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“Half hour,” replied Buck. “Maybe less.”
Half an hour. That was how much time I had left. Suddenly, being the prisoner of Devon and the mercenaries started to feel like freedom, because I knew what was coming next. My sister Rhea wanted only one thing; for my father to sign a proclamation making her the heir to his throne in Wincham, and given his current state, I didn’t think it would be hard to make him sign.
With that done, the nobles of Wincham would mostly fall in line. There would be a few hold-outs (Lord Jonas for one), but they would end up as rebels and outlaws, and would be hopelessly outnumbered. Rhea and her husband, King Harker, would then command the combined armies of both nations.
Would that be enough to bring the rebels in line? Probably, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t try to fight, starting a guerrilla war that would claim many lives. And what of Sylvia, and her husband, King Titus of Gaunt? Would they just accept Rhea and Harker as rulers and live with this powerful new neighbor looming over them? Unlikely.
With such an army at her command, Rhea wouldn’t stop at Wincham, she’d want Gaunt as well, she’d want the lowland empire my father and his father had dreamt of. And Sylvia herself would not be happy with her sister getting the crown of Wincham which she felt she deserved. She still had friends there and would consider striking first to be a pre-emptive defense. Gaunt was outnumbered, but Sylvia was cunning and ruthless, and so she would have a plan.
The bottom line was that I couldn’t read the future, but it was hard to see any chain of events that didn’t lead to a bloody war.
And some might say; what of it? It wouldn’t be the lowlands first and maybe one big, bloody war would be its last. My own father certainly had no moral high ground when it came to warmongering. But it now seemed so unnecessary. All the nations were joined by ties of marriage and blood. Couldn’t we be happy with that?
Truthfully, although all of that did worry me, I was more concerned with what might happen to my father. To Uther. Would Rhea allow him to live? Because as long as Uther lived, he would be the legitimate King of Wincham, and I couldn’t imagine her allowing that. He was an old man, perhaps he had no more than a handful of years left to him anyway. But he was my father, and I wouldn’t allow him to be murdered in cold blood. Not if I could help it!
Except that I’d already failed to stop it.
***
We came to a clearing in the wood where there was a little encampment of Latran soldiers. Their captain looked up as we rode in and Buck dismounted.
“We got your message. You have the runaways?”
‘Runaways’? I wondered what lie had been spun to Buck and his men to hide our true identities.
“Here they are.” Buck helped Uther down from the saddle, and he stood, looking around himself half confused, half in wonder at the wood.
“I can hear the birds.”
The captain of the guard frowned at him. “What’s that about?”
“His mind is gone,” said Buck, shortly. “But our agreement was to deliver him. Where he left his mind, I don’t know, but I’m not sure you’d find it if you go looking.”
The captain seemed to accept this. “And that’s the girl?”
Given the gender make up of the group, I felt that was quite an insulting question.
Devon swung out of Siegfried’s saddle and slid to the ground before reaching up to help me down.
If there was any hesitation or regret in him, then I couldn’t find it in his face. Maybe it had simply been wishful thinking to imagine he harbored any sort of feeling for me? Just the imaginings of a romantic and foolish girl. But, still, I wanted to believe those feelings were there.
As Uther and I were manhandled off by the soldiers, the money was handed over, and the mercenaries celebrated, jumping around excitedly and slapping each other on the back. All except Devon. He took his cut, stowing the money away in Siegfried’s saddle bag, but there was no wild celebration for him. I would have liked to interpret that as regret but, again, his face showed no hint of it. Ever the pro.
I watched as the mercenaries rode away, my eyes always on Devon’s disappearing back. Presumably, I would never see him again, and it irritated me that that thought disheartened me. Why I should care? He was my captor, my jailer. And yet the emotion was there regardless, almost too embarrassed to show itself.
Then, at the last moment, just before the trees swallowed them up, I saw Devon turn in his saddle and look at me. His face was serious, but then it split into that roguish smile I well-remembered from the first time we’d met.
That was the last I saw of him.
“Right,” the captain of the guard surveyed me and then Uther. “Let’s get you birds back to the Queen.”
Uther beamed. “You hear that, Selena? We’re going to meet the Queen.”
***
I didn’t know the width of Border Wood but we were still under its spreading canopy when we bedded down for the night.
Traveling with the soldiers was different from traveling with the mercenaries. They were less chatty, they did as they were told without argument, and they knew the value of their cargo.
