The lonesome crown, p.90
The Lonesome Crown, page 90
An ash-choked brook wound through the center of the graveyard—a once clear stream of cool waters. Tala wished she could drink from it, her mouth was so parched. But everything was so black and hot, including the water.
Beyond the stone fence enclosing the cemetery, Tala’s whole world was burning. And it was the gruesome images of the dead children that had scarred her the most. She was lost and felt alone, though many allies still surrounded her. She had so many questions and emotions that, at sixteen, she could not handle.
Leif Chaparral is dead.
Glade is dead!
Borden and Jovan and Ansel were all the family she had left. And Jovan was dying.
Tala just wished something would come swooping out of the sky and pluck her from war’s madness. She wished some magic would just whisk her away to safety.
“Where is my Leif?” Tala’s brother muttered in delirium.
“He’s dead,” Borden said, still trying to stop the flow of blood welling from the stump of Jovan’s arm with one hand, tying his own belt above the wound with the other to act as a tourniquet.
“How can Leif be dead?” Jovan muttered.
“He just is.” Borden cinched the leather belt tight.
Even with his arm strapped, blood still flowed, and Tala knew Jovan would swiftly bleed out. There would be no time to mourn his death. She still could not believe that Leif Chaparral was dead, slain by Gault Aulbrek. That Glade was dead too. She shivered with trauma and guilt. She had hated him so venomously.
Should I feel disgusted with myself? Should I feel angry? Should I feel sad?
No, in war there was no time to mourn the dead. She had read that in one of Jondralyn’s adventure books. It made sense now. She couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to her cousins. Where is Lindholf? Where is Lawri? The last she had seen of the twins, they were atop a brilliant white stallion, leading the charge of Fiery Absolution, five colorful dragons circling over their heads.
“Where is Leif?” Jovan asked again, trying to sit up. “Why did we leave him? We need to go back.”
“He’s dead,” Borden repeated, holding Jovan down. Nail helped him. Tala could see the color bleed from her brother’s pallid flesh. With every pump of his heart, Jovan grew more pale and the pool of blood in the grass under his arm spread.
“I love him,” Jovan said. “We cannot leave my love to die.”
“Leif’s already dead,” Borden repeated.
“But I love him.”
“He was like your brother, I know,” Borden said. “You loved him as a brother.”
“I was in love with him,” Jovan said.
Every time her brother mentioned his love for Leif, a pang of regret and sadness spread through Tala’s heart.
“I love him,” Jovan said once more, weakly, eyes hazy with tears.
“He is dead,” Borden repeated. “You must let him go.”
“I cannot. I love him.”
“Quiet now,” Borden said. “Rest now.”
“You do know that he really was in love with Leif.” Hawkwood sat up, his gaze cutting into Borden’s. “Or are you that obtuse?”
Borden’s eyes drew down into dark slits. “What do you mean?”
“I mean your son was in a romantic relationship with Leif Chaparral,” Hawkwood answered. “His words now are not just the delusional ramblings of a dying man.”
Tala’s heart stopped, and she felt her face flush as her eyes met Hawkwood’s. Even Krista had sat up, attentive. Bronwyn and Cromm were staring at the Sør Sevier man too.
“Why do you goad me now?” Borden hissed. “My son is sorely injured, possibly dying. Why bother me now with nonsense?”
“That is where you are wrong,” Hawkwood said, voice nearly a whisper. “It is time for the truth.” He looked at Krista, sitting by his side, and then his gaze traveled toward Nail. “It is time we all learn the truth of who we really are.” Hawkwood’s cutting gaze fell on Tala next. “You know the truth of Jovan and Leif’s relationship, do you not? Perhaps you should explain to your father what you have seen.”
Tala gulped, saying nothing, sitting still. She knew Hawkwood was a former Bloodwood assassin, possibly even a current Bloodwood. She would give him nothing.
Borden stood and faced Hawkwood on the grass. “I do not appreciate such damning lies being spread about my son in his dying moments.”
“Where is Leif?” Jovan cried out. Borden knelt again and wiped the sweat beading up on his son’s brow. Nail once again helped to hold Jovan down.
Hawkwood stood, his gaze returning to Tala. “You know the truth of a great many things, don’t you, Tala Bronachell? Tell your father the truth.”
