A Gift Freely Given (The Tahaerin Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  A GIFT FREELY GIVEN

  J. ELLEN ROSS

  Copyright © 2014 J. Ellen Ross

  Cover design © 2014 Melissa Lamkin

  Cover photo © 2014 Andrey Kiselev

  All rights are reserved by the author. No part of this e-book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  By One-Armed T.rex Publishing

  Visit my website at www.jellenross.com

  Dedication

  For Dan, who has always been my biggest fan.

  And for Phil, for reading this.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Map of Embriel and Tahaerin

  Hostage

  Orphaned

  Hardened

  Oaths

  Negotiating

  Competing

  Books

  Jobs

  Dismissed

  Returning

  Leaving

  Arriving

  Meeting

  Acting

  Coronation

  Parade

  Blockade

  Broken

  Plots

  Wedding

  Masked

  Tumultuous

  Falling

  Fumbling

  Surfacing

  Finding

  Outing

  Recovering

  Execution

  Leashed

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Map of Embriel and Tahaerin

  Hostage

  Rain splashed against the tent and in the puddles all around camp. Men huddled under their cloaks or gathered around a few guttering campfires. The weather did nothing to improve the mood of Davos Tahaerin, who sat slumped over his desk, head in his hands. He was a small, stupid man and he knew it. Worse, all his men outside knew it as well. Soon, he would face them and tell them he was surrendering, abandoning his own invasion, but they knew already. Somehow, he could not decide if it was worse than having to submit to his enemy in his own camp or not.

  A year ago, Davos let his wife browbeat him into this war. He did not want it, there was no glory in it for him or even any spoils worth the death and blood and coin spent. But Shola’s brother, Staval, wanted more land. More land for his mistress and their bastard children. He wanted the land across the wide and placid Vinca River. A shame the land belonged to a neighboring king, Andrzej of Embriel. Davos listened to hours of justification for war, his wife’s pleadings, his brother-in-law’s wheedling, and prodding.

  Staval needed more land, Shola explained. This, even though his castle, outside the city of Prem, presided over some of the most fertile pasturelands in the kingdom. She argued relentlessly for an invasion while Andrzej was busy on the other side of his kingdom, dealing with bandits. They only needed to sneak across the river and seize a few villages and their croplands.

  For generations, Embriel and Tahaerin had clashed over this border. A hundred years ago, Tahaerin ended on the west side of the Violet Mountains, a great range running north and south. On the east side of the mountains lay a plain, the Tymek, cut by the Vinca, the land there dotted with small stands of trees and smaller farming villages. After one land grab by the Tahaerins, Embriel lost the land from the mountains to the river, which was where Staval’s Cheylm Castle sat. Now, he wanted the land on the other side of the river as well.

  Finally, Davos gave in. Yes, he would invade if only to stop the constant discussions and even though he had great reservations about the entire venture. Of course, with his luck, Andrzej concluded his campaign against the bandits and turned swiftly back to the border with Tahaerin. His men were hardened from a season in the field. Davos’s men were young and untested and so the invasion did not go well. As soon as the tide of battle turned, Staval had retreated to his castle. To fortify it, he said, in case Andrzej invaded his lands.

  “Sire? We have the horses ready.” Symon stepped into the tent, careful not to shake the water from his coat all over. For nearly twenty years, he had served as butler and friend. He wished he could make this easier.

  “How did I come to this?” Davos asked, staring down at his hands. Right now, he did not care Tahaerin monarchs were supposed to be arrogant, strong and aggressive. Three hundred years ago, his ancestors sailed from unknown lands and pillaged their way up the coast before settling and displacing the existing people. Later Tahaerin kings retained their ancestors’ thirst for conflict and war, carving out larger lands for themselves at the expense of their neighbors.

  But not Davos. Instead of craving war and conquests, he wanted to enjoy his horse farm in Ola, raise a family and perhaps even make peace with the other monarchs around him. The Tahaerin nobility hated him for it. They were restless as the sea, always squabbling and bickering amongst themselves, but they could always be trusted to unite against a weak king who sought no glory.

  Sighing, Davos climbed to his feet, sounding like a man twice his age. Symon picked up his cloak and sword. “This won’t last.” He settled the cloak on his king’s shoulder and handed him his sword and scabbard. “Should we go finish this?”

  “Yes, let’s get this over with. I want to go home.”

  Davos noticed the rain subsiding as he and Symon stepped from his tent. It did little to improve his mood. Guards fell in behind them while several of his commanders were already climbing onto their mounts. A groom rushed forward with his own horse, a lovely, black Auleron stallion he called Menace. How laughable now.

  The ride over to the Embriel camp took an hour. His contingent of men moved through the mud of the battlefield and the sparse trees. By the time they drew within sight of the other camp, Davos just wanted it all over. He would agree to whatever terms Andrzej demanded and withdraw to his palace at Moraval to lick his wounds. Perhaps his wife, Shola, could be convinced to travel to her brother’s castle for a while. Her absence would certainly help him to recover from this debacle.

