forgiven by meghan lebedz · 2017. 11. 7. · but i kissed her hand anyway and hoped she didn’t...

FORGIVEN

By Meghan LeBedz

LeBedz – Forgiven - 1

Prologue

Fallor leaned across the space of grass between them

and looked his wife in the eyes. “There was a reason we

came here. A—a specific reason.”

Jeline folded her hands in her lap, meeting his gaze.

“Yes, I know.”

“Do you remember when we met?”

The tiny elf nodded. Her mind wandered far back into

the past. Not that far, really, but the adventures and new

life she had now made everything before it seem smaller in

comparison. “Yes, I do remember. You tried to ambush me—"


She suppressed a slight giggle. “And I could have almost

killed you. You know that, yes?”

Fallor chuckled. “Well, that was an accident and I

have no doubt that you would’ve protected yourself.” He

cleared his throat. “But that wasn’t really the time I

meant. The second time, when I told you a bit about my

father.”

“Oh!” Jeline brightened slightly. “About how you

became an outlaw?”

Fallor nodded. “Yes.”

“I see. So, does that mean you’re going to tell me?”

With a quick glance down at his scarred and calloused

hands, Fallor looked back up at her. When he spoke, his

voice was much softer. “Yes,” was all he said.

“I love you, Fallor.” She pulled one of his hands into

hers and held it. “I accept you just the way you are. If

the story pains you too much to tell, I will not force it

out of you.”

“But I must get it out. I think it will help.” Quite

suddenly, he brushed a strand of hair out of Jeline’s face

with his other hand. “I never should have taken you away.”


“I came,” she reminded him. “I came because I wanted

to, not because you forced me. Your background will not

change how I feel about you, nor will it ever.”

Fallor shook his head. “You haven’t heard it—“

“Did I ask you about your past when I met you?” she

demanded.

“….No.”

“Then why would it matter now?”

“Because—it—it matters to me.”

“Then I want to hear, but it won’t change my opinion

of you.” She smiled.

His expression softened. “Then I will begin.”


Chapter 1

I drew the bowstring back, the arrow in line with the

target’s center. My arm trembled—then I released the

string. The arrow sped toward the target, splitting the

bull’s eye.

“Well done, Fallor! Well done!” My archery instructor

patted me on the back. “You’re getting much better. How far

was that again?”

“Sixty meters,” I muttered, striding down the range to

fetch my arrow. “You know, Belloc,” I shouted over my

shoulder, “You are still amazed every time I do that.”


Belloc smiled, a rare occurrence on his angular face.

“For a human, you’re decent enough.” He chuckled. “Though

certainly not as good as one of my kind, you’re reaching

that.” I eyed his short, lean frame and scoffed. Conceited

elf. I rolled my eyes.

I jerked the arrow from the target and tucked it away

in the quiver attached to my belt. “Where’s my father?” I

demanded once I reached Belloc.

“I do not know. Likely up at the house.” Belloc

motioned toward the mansion. I sighed and turned to go, but

Belloc put his hand on my shoulder, stopping me. “Hold,

Fallor. Your father has a visitor.”

“That doesn’t really concern me, does it?” I brushed

his hand away.

“It’s an important visitor, Fallor.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

The aged elf nodded. “Yes. The Earl of… Oh, I forget.

Raven something or other.”

“Ravensdale?” I suggested.

He snapped his fingers. “Ahh, yes. That’s it.” The elf

chuckled. “You might want to go inside. I’m sure he’ll want

to talk to you afterwards.” With a wave, he sent me up to

the house.


The walk across our expansive grounds always took more

time than I thought it should. As a result, I usually spent

that time shooting apples out of trees and, in essence,

wasting arrows.

I aimed for a fruit high up in the boughs of its tree,

drew the string back, and released it.

A horse’s whinny distracted me just as the arrow left

my bow. I jumped and the arrow flew wide into a different

tree. Oh great. Just what I wanted—another arrow lost. I

scowled and took off at a run.

I stopped short within two hundred feet of the house.

An ornate carriage stopped in front of the door, and a

well-dressed girl stepped out. One servant helped her to

the door. Another opened it for her, and a third led the

horses off to the stable.

I couldn’t help staring. Three servants? Three

personal servants? Who does this girl think she is, anyway?

I shook my head and continued walking up to the back door,

where much less fanfare awaited.

My three-fingered archery glove and my bow and quiver

I left in the armory. I contemplated removing my arm braces

as well but decided against it.


“Well, well, if it isn’t little Flower! Still playing

with that yeoman’s toy, eh?” I spun around to face my

brother, who I hadn’t seen until he spoke. His drab tunic

matched the grey walls behind him. It just so happen to

resemble most of his moods as well.

I stiffened. “It is not a yeoman’s toy, and for the

ten millionth time, I am not a little Flower.”

Karran rolled his eyes. “If you say so, little

brother.” He turned and walked off, chuckling to himself.

“What are you laughing at?” I demanded, dashing to

catch up with him.

“Oh, nothing. Just something I know and you don’t.”

I took two steps ahead, and then spun to face him.

Though he was two years older, I towered over him by a good

six inches in our stocking feet. “Tell me!” I growled,

glaring down at him.

Karran stopped short. “Well, you’ll just have to wait

and see, won’t you now?”

“Will you just tell me?” I pleaded.

“No! Go ask Father yourself, when he’s done.”

“Ask Father?” I bit my tongue. Why should I ask

Father? He wouldn’t care anyway.