Tala felt her heart thudding behind her ribs.
“Tell him,” Hawkwood pressed, towering over her. “Tell him what you know, what you have seen.”
“Leave her alone.” Nail, standing over Jovan, had his hand on the hilt of his sword now. “Stop badgering her.”
“Stop badgering her?” Hawkwood asked, brow raising. “You would defend her?”
“This is not like you, Hawkwood.” Nail’s fingers gripped the hilt. “Borden is right: you should not goad any of us, least of all Tala. I appreciate all you have done for me, but can you not just leave us be? You are not acting like the Hawkwood I know.”
“And who is the Hawkwood you know?”
“Hawkwood is the honorable man I traveled with from the Swithen Wells Trail Abbey. Hawkwood is the honorable man who trained me in sword fighting. Hawkwood is the honorable man who saved me from the Spider. Hawkwood is the honorable man who rescued me and Tala from Purgatory—”
“That man was always a lie,” Hawkwood cut him off. “I have always been the Bloodwood assassin Jovan’s court believed me to be.” His hardened gaze fell on Krista Aulbrek, still sitting in the grass. “She recognizes me, for Bloodwoods always know their own.” Krista’s face remained calm, impassive, yet curious.
“Traitor,” Borden growled. The tension and anger emanating from him was palpable. He wiped the brow of his son, eyes sparking with rage. “You are naught but a traitor.”
“Traitor?” Hawkwood shrugged. “Betrayer? I’ve been called both. I’ve also been called Lover, by your daughter Jondralyn. Now you shall know me as the Truthsayer. For I know all of your children’s secrets. And I know all your secrets too, Ser Borden Bronachell.”
Tala suddenly hated Hawkwood. She suddenly hated this man she had once thought so dashing and fair. She recalled her confrontation with him in the secret ways, in the red-hazed room where Sterling Prentiss had died. She recalled all his vague answers and duplicitous ways. Smoke was getting into her eyes, and her vision blurred with tears. “Did you even love my sister?” she blurted. “Or was that a lie, like everything else about you? I trusted you. Jondralyn trusted you. Jondralyn loved you.”
“I truly loved your sister, Tala.” Hawkwood’s fierce eyes softened. “That I cannot deny. And I never lied to Jondralyn. Though I did withhold one truth from her. I never admitted to her that I killed your mother, Alana Bronachell. I never told Jondralyn ’twas I who poisoned your mother at Ansel’s birth at the behest of Black Dugal.”
Tala’s heart fell at the man’s admission; at the same time rage burned deep.
Borden Bronachell stood, drawing his sword. “You poisoned my wife? You murdered Alana?”
“You’ve done far worse than murder, Borden Bronachell.” Hawkwood faced Tala’s father. “And do not pretend that you have not.”
“You murdered my wife,” Borden snarled.
“Shall we go over your sins?” Hawkwood countered. “Shall I tell everyone here how you and Roguemoore and Ironcloud, along with Ser Roderic Raybourne and Ser Torrence Raybourne, stole the twin heirs of Raijael from Cassietta? Shall I tell Nail and Krista how you stole the bastard babes of King Aevrett Raijael and Cassietta Raybourne? Shall I tell how you and your twisted Brethren of Mia stole those bastard babes and hid them in the one place they would never be found?”
Borden’s sword came up fast, its tip now aimed at Hawkwood’s throat. “You, a betrayer, so blithely throw around false accusations, so blithely dare smear my name?”
“All my betrayals combined do not begin to equal your one great betrayal, Borden Bronachell,” Hawkwood said coldly.
“You are naught but a Bloodwood assassin,” Borden said. “Naught but a betrayer and a liar.”
“Perhaps,” Hawkwood said. “But ’tis you and the Brethren of Mia who have betrayed the Five Isles the most. ’Twas the Brethren of Mia who schemed to steal the bastard heirs of Raijael and hide them in plain sight. ’Twas you, Borden Bronachell, who gave those twin babes to your own sister, Mona Le Graven, to raise as her own. ’Twas you, the mighty King Borden Bronachell, who put the flame to the young male child’s face in an attempt to twist and deform his flesh so he would be not recognizable. ’Twas you who deformed an innocent babe’s face to keep your secrets. ’Twas you who maimed and scarred Lindholf Le Graven.”