  The king halted his retinue when he saw the Embriel outriders moving towards them. His men were tense and ready for a fight. Most were not old enough to realize it would be suicide here. Instead, they thought only of their vast, wounded Tahaerin pride. “State your business,” the lead rider called out when they were in range.

  As if it’s not obvious who we are, Davos thought. If it was an indicator of how this Andrzej planned to conduct this meeting, he thought he might just abdicate on the spot. Just ride away into the mountains. It was an alluring idea.

  “King Davos of Tahaerin has come to sue for peace,” Symon responded when he looked over and saw Davos sitting huddled miserably in his saddle, cloak drawn tight over his shoulder.

  The young Embriel captain nodded as they rode closer. More seasoned, he managed to keep the gloating smile off his face, but his companions did not appear to be trying. “I’m Cristof. Please select five men to accompany you, Your Majesty. You may keep your blade with you though we guarantee your safety. King Andrzej has prepared a tent for your meeting.”

  Davos pointed out four soldiers and Symon to accompany him and then followed the other soldiers in the direction of the mighty river. The slow pace set by the Embriel riders made it feel as if they were being paraded through the wide streets of Lida for all to see. They finally cleared a small rise and could see a hastily erected pavilion. It was far enough away from Andrzej’s main force that the Tahaerin would not feel as threatened, but close enough to remind them they were guests in an enemy camp. Standards and flags of Embriel stood driven into the ground all around. No doubt they would have been an imp
ressive sight snapping in a breeze, but now they drooped in the humid air.

  The riders approached the pavilion and dismounted. Grooms rushed in to grab reins and lead the horses away to the picket. The Tahaerin men formed up around their king, ready to accompany him into the tent, but he waved them away. Turning to Cristof, he said, “I’ll leave my men here if that’s acceptable. Except you, Symon. You’re with me. I trust Andrzej not to stab me as I surrender.”

  Shrugging, the young Embriel captain lifted the flap to admit Davos and Symon. He followed them in and took up his place behind his own king.

  Andrzej of Embriel stood in the middle of the shelter looking annoyed and triumphant all at once. Instead of clasping arms as equals, he studied Davos as if sizing up a horse at market.

  Davos looked far older than his thirty-five years, he thought. The Tahaerin king showed grey at his temples, his face was deeply lined, and his eyes seemed sunken. Andrzej’s spies told him Davos was a harried man, harassed by subjects he could not keep in check, and by his wife and her brother. He could almost feel sorry for the man, if Davos had not attempted to steal his land.

  Andrzej gestured to the other chair in the room. “So, we’re here to make peace? I assume you don’t want me to drive you and your men back across the Vinca.”

  This will not be a ritualized meeting between noble combatants, Davos thought sourly. Ignoring the jibe, he said, “Yes, I’m here to ask for peace and a guarantee of safe passage for my men.”

  Smiling, Andrzej sat back in his chair. “Very noble to be concerned about your men at this point, Davos. I understand the Lord of the Tymek has fled to his castle.” A valet appeared with wine.

  After snatching up a glass, Davos downed it before saying, “My wife’s brother has returned to his lands, yes. Now, I long to do the same. I’ll quit your lands immediately and swear never to threaten you again.”

  “What guarantees do I receive? What ensures your good behavior in the future?”

  Davos wanted to snap back; he was not a dog to be brought to heel. He did have some pride left, and too many concessions here would only hurt him with his nobles. But he also knew he spoke from a position of weakness. “What can I do to prove my sincere desire to go home and be left alone?”

  Andrzej appeared to consider before saying, “Send me your daughter as a hostage.”

  “My daughter?” Davos felt his heart begin to pound and he grimaced. Leisha turned two several months ago. His only living child, she had her mother’s fine features but had his black hair. As king, he left childcare to the women, but he did visit his daughter when he could find the time. “She’s barely more than an infant.”

  “Perfect. The transition will be easy on her and this will keep you in line. I’m sure you and your wife will produce many more children. Having this one raised in my house need not concern you.” This proposal meant the Tahaerin heir would be raised in Embriel until she reached adulthood at sixteen. His spies reported Davos and his wife rarely slept together any longer and most of Shola’s pregnancies ended in stillbirths. Their chances of producing any new heirs were slim and there was always the chance this one would grow and marry one of his sons, making Tahaerin a vassal state.

  Sighing, Davos knew he had little to negotiate with, but Leisha was young, and he felt he owed it to her to get something in return. “I have terms, then. She must be treated as one of your own, educated, socialized.”

  Andrzej drew back, scowling. “Of course. We aren’t animals. She’ll be cared for like any of my children.”

  “Good. Send me one of your sons to guarantee her care. And swear you’ll return her on her sixteenth birthday.”

  After considering a moment, Andrzej shrugged. “Davos, your neighbors are tired of the aggression from Tahaerin. Your kingdom is restless, incapable of respecting borders or being at peace. If this can buy us few years of it, I’ll gladly part with one of my sons. I have several.” He felt petty digging the knife into the other man.

  Davos wanted to protest that he longed for peace for his kingdom and for himself, that he never wanted this war. But he had sense enough to realize how weak it made him sound. “Draw it up and I’ll sign the contract, Andrzej.”