Karran turned to leave, but stopped for an

afterthought. “And the earl’s daughter is waiting for you

in the chamber room. Father wants you to meet her.”

I glowered for a moment, then paused. The earl’s

daughter? So that’s who that was!

I spent the five minute walk to the chamber room

pondering the purpose of the earl’s visit. I knew he

occasionally came to talk to Father, but why would he bring

his daughter? Father doesn’t schedule ‘play dates’ for me

anymore—I am anything but a child—but neither is the earl’s

daughter.

“Good morning, my lord,” a sweet young voice said as I

entered the chamber room. I stopped short.

No longer attended by any of her servants, the earl’s

daughter was still fine and, well, rich looking. I’d never

seen anyone wearing so much finery at one time before. I

figured the dress alone must’ve cost half a fortune, not to

mention the jewels and necklaces. I just about died.

“I’m not a lord, and I don’t plan to me,” I snapped

without meaning to. Oh, drat. I suppose I’d better be

polite. I winced.


She smiled and dipped into a graceful curtsey. “I

appreciate your fervor, my lord, but it is the appropriate

term of respect for a young man of your rank.”

I stared. Who does she think she is? Yes, she’s an

earl’s daughter, but she doesn’t have to refer to me by my

official title. No one does—it’s stupid. “Um?” I managed.

“I am Lady Serina of Ravensdale, but you may call me

Serina for acquaintance’s purposes,” she said, sticking out

her hand.

“Well, I suppose you all ready know… I’m… Fallor.” I

glanced at her hand, then at mine. What a difference. Her

hands were pasty white and looked like they’d never touched

a dish rag in her life. Mine—well, mine were scarred and

slightly disfigured from my archery. My arrow fingers

couldn’t straighten all the way, likely from my years of

curving my fingers too tightly around a bowstring.

But I kissed her hand anyway and hoped she didn’t

notice. I also hope she didn’t notice me immediately wiping

it off on my tunic.

“So, Lord Fallor—“

I stopped her with one finger. “If you’re going to

make me call you Serina, I’m going to make you call me

Fallor.”


Serina blinked several times. “Oh, I see. Well, Fallor

—" She bit her lip. “That just sounds so awkward.”

“And?”

“It’s weird.” She shook her head. “Anyways. Fallor, my

father told me that you participated in some rather

ungentlemanly sports. Is this true, or merely a rumor?”

I brushed a strand of hair out of my face and shuffled

my feet. Who knew? Archery wasn’t considered the most

lordly activity, but ungentlemanly? I decided not to tell

her about that, and instead feigned surprise. “What? Me?

Ungentlemanly? Serina, I assure you that my actions are

chivalrous in every way.”

And I managed a completely straight face, too.

Serina smiled. “I’m glad.”

…And you care why? I turned my head and rolled my

eyes. Who knew? But I didn’t say or do anything rash.

“Well, um, what happened to all your servants?” I asked,

putting my hands behind my back.

“Oh, I sent them off on various errands. They should

be back shortly.”

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. Her hair

was tossed back and her chin pulled up in that defiant look


I always gave my father. So, this girl isn’t all she seems

to be, is she?

Serina laughed. “Don’t you have servants?”

“Yes… But I usually do things myself. It’s just

easier.” I shrugged.

Her appalled expression made me wish I’d kept my mouth

shut. “Do you mean to say that you consider servants to be

entirely superfluous?”

“Exactly that. They’re just a nuisance.” I frowned at

her. And it makes one look lazy, I added in my head. But

even I had enough tact not to say that out loud.

“Well, Fallor?”

I spun around. Father? “Well, what?” I muttered,

keeping my eyes low.

My father looked impressive indeed, even more so than

Serina, despite the absence of all finery and wealthy

clothing. At home, he chose to dress simply. And I imagine

he must have been quite handsome when he was younger, even

if some of that had worn off with the grey streaks age had

introduced into his dark hair. He no longer walked as tall

and as proud as he used to. But none of that mattered.

“Now that you’ve met Serina, I need both of you to get

out from under our feet.” He gave me a false smile. “Why


don’t you show Miss Serina the stables? I’ve heard she’s

quite the adept rider.” With a quick warning glance toward

me, my father turned and left.

My shoulders slumped of their own accord. Why couldn’t

Father just approve of me, once?

Serina raised one eyebrow and swept across the room.

“You have an expansive stable, I presume? Shall we

proceed?” She offered her arm.

I took one glance at her and decided to be a gentleman

by instead holding the door open. “Um, I’ll be right out,”

I said. “The stables are out the back door and to the

right.” With that, I sped off down the hallway and left

Serina by herself.

Now, it wasn’t that I hated her that much. I just

wanted a break from her ceaseless and insignificant

chatter. Not to mention her perfect grammar and pristine

manners. Too much for me.

I made my way to the armory. My bow hung on the wall,

just waiting or me to pick it up and hide outside. But

someone would catch on. At least if I went on a person hunt

instead, no one could blame me. After all, if I claim I

wanted to talk to Father or Karran—why would I want to talk

to him?—but ended up outside with my bow, I’d be in trouble


for sure. The least I can do is just meander around and

enjoy a few minutes by myself.

But when I passed my father’s study, I changed my

mind. Eavesdropping on interesting—and loud—conversations

always beats random wandering. I put my ear to the door and

listened.

“But there’s that infernal habit of his… archery.” I

identified my father’s gruff voice.