Tala stopped breathing, picturing the deformities on her cousin’s face, the scars Lindholf had lived with his entire life, the scars that had affected everything about him in such agonizing ways. She looked around, seeing the disgust on everyone’s faces. Nail and Krista were watching her father and the Sør Sevier man with great interest.
Hawkwood continued, “ ’Twas you and Ser Roderic Raybourne who schemed to steal two other similar-looking babes to use as bait, two other innocent children stripped from their parents for Aeros and Aevrett Raijael to chase in futility.”
“Lies,” Borden hissed.
“And chase them they did,” Hawkwood went on, “sending assassins like me the breadth of the Five Isles, looking for the man named Shawcroft and the boy he kept. The boy you kidnapped.”
Nail was visibly shaking now, hand still on the hilt of his sword. Krista’s black leather armor appeared as deadly and sinister as the look on her face; a black dagger was in her hand.
“And the baby girl?” Hawkwood gestured to Krista. “The baby girl you sent north into the wilds of the Nordland Highlands with Ser Aulmut Klingande’s young bride, Avril, where she was found and raised by Gault Aulbrek.”
“Lies,” Borden hissed once more, rage twisting his face into something ugly.
“Two innocent children stolen from their rightful parents to be used in your dark and twisted schemes,” Hawkwood said. “All so Lindholf and Lawri Le Graven could remain hidden right in the midst of your own royal court.”
Krista Aulbrek glared at Borden. “Was Avril really even my mother?”
By the look of guilt that washed over her father’s face, Tala knew the answer.
“Fatherless,” Krista muttered, her eyes downcast, head slowly shaking. “And now motherless. Was I even the daughter of Ser Aulmut Klingande as was hinted?” she asked herself. “Who am I?” She turned to Nail. “Who are you?”
Nail, hand resting absently on the hilt of his sword now, looked like he was going to vomit. When Tala noticed a second black dagger in Krista’s hands, her heart skipped a beat.
“I think you must admit the truth now, Borden Bronachell,” Krista demanded, fingers tightening around the daggers, her eyes cold slits. “You told a similar story to me once before, as we sailed from Sør Sevier to Wyn Darrè. Admit to the world all your dirty schemes while you still draw breath.”
Borden looked trapped. To Tala he even looked weak. He did not look like the war hero she always imagined him to be. Tala had never felt such hurt and disappointment. Downhearted, she watched as her father’s gaze returned to Jovan; the young king was still struggling for breath, blood still leaking from the stump of his arm.
“Is it true, Father?” Tala finally spoke up, her voice shaking. “Did you burn Lindholf as Hawkwood claims? Did you scar his face? Are Lindholf and Lawri not of our blood? Is this why Lindholf and Lawri rode the white stallion under the Atonement Tree, the weapons of the Five Warrior Angels draped all over them? Are they the heirs of Laijon and Raijael?”
Her father did not even look up at her. Her heart sank further. At that moment, Tala felt as betrayed by Borden Bronachell as she felt betrayed by Hawkwood.
“Tell your daughter the truth,” Hawkwood demanded, eyes narrowing in calculation. “She is asking all the right questions. What purpose does it serve you now, to know the truth and keep it from her? What purpose does it serve in your heart? Let your daughter know the truth about her cousins. Let Krista and Nail finally know the truth of their own heritage too.”
When Tala’s father looked up, he did not look at her. Instead he focused on the Bloodwood girl, pain in his eyes. “Hawkwood is right; it serves no purpose to keep secrets from you, Krista Aulbrek. Not now.”
“Why even call her by that surname?” Hawkwood interrupted. “For no Aulbrek blood runs through her veins.”
Borden cast a pensive gaze into the shadowy sky, as if he was trying to look beyond the smoke, trying to find the truth out there somewhere among the swirling ash. Then he looked back at Krista, or rather, he looked somewhere just beyond her. “It all began with the illicit affair between King Aevrett Raijael of Sør Sevier and Cassietta Raybourne of Wyn Darrè, and the twins born of their brief, but disastrous, coupling. The affair was short-lived, and all knowledge of the pregnancy was hidden from King Aevrett. On the day of their birth, both of the babes, twins, a boy and a girl, were taken from Cassietta Raybourne by her brothers, Ser Roderic and Ser Torrence Raybourne, the king of Wyn Darrè. With the help of Roguemoore and Ironcloud, the babes were secreted away for their own safety and given to me. For we in the Brethren of Mia knew that if Aevrett ever got wind of their existence, he would have had the babies slain on sight. Aeros was the Angel Prince, and no bastard child born out of wedlock would ever usurp that throne.”