  ***

  A day later, the emissary from Embriel appeared with documents in hand for Davos. Andrzej’s signature sat at the bottom, all flourishes, and loops, leaving almost no room for his own mark. The victor in everything, Davos thought sourly. Finding space for his signature in the bottom corner, he handed the paper back. He ordered his marshals to prepare the army to march. They would be on the way back across the Vinca by nightfall.

  The army made slow progress towards home, but perhaps it was for the best. Davos did not relish facing his wife. She would be humiliated to learn he bartered away her only child to their enemy.

  Symon volunteered to take word to the castle at Lida and face Shola first. He would prepare the princess and organize her household for travel. Most of her women would not go with her, but a few would make the trip, he thought. Davos agreed and wrote out a letter to Shola, a cowardly move, but at least some of her anger at his loss and disgrace would dissipate before he returned home.

  ***

  By the time Symon arrived at the castle in Lida, Shola already knew of her husband’s defeat. Riders reached her with the news a week ago. The embarrassment drove her wild and she spent days abusing her servants. At the sight of her husband’s wretched butler riding through the gates and into the courtyard, her rage flared again. She watched him hand his horse to a groom and hoped he had the good sense to come straight to her rooms where she waited for him.

  Symon climbed the stairs to Shola’s apartments, trying to prepare himself for the meeting. The queen’s temper was a thing of legend. He knocked and a servant opened the door, giving him a pained, sympathetic look. A very bad sign.

  Shola stood in her receiving room, dressed in a sweeping green gown of velvet, a glass of wine in one hand. Haughty, cold, with high cheekbones, and delicate features, she had longed to be queen and drew Davos to her from the moment they met. Even in the face of warnings from friends and family that she was poison.

  Now, she stood with her chin raised, her lovely face an impassive mask, staring at him without betraying any emotion. This face meant trouble and he hated it. It meant she already knew some or all of the news he bore, but would likely force him to recite it all.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, bowing low.

  Without warning, she leaned forward and threw the entire glass of wine on him. “I suppose you bring word from my worthless husband? Well, it’s too late. I’ve already heard he surrendered and is retreating.”

  Symon did not bother wiping the wine from his face. It would make her angrier and then another cup would come his way. Instead, he bowed again. “Majesty, the king sends greetings and hopes for your good health.”

  “I don’t care, Symon,” she shouted. “I don’t care what he thinks. I want to forget this entire thing. Forget it ever happened.”

  “Your Majesty, the king agreed to certain conditions with Embriel. I have a letter outlining those terms. I can leave it with you if you wish.”

  Shola barked a laugh at him. “Oh no, you don’t, Symon. You know the contents of the letter and you’ll tell me what it says. You’re not going to take the coward’s way out of this.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. Of course. Andrzej demanded the princess be sent to live with him as a hostage in Arnost. The king agreed to guarantee the army’s safe return to Tahaerin.”

  Now, he knew, her tantrum would begin in earnest. Shola stared at him for a long second before beginning to scream a string of obscenities. She tore at her hair and paced back and forth in front of him. “How could he? She is my child. I gave birth to her and I won’t have her raised by that Embriel bastard. I would rather strangle her myself then bend my knee to Andrzej.”

  For a moment, Symon feared she meant it and would harm the tiny princess. However, now he could see her anger dissipati
ng as she screamed and ranted. Her pacing slowed and eventually she sank down the floor, her beautiful gown puddling all around her. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at him. “Symon, how did I come to this? How did I end up married to such a spineless, worthless man? I remember wanting to be a queen, but I thought kings were powerful and brave. I was such a fool,” she said, not trying to hide the bitterness in her voice.

  Symon gritted his teeth, hating the way Shola spoke about Davos and angry she cared so little for her daughter. “Highness, under the terms of the hostage contract, the princess will return when she is sixteen. The king forced Andrzej to agree to raise her as one of his own royal children. She’ll have all the best tutors and caretakers. One of the Embriel princes will be sent here.”

  That got the queen’s attention again. “No,” she barked. “I don’t want responsibility for any of Andrzej’s bastards. Send him somewhere else.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll make arrangements.”

  “And, you’ll take Leisha to Embriel. I want no part in this.” Shola turned away and stalked back into her bedrooms, slamming the door behind her.

  Startled, Symon watched her go, thinking he knew nothing of children or their care. Leisha lived in her nursery where she could not bother her mother, rarely seen and rarely heard from. He would need help from her nannies to plan this.

  Early in the morning on the day of departure, a nurse brought the little girl downstairs to the courtyard. Huge, dark eyes watched him from a small face framed with black hair.

  Shola stood on the steps watching them. “Perhaps it’s better if you both drown crossing the Vinca, Symon,” the queen said with a dramatic sigh. “Then, people would pity me for having a dead child and a weak, stupid husband.”

  Symon hastily took the girl from her nurse and climbed into their carriage. He signaled the driver and the procession rolled out. They would need to make good time to reach Konin by nightfall. Leisha sat still and quiet on her side of the seat, watching out the window. When she tired of it, she asked him to read one of the books packed in her bag.