The earl paused in his rhythmic pacing. “Oh, that’s

what my daughter was talking about. She saw him, she

claims, at some tournament not three weeks ago. He won,

apparently, and she’s been talking about it non-stop ever

since.”

I gawked. She knew about it all ready! I am so stupid!

Why didn’t I just tell the truth when she asked?

My father slammed his fist against something. I

winced. “I’ll skin that boy alive for disobeying—“

“Oh no, don’t do that. I was about that say that I

admire him for his determination and skill. Not everyone is

a marksman like that. He has talent.”

My father sounded flabbergasted. “But it’s a peasant’s

sport!”

“Yes?”


“But—“

“He sticks to it. If he would stick to a wife like

that, he’d be the most feared man in Hareem.”

“How so?”

“With that famed temper of his—yes, I have heard of it

—any man who tried to take his wife would… well, let’s just

say that I have also heard about the pottery.”

My father paused for what seemed like a lifetime. When

he spoke again, his voice carried a heavy weight in it.

“Yes, that is a shortcoming of both of ours. I believe I

started him in on the habit. Karran never does it, I am

glad to say.”

“It’s too bad he’s already betrothed. I’m sure Serina

would like him just as much, if not more. Unfortunate.” The

earl began pacing again.

My father stood. “The two have met. Did I mention

that? I saw them on my way in, and they were engaged in

delightful conversation.” He strode toward the door and the

doorknob rattled.

Blast! I dove to the side and took shelter behind a

giant potted plant.

The earl and my father appeared a moment later,

laughing and talking like old friends. I searched my


father’s face for any signs of his earlier emotion, but

none remained.

Then I remembered Serina just as her voice floated

down the hall. “Father?”


Chapter 2

The earl stopped short when he saw his daughter. “My

dear, whatever is the matter? I thought Fallor was taking

you for a ride.”

Serina put her hands on her hips. “He walked off and

left me, and just told me how to get to the stables. I

haven’t the faintest idea where the back door is, and I

haven’t seen him in over ten minutes.”


My father crossed his arms. “When I find him, I’m

going to give him the biggest tanning of his life.”

I managed to sneak from behind the tree to the corner

of the hallway without anyone seeing me. “I’m right here,”

I announced. “I realized that I had to find Karran and ask

him about something, only I couldn’t find him, and that’s

what took so long.” I hope I’m a convincing liar.

“Oh, I see.” My father leveled his eyes at me. “Now

scat, the both of you. Fallor, I don’t want this to happen

again.”

“Yes, father.” I swept past him with all the dignity I

could muster, which wasn’t much, and joined Serina. Again,

she offered her arm, and this time I had no choice but to

take it.

Until we rounded the corner, where I promptly snatched

my arm away and brushed it off. “Sorry,” I muttered, just

in time to reach a conveniently placed door.

I figured it would be more polite to have to open

doors than to touch a girl, so I planned our route to the

back of the house so as to go through as many doors as

possible. Serina appeared much put out.

“How long is it going to take to get there?” she

complained, putting a hand to her brow.


I shrugged and opened another door. “It’s a big

house.”

The back door came a lot quicker than I thought it

would, all things considered, though Serina still thought

it a terribly long time, and she still wanted me to

personally escort her on my arm. I don’t think so, girl.

“The stables are right there.” I pointed to our little

wooden building all the way on the other side of the

property. “Didn’t you put your horses up?”

She stared at me. “I do not stable my own horses,

Fallor. That’s what servants are for.”

“Oh. Right.” I stepped ahead of her and rolled my

eyes. She must live a sheltered life if she’s never been

down to the stables.

But she rides.

I doubt she saddles her own horse. I snickered as a

good practical joke entered my mind. A good one.

She entered the barn before me and wrinkled up her

nose at the smell. “Don’t you have grooms who clean up

after the horses? Our stable smells so much better.”

“Um…” I opened the door to the tack room. “I guess so,

but only one or two. They must have the day off or

something.”


The fresh smell of leather and saddle soap hit me the

moment I stepped into the tack room. All of our saddles

were cleaned and polished daily, but only because I did it,

not because someone else did. I decided not to mention

that.

“Do you ride sidesaddle or astride?” I asked,

surveying our saddles.

Serina titled her nose up more, if that were possible.

“Only men ride astride. I shall ride with a sidesaddle.”

She cast me a second glance. “You do have one?”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course we do. My—my mother. She

used to ride.”

“Used to?”

“Of course! She was a proper lady. I know she had a

sidesaddle.” I glanced around. I hadn’t seen one in a long

time. That could only mean one thing—storage.

* * *

Jeline leaned on her hand, letting her hair fall over

her face. “Did you really?”

Fallor pretended to look guilty. “Yes, I did.”

“Whatever caused you to do that? Fallor, would you do

that to me?”

“Do what?”


She peered at him over her nose. “Make a young lady

clean her own saddle, one covered in years of dust?

Especially one who isn’t used to it.”

Fallor smirked. “I don’t need to. You can saddle your

own horse.”

“Fallor!”

“You can, you know.”

Jeline smacked him on the shoulder. “It’s not the

gentlemanly thing to do.”

* * *

My father was furious when he found out, but there was

nothing he could do about it. I had the perfect excuse, and

the earl seemed to think the whole incident amusing, so it

passed without me getting into too much trouble.

Unfortunately for me, the earl’s visits grew more

frequent over the coming months, and so did his daughter’s.

My father insisted on us taking a long, windy trail every

time we got on a horse, and Serina came at least twice a

week—to start.

