face. “An express rider arrived in Bridgewich tonight. Estril attacked Saladin Shores.”

“What?” exclaimed Emilio.

Sheralie’s heart sank. She’d known the invasion was coming, though she’d had no useful information as to where or when.

“They fired cannons from the ships in the harbor and then waves of soldiers attacked the town. There was only a small garrison, and they were easily overwhelmed.” Jaron repeated the facts without inflection, though Sheralie noted the tension in his jaw.

“How many casualties?” Sheralie had to ask, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

“The dispatch said thousands. Mostly civilians. They were caught completely unaware.”

Sheralie’s stomach lurched, and she clenched her hands into fists. This was her fault. She’d known—she should have gotten word to someone, somewhere that an invasion was coming.

As if he could read her mind, Jaron took her hand and met her eyes sternly. “There was nothing you could have done, Sheralie. I passed your warning onto the commander the first day we arrived in Bridgewich. It was his responsibility to give the message to his superiors—but even if he’d known exactly where to send the warning on to, it never would have arrived in time.”

Emilio nudged her shoulder with his arm. “What did you just tell me about not blaming myself for someone else’s evil choices? This was not your fault.”

Of course Emilio would bring that up. She sighed but tried to smother the guilt. He was right. What could she have reasonably done? She was a captive in Estril, for Visroc’s sake, who barely managed to escape with her life, probably after the ships for the invasion set sail. The blood boundary in theory would have helped, but in the past the lakeshore towns had always been vulnerable. Every invasion attempt from Estril had always managed to land some blows before the magick forced a retreat.

“Under the circumstances the commander agreed that we need to leave the region as soon as possible so we do not get caught in the midst of any further attacks.” Jaron dragged a hand through his hair. “The new plan is to leave at dawn tomorrow.”

Sheralie exchanged worried looks with Emilio. “Our guard escort will be ready by then?”

“Yes. We will travel light and fast, using the courier horses.”

“Ginny will love that.” Sheralie’s familiar disliked traveling by carriage but she loathed traveling by horse, even when Sheralie used a sleeping charm on her.

Emilio groaned. “Well, if we’re off at daybreak to race across the country on horses, we’d better get some rest, Sheralie. I’ll let your father know before I head upstairs.”

“We will go in shortly. I would like to speak to Sheralie first.” Jaron sounded perfectly innocent, but something in his tone made Emilio raise a brow.

“Ten minutes, Sir Jaron, or I’ll send Lane looking for her.”

Jaron cringed. Sheralie almost did too. She did not want her father storming outside to find them. Emilio shook his head and then started for the house. Jaron drew Sheralie away, back into the gardens, hopefully out of view of any curious servants.

He chose a different direction than Emilio, and in a moment, they walked into a clearing with a small, lily-covered pond in the center.

“Oh!” Sheralie gasped. Tiny flickering lights darted around above the water. “Are those fireflies?”

“Incredible, are they not?” Jaron took her hand.

“I’ve never seen them before.” She took a small step closer, though she didn’t want to frighten them away. After a long minute Sheralie sighed in pleasure and turned to Jaron. “Is this why you brought me out here?”

He smiled. “No, the fireflies were an unexpected addition. I actually wanted to give you something. I planned to give it to you on your birthday but then…”

Sheralie flinched. “Everything went wrong.” She didn’t even want to think about it. The day of her eighteenth birthday, the dragons attacked Bridgewich. Briggs dragged her into Estril and then tortured her on her grandfather’s orders—she cut off the memory, again. Some things did not bear remembering.

Jaron must have seen the darkness in her eyes. He gently traced her cheek with his thumb. “I wish I could take away the pain. Or that I had suffered it instead of you.”

She closed her eyes, savoring his touch on her skin. She let her magick react freely and knew that it was connecting them, looping and returning to her with something of Jaron, something that made her feel stronger. She opened her eyes again and managed a smile. “You said you got me a birthday gift? Something better than a courier pouch?” Jaron had given her the pouch specifically designed to carry Ginny for her seventeenth birthday. “I think that was one of the most useful gifts I’ve ever received.”

“Well, I do not know if you would consider this useful.” Jaron pulled a velvet drawstring pouch from his pocket. He offered it to Sheralie, who eagerly pulled open the strings and withdrew a small golden ring. It had delicate etching and deep twisting grooves. She held it up to her eyes, squinting in the dim light. “Does it come apart?”

“Yes. It is called a gimmel ring—it is actually two rings.”

“Two?” She fiddled with it for a moment and then slid the two rings apart. “I see. They fit together only at the right spot—like a puzzle.” Then she sucked in a breath as she felt a tug on her magick. “It’s charmed!”

Jaron held up his hands. “Not with anything dangerous, or at least the metalcrafter assured me so. Supposedly it connects the two rings in some way. Gimmel rings are used in Kaltanian betrothal ceremonies. Each of the betrothed wears a ring until the wedding, and then the bride wears the rings combined—as a sign that her spouse now is forever a part of her.”

Sheralie felt something warm stir in her chest and then spread throughout her body. She raised her eyes to Jaron’s in wonder. “You bought them in Kaltan?”

Jaron shifted self-consciously. “Yes. When Mel sent me there after Clyris Cave to visit my father. After the cave I knew…well, I hoped that someday…” His words died out, and he chuckled nervously.

“You knew you wanted to marry me that soon?” He had felt that strongly about her? How had she missed it?

“When the griffins carried you away, it was like a burst of clarity that stripped away all my petty fears and concerns. I knew you had a vital, dangerous destiny, and that our country needed you. However, I also knew I did not want to live without you. Even if it meant walking alongside you into peril.” He gently took the gimmel ring from her and slid one of the rings onto his smallest finger. Then he tried the other ring on her middle finger. It was a little loose, but after a moment the metal seemed to warm and shrink until it was comfortably snug. Then all of a sudden the ring started to glow softly.

“Amazing,” she whispered, tilting her hand for a better look. The ring glinted in the moonlight.

Jaron held up his hand. His ring was glowing too, as if candlelight flickered within it.

“Thank you.” She drew close to him, placing her hand with the ring on his chest. “For more than just the ring, Jaron. For being willing to take this path with me.”

Jaron rested his hands on her hips, gazing down into her eyes. “We are in this together. We will get you back to Stramere to heal Mel, and then we will restore the blood boundary. I have faith in you.” Then his lips dropped to hers, and Sheralie lost herself in the moment. Jaron’s touch ignited a wave of hope within her. They would succeed—because they would do it together.

“Sheralie Spenser!”

They broke apart, and Sheralie turned sheepishly to face her father, who stood at the edge of the pond clearing, glaring at them both.

“I guess our ten minutes are up,” Jaron muttered. Sheralie stifled a giggle, but her father did not appear amused.

“I thought you were retiring early to rest?” her father asked pointedly.

“I’m going in now, Papa.” She started back in his direction, Jaron trailing behind her.

“May I remind you two that you are not even officially betrothed yet?” her father ground out as they passed him. “No more unchaperoned moonlight escapades.”

“Unchaperoned moonlight escapades. I like the sound of that,” Jaron murmured, and Sheralie grinned again. “Something to look forward to in the future.”

“An army ravages our country and dragons threaten our enchanters, and our survival depends on two lovesick children.” Her father groaned. “Visroc help us all.”