Read Online Dark Lady's Chosen by Gail Z. Martin - Free Book Online
Authors: Gail Z. Martin
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to him, what a good king he is. If all that’s true, then I can’t believe he’ll just toss you away. You saved his life when the coup happened, and you protected him time and again on the road.”
Carroway smiled sadly. “That’s what you do for your king,” he said quietly. “And, friendship aside, I was honored to do it. The sacrifices usually don’t work the other way around.”
Macaria set her jaw and her eyes flashed. “He slipped into Nargi to rescue Jonmarc Vahanian.”
Carroway sighed. “Tris wasn’t king then. Now, the kingdom is depending on him. There are risks he can’t afford to take.” Although he longed to take her in his arms and hold her until his fears calmed, banishment placed that choice even further out of reach. “You’d better be getting back to the palace,” he said. “And while I like the company, please be careful. You don’t want people to say you’re carrying messages from the queen to her imprisoned lover.”
Macaria swallowed hard and nodded. “I thought about that. I’ll be careful. I promise. But I had to come.”
“I’m glad you did. Thank the others for me. And please, send my deepest apologies to Kiara. I’d never do anything to harm her, or Tris.”
“She knows. We all know that.” Macaria threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly.
He let the moment sear into his memory, recalling the press of her body against his, the scent of her hair, the feel of her hands on his back. “There has to be a way out of this,” she whispered. “There just has to be.”
Gently, Carroway disentangled himself before his composure crumbled. “Maybe. But there’s a reason so many of the true ballads have sad endings.” He shook his head before she could say anything. “You’d better be getting back,” he repeated, surprised that his voice was steady. “It means a lot that you came.”
Macaria nodded. She grabbed her cloak and wrapped it around herself, pausing to look back at him, before she slipped out of the door. Carroway poured himself a glass of brandy from the bottle that was sent with his dinner, and was not surprised that his hands were shaking. Dying young and tragically is the surest way to eternal fame, he thought. Maybe I’ll be remembered after all.
Chapter Five
Kiara, my love.
I worry because there’s been no word from you. I search Crevan’s packages, and find only the dull documents that require my signature. Sadly, even my magic can’t reach as far as Shekerishet, or I’d ask the ghosts for news of how you fare. I’m worried that you’re not well, that the pregnancy has made you sick. And, if the king dare admit it, I’m terribly homesick.
Please ease my mind and send just a short letter. Any news from home would be happier than what surrounds me on the battlefield.
I don’t dare tell you all I would like to share. We’ve made gains, but there have been costly setbacks. Ban’s been badly wounded. Tarq betrayed us. Progress is slow. Because of the damage to the Flow, magic is more wild and brittle than I’ve ever seen it. I’ve never held much with charms and offerings for luck, but if you’re so inclined, the men and I would be grateful. Senne tells me all this is to be expected from a siege. I hate this war, and long for it to be over, so that we can all, by the Lady’s grace, return home.
I await your letters more than you can imagine.
Love, Tris
King Martris Drayke of Margolan shivered, wrapping his cloak tightly around him. Outside, the winter wind howled, whipping against the sides of the campaign tent so that a flurry of snow burst from beneath the tent flap. Coalan, the king’s valet, added more fuel to the small brazier that struggled to warm the tent. Tris noticed that Coalan was wearing all of the clothing he owned, plus several new pieces he had scrounged from the camp. Even so, his nose and cheeks were red with cold.
“You’re sure there were no other packets from Crevan than this?” Tris asked, shaking
Carroway smiled sadly. “That’s what you do for your king,” he said quietly. “And, friendship aside, I was honored to do it. The sacrifices usually don’t work the other way around.”
Macaria set her jaw and her eyes flashed. “He slipped into Nargi to rescue Jonmarc Vahanian.”
Carroway sighed. “Tris wasn’t king then. Now, the kingdom is depending on him. There are risks he can’t afford to take.” Although he longed to take her in his arms and hold her until his fears calmed, banishment placed that choice even further out of reach. “You’d better be getting back to the palace,” he said. “And while I like the company, please be careful. You don’t want people to say you’re carrying messages from the queen to her imprisoned lover.”
Macaria swallowed hard and nodded. “I thought about that. I’ll be careful. I promise. But I had to come.”
“I’m glad you did. Thank the others for me. And please, send my deepest apologies to Kiara. I’d never do anything to harm her, or Tris.”
“She knows. We all know that.” Macaria threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly.
He let the moment sear into his memory, recalling the press of her body against his, the scent of her hair, the feel of her hands on his back. “There has to be a way out of this,” she whispered. “There just has to be.”
Gently, Carroway disentangled himself before his composure crumbled. “Maybe. But there’s a reason so many of the true ballads have sad endings.” He shook his head before she could say anything. “You’d better be getting back,” he repeated, surprised that his voice was steady. “It means a lot that you came.”
Macaria nodded. She grabbed her cloak and wrapped it around herself, pausing to look back at him, before she slipped out of the door. Carroway poured himself a glass of brandy from the bottle that was sent with his dinner, and was not surprised that his hands were shaking. Dying young and tragically is the surest way to eternal fame, he thought. Maybe I’ll be remembered after all.
Chapter Five
Kiara, my love.
I worry because there’s been no word from you. I search Crevan’s packages, and find only the dull documents that require my signature. Sadly, even my magic can’t reach as far as Shekerishet, or I’d ask the ghosts for news of how you fare. I’m worried that you’re not well, that the pregnancy has made you sick. And, if the king dare admit it, I’m terribly homesick.
Please ease my mind and send just a short letter. Any news from home would be happier than what surrounds me on the battlefield.
I don’t dare tell you all I would like to share. We’ve made gains, but there have been costly setbacks. Ban’s been badly wounded. Tarq betrayed us. Progress is slow. Because of the damage to the Flow, magic is more wild and brittle than I’ve ever seen it. I’ve never held much with charms and offerings for luck, but if you’re so inclined, the men and I would be grateful. Senne tells me all this is to be expected from a siege. I hate this war, and long for it to be over, so that we can all, by the Lady’s grace, return home.
I await your letters more than you can imagine.
Love, Tris
King Martris Drayke of Margolan shivered, wrapping his cloak tightly around him. Outside, the winter wind howled, whipping against the sides of the campaign tent so that a flurry of snow burst from beneath the tent flap. Coalan, the king’s valet, added more fuel to the small brazier that struggled to warm the tent. Tris noticed that Coalan was wearing all of the clothing he owned, plus several new pieces he had scrounged from the camp. Even so, his nose and cheeks were red with cold.
“You’re sure there were no other packets from Crevan than this?” Tris asked, shaking
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