“Hello, Fallor.” My brother appeared next to me one

day in the armory. “Enjoying the day?”

I spun around and nearly punched him in the face.

“Karran!”


He posed. “Yes, yes, it is I, the world famous—“

“…Was there something you wanted to tell me?”

“You better put your bow away before Father sees.”

Karran investigated the dirt lodged underneath his

fingernails. “I have a feeling he wants to speak with you,

and you’ll make a better impression if you’re engaged in an

activity he approves of.”

I hung my quiver back up on its hook and unstrung my

bow. “Fine. But that won’t stop me from practicing later.

Where is Father?”

“His study. Last one there’s a rotten egg!” He tore

out of the armory.

“No, you don’t! I’m going to win this time!” I

sprinted after him. He rounded a corner and disappeared.

“Hey! Karran! Wait!”

I stopped in front of my father’s study without seeing

Karran again. Maybe he was already inside. But I doubt it.

I reached out and rapped the door twice. “Father?”

No answer. I pushed the door open and peered in. He

wasn’t there, so I took the liberty of entering. He wanted

me, so he’s going to get me. And he’ll be pleased when he

doesn’t have to hunt me down or force me away from


something. I smiled and settled into the chair in front of

Father’s desk. Finally, a chance for him to approve of me.

He didn’t show up in ten minutes. “Okay, maybe Karran

was playing a trick on me.” I stood and marched over to the

desk, where piles of papers stacked almost higher than my

head. Of course, the desk was high. But still—an impressive

collection.

The paper on top of the lowest stack caught my

attention. The earl’s seal? Why is Father exchanging

letters with him? They were just here yesterday. I sifted

through several of the top pages. They’re planning a big

celebration? What for?

“…Fallor’s engagement.”

“My WHAT?”

I couldn’t read any further. I slammed the sheaves of

paper back onto the desk, grabbed a hold of a pot of ink,

and threw. And stared at the monstrous mess I’d made.

Oh, by all that is holy. What have I done? My father

is going to kill me! I’ve just gone and made a complete

mess of things. I slumped over into his chair. Approval

seems so far away. I just can’t control myself!

“Fallor, I’m terribly sorry I’ve kept you waiting—“

Father’s body followed his voice into the study. His


expression, bright and cheerful, changed in an instant.

“Lord Fallor Braeden! You—what—WHAT happened here?”

I slid down in the chair. “I—I don’t know…”

“Don’t you dare lie!”

“I—I threw it… I guess… I don’t know!” I buried my

face in the chair.

Father stared at me in disbelief. “How can you not

know if you flung a pot of ink across the room?” He uttered

several phrases even I wouldn’t repeat. “—Fallor, you’ve

ruined my study!”

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “It was an accident. I didn’t

mean to.”

He paced the length of the opposite wall, his hands

clasped behind his back and his face an absolute

thundercloud. “Fallor, now is not the time to throw a

temper tantrum. You are not a two year old. You are almost

an adult. If you expect to be treated like an adult, act

like one!”

“It was not a temper tantrum,” I interrupted. My inner

demon prompted me to keep going, and I sat up in my chair,

grinning wickedly. “It was a simple miscalculation of what

I should have thrown first to vent my anger.”


“Be silent!” he roared. I shrank back and he

continued. “You have absolutely no right to be throwing

things all over the place. And I have every right to take

you behind the stables and tan your jacket!”

“Please, Father—I just want to ask you—“

“Stop interrupting me!” Father glared at me. “I had

something very important to tell you, and I suppose it

shall have to wait, now.”

A light bulb went off in my head. “I think I already

know, Father.”

He stopped in his tracks. “What?”

“You’ve just bartered me off like a—a sack of grain!

Or a cow!” I clenched my fists. “I’m engaged? When were you

going to tell me this? The day before the wedding?”

My father drooped. “How did you know that?”

“I—" I stopped. I don’t want him to know I was

snooping. He’ll be twice as angry. I lowered my eyes. “I

saw the paper on your desk.”

Father rifled through the stack of papers I’d been

messing with. “But it was on—you were going through my

business, weren’t you?” I bit my lip, and his eyes

narrowed. “Fallor, I thought I’d taught you better than

that!” He looked away. “I also thought I’d taught you


better than to throw ink pots at valuable books. I’m

disappointed in you, Fallor.”

I stood and marched to the door, tears stinging my

eyes. “If you’re so frustrated with me, I’m just going to

run away. I’m tired of you just bringing me down all the

time. If you make me marry Serina, I promise I’ll never

forgive you.”

My father didn’t bother to come after me. “If you run

away, consider yourself no longer welcome here.”

“Fine!” I shouted. I slammed the door.


Chapter 3

I retreated to my special hiding place. Really, it

wasn’t a hiding place—just a tree at the back of the house,

far enough away so that I could see yet not be seen. My bow

fit perfectly onto a branch directly above my usual sitting

spot and my quiver hung from another sturdy twig.

I reconsidered what I’d told my father. In a fit of

anger, I had announced that I would run away if he tried to


make me marry Serina. But how far away is this wedding? How

long do I have? I fingered a red-feathered arrow.

Belloc didn’t understand my obsession with the color

red. Most of my tunics were the color of a healthy fox, as

was my favorite pair of boots. And, as it were, all of my

arrow feathers were dyed a beautiful shade of… red.

Father refused to buy me any arrows, or allow me to

buy them myself, so that’s why I resorted to making my own,

though I did try to save every arrow I shot. That

considerably cut down on time-consuming arrow making.