Borden’s eyes remained fixed somewhere out in the smoky dark haze behind Krista. “That is not the entire truth, actually.” He swallowed deeply, as if the next words were hard to speak. “ ’Twas I, Borden Bronachell, who disguised the bastard children of King Aevrett Raijael and hid them away. ’Twas I alone, Borden Bronachell, king of Gul Kana, leader of the Brethren of Mia, who knew where these children were, promising that the identity of the twins should never be revealed until Fiery Absolution. And those twins were indeed Lindholf and Lawri Le Graven.”
Tala sucked down a deep breath, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing. Her stomach had knotted itself into a small ball of pain, a deep-rooted pain that drifted up her throat like bile, stinging and sour. Her mind was but a numb fog, trying to grasp the entirety of her father’s story.
Borden’s hard eyes pierced into Krista’s. “The fact is, I know not who you are, girl, other than that you and Nail were used as bait for Aevrett to chase while Lindholf and Lawri remained safe under my sister Mona’s care. Gault Aulbrek’s blood is not within you. Nor Cassietta Raybourne’s blood. Nor even Aevrett Raijael’s blood. Nor any blood that I know of. And King Torrence Raybourne and his brother Ser Roderic are both now dead. Only they knew who you and Nail really came from. You are not kin, you and Nail. That I do know. Other than that, I know nothing.”
“Bait?” Krista looked at Nail. The blond boy’s soot-stained face was a rash of anger and betrayal. “Bait?” she repeated, the word like poison on her tongue.
“Yes, bait,” Borden said, face now grave. “Cassietta Raybourne was distraught after her two babies were stripped from her and then spirited away. Before taking her own life, she got word to Aevrett Raijael of the twins’ existence. In her final despair, she told him of the children who had been conceived and born and then hidden by the Brethren of Mia. Once King Aevrett found out about the bastard twins, Roguemoore, Ironcloud, and I knew we had to keep their identity a secret until Fiery Absolution. So I came up with a plan. ’Twas my plan. And I will not lay the blame elsewhere.”
He focused again on Krista. “At my behest, King Torrence stole you from your real parents. Whoever they were, I do not know. The only guidance I gave Torrence was to make sure that whatever babe he found was a girl and blond and from good and healthy stock. Once you were removed from your home, King Torrence paid a gutter waif named Avril to raise you.”
“Removed from my home.” Krista’s hollow voice sounded distant and disturbed, as if the foggy smoke above was swallowing her words right up. “A gutter waif?”
“Aye,” Borden went on. “Also at my behest, King Torrence placed this pretty young waif, Avril, along with the baby, you, in the manor house of a rich Rokenwalder noble named Ser Aulmut Klingande. And what I tell you now, I only learned from Ironcloud, or as you prefer to call him, Squateye. Not knowing why she was raising a stranger’s child in the house of a Rokenwalder nobleman, Avril did her best with the situation and accepted her lot in life, and also the coin Ser Torrence paid her to go along with the ruse. But Avril was ofttimes beaten and abused by Ser Aulmut. She eventually took you and fled north into the Nordland Highlands, where she met Ser Gault Aulbrek. The two found solace in each other and were eventually married. Avril died shortly thereafter, but not before sending word of her marriage to Gault back to King Torrence Raybourne. Ser Gault Aulbrek raised you as his own, knowing none of your true history. The Brethren of Mia’s plans changed, but only slightly, for Avril’s death was of little worry to either Torrence or myself. As you grew older, and Gault went off to war, hints were dropped within King Aevrett’s court by Roguemoore and Ironcloud and others that the stepdaughter of Ser Gault Aulbrek was in fact one of the twin babes born of his affair with Cassietta Raybourne. That is why Aevrett desired to keep you close. It is why Aevrett’s son, Aeros Raijael, the Angel Prince, desired that you become a Bloodwood and slay Aevrett. That also became Black Dugal’s conspiracy for you. Or who knows, maybe Dugal knew you were always fatherless.”