Offhandedly, I wondered if the outlaws of Hareem used

longbows, and if they made their own arrows.

Wait. Outlaws?

I could run away and join the outlaws!

A slow smile spread across my face. How much would

that kill Father? If he’s going to be disappointed with me,

might as well make the best of it. I can kill two birds

with one stone.

But would Belloc approve?

My mind argued back and forth for hours. I desperately

wanted to reveal my thoughts to someone, to receive counsel

and advice. Of course, that was impossible. My brother

would only laugh at me. Belloc would insist on telling my


father. And my father… I would never consider telling him

anything.

“Sir?”

I spun around, nearly falling out of the tree in the

process. A tall, dark-haired man stood in front of me. I

say man only because boy didn’t fit him—he was sort of in

between. He looked about my age and must have come straight

out of a fairy tale of thieves and robbers, because from

head to toe, he wore loose, black clothing, and carried

more daggers than I could count without taking off my

shoes. A hat fit for a giant perched on his head—the

drooping feather tucked in the hat band fit the proportion.

I steeled my will and dropped down.

“The front door is on the other end of the property. I

suggest you try there,” I said.

The man blinked at me. “I’m sorry to disturb you,

then.” He scrunched his face up. “You wouldn’t be Lord

Braeden, would you? You look awfully young.”

“No, I’m sorry. Like I said a moment ago, the front

door is the place to go if you want to talk to anyone

important.” I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring what I

thought would be sufficiently sharp daggers at him.


“I see.” He shrugged. “I’m actually looking for Lord

Braeden’s son.” He gave me a curious look. “You wouldn’t

happen to know him, would you?”

I lifted my chin. “Tell me who you are and what you

want with him, and maybe I’ll consider your request.”

The man bowed low, sweeping the hat off his head. “My

name is Kahil. I came to give Lord Braeden this.” He handed

me a rolled up piece of paper sealed with an elaborate

signet. I opened it, not regarding my father’s privacy.

Jariath:

You owe my brother more favors than you could possibly

fulfill in one lifetime. I suggest you use up one of those

favors by accommodating my son. He is traveling through the

area. Much thanks.

Borneo

I eyed the young man. “Who are you?”

“His son,” Kahil explained.

“I see.” My eyes narrowed and I handed the note back

to him. “We are not a public boarding house, and I doubt

Lord Braeden will receive you well. He’s not been in a

receiving mood lately.”


Kahil frowned. “But it’s exceedingly important that he

sees this. My father will not be pleased, I can assure

you.”

“Borneo,” I muttered. “He’s the king of Blythn, isn’t

he?”

“Well, yes.”

“So, you are Prince Kahil?”

“Not exactly…”

I dropped on my face. “Forgive me, your highness!”

“Oh, shut up. I really need to speak with Lord

Braeden!”

I stared at this young prince. Did a prince just tell

me to shut up? I picked myself up off the ground and

shrugged. “Your funeral. I’ll be generous and provide the

coffin so the royal crown isn’t burdened by such debts.

Let’s go.”

Kahil trailed along behind me up to the house and

would not shut up. “So, you really are Lord Braeden’s son,

aren’t you? Fallor?”

“Maybe I am, and maybe I’m not. But you have no

business to be prying into my personal affairs.”

“Your personal—good grief! I’m only asking your name!”

Kahil threw up his hands and shoved his hat back onto his


head. “Am I not allowed to inquire into my host’s

identity?”

“I’m not your host,” I muttered. “And I doubt my

father will let you stay. You are certainly welcome to try,

though.” As we entered the back door, I flagged down a

servant. “Go get my bow and quiver. I left them in one of

those trees back there.”

“Yes sir.” The servant scurried off.

“That’s the advantage of having servants,” I told

Kahil. “You don’t have to do anything yourself, if you

don’t want to. I usually prefer to do things myself,

though.”

Kahil laughed. “Unfortunately, that’s all too true. I

like to do things for myself. You wouldn’t happen to have

any apples around here, would you?”

I indicated a bowl of fruit on a nearby table. “Feel

free to pick through all that. Good luck on finding an

apple, though.”

“I’m out on my own now, that’s why I have no servants.

Can’t afford them, you know.” Kahil dug into the bowl and

pulled out a bright green apple. “Found one.”


I gawked. “But you’re a prince! You’re supposed to be

waited on hand and foot, and have enough servants to double

the population! What’s wrong with you?”

“Absolutely nothing, as it were.” With a bite into the

apple, he strolled flippantly down the hall. “Are you

coming? I don’t know where your father’s study is, although

I would assume it is on the second floor.”

“Um, yes.” I dashed to catch up with him and steered

him toward the spiral staircase. “That way, third door on

the left.”

Kahil stopped. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

I shook my head and crossed my arms. “Absolutely not.

I’m all ready in a heap of trouble and I don’t want to be

the bearer of bad news.”

Not to mention that I don’t want to speak with my

father again. He’d be sure to be disappointed in me over

something else.

“Just come along anyway.” Kahil dragged me up the

steps. “I’ll check and see if anyone’s in there, then you

can hide and listen in. I’ll cover for you if he finds

out.” As he spoke, the idea gleamed brighter and brighter.

I just couldn’t resist.

“Fine. But check first,” I whispered.


He stuck his head in the door, looked around, then

backed out. “Come on. No one’s in there, and I even saw a

great spot to hide with a good vantage point.” He led me in

and shut the door behind him. “Up there.”

I glanced up. At the top of my father’s tallest

bookcase, a small alcove was built right into the wall. It

was large enough for most of me to hide in, but small

enough that my father wouldn’t notice unless he were

specifically looking. “All right.”

Kahil hoisted me up onto the bookshelf, and I crawled

into the crevice. “Just wait there until he goes out, then

I’ll help you down.” Kahil grinned.

“What if he makes you leave first?”

He winked. “I have ways of getting places I’m not

supposed to be.” He sauntered over to the desk chair, and

then sat down with his feet propped up on my father’s

beautiful mahogany desktop.

“It’s awfully dusty up here,” I said.

“Shh! I hear something!”

“…find Fallor later. Get Belloc to help you if you

must.”

“Aye, Father.”


My father marched into his study with a mug of ale in

his hand, looking tired and ready to settle in for a

comfortable afternoon of reading. Instead, he almost

dropped his drink. “What the—who are you, and what are you

doing in my private study? Out!”

Kahil stood. “Good day, Lord Braeden. My name is

Kahil, and Borneo Ranz told me to stop here. He gave me

this to give to you. But, ah, the seal is broken because

your son, well, read it.”

“Fallor?”

“I suppose so. I don’t imagine Karran would sit in a

tree, do you? That would be an awfully awkward picture.”

Father snatched the parchment out of Kahil’s hands.

“I’ll deal with him later. What is this for?” Without

waiting or an answer, he unrolled the paper. His face paled

and he glanced up at Kahil. “Leave, now.”

“I can’t, my lord. The king has ordered it.”

Father scowled and flung the offending parchment

across the room. “Why does he torture me with this? I wish

I could take it back! I’ll never forgive myself, and with

the way he drags it up every moon, I won’t be able to!” He

spun and gripped the front of Kahil’s shirt from across the

desk. “Tell your father that if he ever tries this again, I


will have an assassin make sure he never sees the light of

day again. Understood?”

Kahil nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“In the mean time, you may certainly stay here. For

one night. If you are not gone by noon tomorrow, you will

not live to see another day.” Father snapped his fingers.

“Out. Do not let me see your face in the castle.”

“Yes, sir.” Kahil turned to leave.

“Wait, boy.” My father frowned. “Fallor must not learn

of this. Any of it.”

“Any of what, my lord?”

“Exactly my point.”

“I will not breathe a single word.” Kahil strode out.

My father waited a few moments, then shut the door. He

sat down in his chair with his head in his hands. “Fallor,

you can come out from wherever you’re hiding, though I

can’t see many places you could be.”

I held my breath. He can’t really know I’m here. Can

he?

“Now, Fallor.”

I sighed and wriggled out of my hiding spot, but the

floor loomed below me. If I moved any further, I would fall


face first into the hard wood floor. “Um, I think I’m

stuck.”

Father jerked his head up. “I beg your pardon? Where

are you?” He glanced around. “How in the world did you get

up there?”

I let my arms fall helplessly over the edge of the

bookcase. “I’m sorry, Father. Kahil suggested it and he

didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Didn’t think I’d—the conniving, simple-minded, back-

stabbing, thieving snake!” Father spat. “Guard!”

A guard dashed in. “Yes sir?”

“Retrieve the man who was in here not thirty seconds

ago.”

“Yes, sir.” The guard ran off.

Father sighed and got up, holding a hand out to me.

“Just keep on coming out, and I’ll help you down before

they get back.” I hesitated. Do I really have a choice? But

I reached out for his hand anyway and plopped down onto the

floor, my face burning red. “Fallor, you don’t really

deserve a second chance.”

I hung my head. “I know. I—I shouldn’t have been

listening, but—“


“I don’t want to hear any more of it. I’ll let Kahil

have his say, and then Belloc will follow both of you

around the rest of the afternoon to make sure you don’t get

into any more trouble.”

There goes any plan of running away today. I sighed.

The guard, with several more cuts, scrapes, and

bruises than he’d left with, dragged Kahil into the room.

“Here he is, sir.” I thought I detected a bit of pain the

guard’s voice.

“I demand to know the meaning of this!” Kahil picked

himself up off the floor. “How dare you lay a hand on the

prince of Blythn!”

Father rolled his eyes. “I know all about it, Kahil.

Don’t play pretend with me. Both of you are in deep water.

And Kahil, your father will hear about this.” He pulled

Kahil to the side and whispered. “Fallor could have found

out! Do not ever do that again!”

Kahil gulped and nodded. “Yes sir.”

“And for both of you, punishment.” He glared at me.

“Belloc will watch both of you for the entire afternoon.

And you, boy, will have a guard stationed at your room

tonight. Two of them!” He glowered at Kahil.


“I didn’t do anything!” I argued. “It was Kahil’s

idea, and besides, I didn’t find out your precious secret.”

Father gripped my shoulders. “Fallor, I don’t want you

to ever find this out. It will hurt you more than you know.

It is for your safety. Please, just accept this and move

on.”


Chapter 4

Jeline rubbed her temples and let her long hair fall

over her face. “I find your story intriguing. I never knew

all of this enmity existed between you and your father.

Sometimes I find myself wishing I had even that.”

“It does—did.” Fallor shrugged. “I suppose it’s a part

of life for most people, except mine was never resolved in


the way I wanted it to be. I would never wish it upon

anyone.”

“I know how you feel, Fallor.”

“Aye.” Fallor glanced down at his wife. “Really, I

can’t imagine not having all that happen to me, though. We

wouldn’t have met each other, and no matter what would have

happened, I don’t think I can live without you.”

Jeline leaned her head on her husband’s arm. “That’s

very sweet, dear. And, because it’s true and I know it

makes you feel better, I am fairly sure that I would not be

alive I you hadn’t come along.”

Fallor smiled. “Then I am glad I did meet you.”

“So, you were saying?”

* * *

I walked out of my father’s office more dejected than

when I entered. His words drilled into my very soul. It’s

for my own safety, is it? What could he possibly keep from

me that would do me harm if I knew? Something that he

couldn’t forgive himself for?

Struggling with this concept, I abandoned Kahil and

dashed outside to get a break from the oppressing indoors.

My head hurt with so many thoughts rolling around in it,

and I couldn’t focus on anything.


He doesn’t care. He hates me and wants me to suffer

for the rest of my life. There’s nothing I can do about it.

He’s lying to you about the happiness of married life.

But he and Mother did have a happy life. Until she

died, which may or may not have been an accident. But

Father wouldn’t do anything like that. He loved her too

much. Unless—Karran wouldn’t have done it.

I shook my head and climbed into a tree. No, no, this

isn’t about Karran. This isn’t about my mother. This is

about Father and his obstinacy! I hate it! A tear ran down

my face. Another one joined it and they both landed on the

back of my hand. He hates me, and I know it.

My father’s faith in Belloc lasted less than five

minutes. When he came outside looking for me, he ran into

none other than Belloc, who was not watching me as ordered.

I watched them converse as they strode toward my tree.

Thank whatever powers there are that it’s the dead of

summer and there are actually leaves on these trees, I

thought.

“Make sure Fallor doesn’t leave your sight. I want him

with you at all times.” I almost heard his frown. “I don’t

want Kahil talking to him about—about—that. And it would be

nice if you could keep an eye on Kahil, too, but if it’s


too much for you, feel free to order a guard. Better yet,

several guards.”

Belloc raised an eyebrow. “Really, Jariath. I’m an

elf, and I think I can handle two boys. Not that they’re

boys anymore,” he added hastily.

Father nodded. “Good. But feel free to take that offer

anyhow.” He paced beneath the tree. “Fallor must not be

allowed to run away, either. Think, Belloc. The money. The

power. The position this family would have if this marriage

went through. Fallor would have his own estates, which

would undoubtedly make him much calmer and easier to work

with, and Karran would have mine when I pass on.” He

chuckled. “And I would finally have those two out from

underfoot. They’re always fighting.”

My mouth fell open at my father’s words. He is really

in this for the family honor? Or is he in it for position?

For power? Honor is a strange motive.

He doesn’t give a whit about honor, Fallor. You know

that. He’s power-hungry, isn’t he?

I don’t know. I would say position hungry. But aren’t

they one and the same?


“I understand. I will not let him out of my sight.”

Belloc smiled slightly. “I won’t let him anywhere near the

stables, either, since I’m sure you don’t want him there.”

Father slapped him on the back. “That’s my man. I’ll

be sure to pay you well.”

Money, money. His whole goal in life is money, now?

Tears stung my eyes. He doesn’t care about the form behind

the money, or the reason for the money. Me. He doesn’t care

for me. I’m a tool, a puppet.

Resolve set in. Already, my head filled with dozens of

plausible ways to get out from under Belloc’s nose and

escape. All of them involved getting out of the tree I sat

in, into the armory to fetch my bow, and into the stable to

procure a horse.

Good luck with that.

Belloc shook his head. “I need no payment. You know

that. Caradoc told me to keep him away from him at all

costs anyway. One of the men would be sure to spill the

secret, though I think only a select few know.”

Father stared. “Others know of this now?”

“Aye, they’ve known for quite some time. Caradoc did

not deem it safe to keep it only to himself, in case


anything should happen to him.” Belloc cocked his head. “He

means to tell Fallor, you know.”

“What?”

“It is a shared secret, Jariath. Just as it is yours

to keep, it is his to tell in good time, and it is Fallor’s

to find out when he is ready. Caradoc will know the right

time.” Belloc leaned against the tree. “But it is wise to

keep Kahil from revealing it. I will make sure of that.

Go.”

My father stared helplessly at Belloc before spinning

and storming back up to the house. I blinked. Belloc?

Ordering my father around? Now that’s a change in things. I

waited until Father was well on his way out of earshot

before I dropped down to the ground. “Belloc?”

He looked up at me. “I thought you might be up there.”

“Who is Caradoc?” I demanded. “And what does he have

to tell me that you and Father, and Kahil and his father

along with this innumerable amount of other people, know?”

“I’m not allowed to speak of it, Fallor.” Belloc

sighed and put a hand on my shoulder. “Do not tempt me. You

will find Caradoc soon, I believe.” He waved his hand at

the expansive stables. “If you wish, you may certainly run


away. I will not stop you. Your father cannot do anything

to me, and this… Caradoc wants to see you.”

I pounded my fist into the tree. “All right, then. But

what about Kahil?”

Belloc shrugged. “Don’t worry about him. Like he told

you earlier, he has ways of getting places he shouldn’t be.

I, quite honestly, would not be surprised if he beat you to

Caradoc.”

“Who’s Caradoc?” We both spun around. I hadn’t noticed

Karran sneaking up on us from behind.

“It’s none of your business,” I snapped. “Go away.”

“Father sent me,” Karran said, smirking. “He wants you

up at the house, Belloc, for a moment.”

Belloc frowned. “Karran, I don’t think—“

“Father’s orders.”

The elf nodded slightly to me before striding up

toward the mansion.

“Well, Fallor. What have we here?” Karran withdrew a

long, jagged knife from his boot. “I rather like this

dagger, don’t you?”

I backed up. “Karran, leave me alone. I don’t want to

be bothered right now.”


My brother fingered the dagger’s blade. “I just

thought I would mention that since Belloc’s gone, you can

probably run away now. That’s what you were doing, wasn’t

it?”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“Go on.” Karran wiggled his fingers in the direction

of the stables. “Shouldn’t be that hard. I’m sure Father

hasn’t said anything to them yet.”

“And why are you so eager to get rid of me?” I

demanded, scowling. “What’s wrong with me being here?”

Karran shrugged. “I figured you wanted to get out

anyways, and you’d appreciate a little help.” He pointed

his dagger at me in a manner that barely suggested a

playful threat. “But you’d better hurry, otherwise Father

might find out.” He strode off.

I sat in the tree thinking. Karran wanted me out of

the way? Why?

How would the outlaws handle it?

The outlaws of Hareem had themselves a reputation.

They killed for pleasure, and robbed anyone and everyone in

their way. They moved with the speed of lightning through

the forest. No one had ever caught—or at least held for an


extended period of time—one of the Hareem outlaws. Nigh

uncatchable, they were told to be.

What am I getting myself into? How could Father ever

think I would join such a band of cutthroats and thieves? I

chuckled to myself. Well, I’ll show him. If I can survive

Karran, I can most certainly master the outlaws.

Belloc didn’t return for the rest of the afternoon,

much to my relief. I stayed in the tree for almost an hour

and nearly dozed off. Unfortunately, it was more than an

hour, because the sun settled lower in the sky than when

I’d come outside.

I finally made my way down the tree.

The setting sun could’ve caused problems for anyone

else, but I knew my way around our property enough to find

the lights in the stable. I suspected they were guarded as

they usually were after dark, but they might not have had

my father’s orders. Doubtless they had. I couldn’t just

walk in and ask for a horse.

Of course, I couldn’t just ask for a horse on a normal

day, either, without my father’s permission, and especially

not after sundown. Too many questions. But that was beside

the point.


Twenty minutes later, a dirty-faced, hunched-over lad

strode up to the barn. Or, at least as dirty-faced and

hunched over as a six foot four inch tall almost-man noble

can possibly get. The guard on duty eyed me warily, but let

me pass.

“Excuse me, sir?” I bent over more and approached the

head groom, disguising my voice in some outlandish accent.

“Lord Braeden wishes his fastest horse to be saddled and

bridled immediately. I will take the horse up to the house

myself.”

The groom gave me an odd look. “Why didn’t he send

someone else down?”

I shrugged. “Not for me to question the master’s

orders.”

He wasn’t done yet. “And why does he want this horse?”

I threw my hands up in the air. “For the sake of all

life, sir, I don’t question the master’s orders! Especially

my life,” I added.

That seemed to do it. That horse was saddled and

bridled in the fastest time I’ve even seen in my entire

life. The grooms’ hands fairly flew as they brushed it,

cleaned its hooves, and finished with tack fit for a king.


I thanked the groom profusely before heading out. My

plan is finally accomplished. Did it really take that long?

I applauded myself on my expert escape. No one would know.

Everyone would suspect that a servant has misused his

master’s name.

Unless . . .

Panic set in. My clothing! No one would mistake that

tunic for anything but a nobleman’s. And my height. My

cursed height. It was a scar on me, something I could never

take off and leave behind, or cover up. No wonder that

groom looked so suspicious.

I mounted the horse and wheeled toward the nearest

forest, following the road as best I could through the

waning moonlight. “Come on boy, come on!” I urged the horse

faster.

So much for the fastest horse in the stables. The

stallion refused to go more than several hundred feet at a

canter before dropping into a bone-jarring trot.

“Blasted horse.” I reined it in and let it walk. Maybe

I should have thought this over more before I did this. I

acted before I thought, as usual.

He was going to make me marry someone I didn’t want

to.


But why don’t I want to marry her? She’s a perfectly

acceptable young lady. Perfectly acceptable, and her

manners are pristine. But she’s too stiff!

Father would never understand.

But it wasn’t my fault. I really couldn’t wait any

longer. It was a figurative prison! Torture! My father is

using me for his own purposes. That’s not what a family is

supposed to be.

Families are supposed to stick together, right?

What do you think my father’s doing? I slammed my fist

against the saddle, startling the horse. “Sorry, boy.” The

stallion calmed and kept walking.

He only wants what’s best.

No, he doesn’t. No father would force his son—or

daughter, for that matter—into perfect servitude to someone

he—or she—doesn’t even know!

It’s not too late to turn back.

Yes, it is. I’ll get a whipping, and maybe this time

Father will actually tan my hide, like he always threatens

to do, and he’ll say that he’s disappointed in me again.

That hurts more.


But if I go back now, I can sneak it. No one will

know. I can say I saw the servant making off with the

horse, and—

“STOP IT!” I screamed, paying no heed to the silent

forest around me. The horse stopped in his tracks. Birds

flapped their wings in their sleep.

And the trees rustled—not in the wind.

Then I realized my mistake.

The outlaws!

Another tree moved, and I saw the distinct shape of a

man in it. All around me, they closed in. I was a sitting

duck.

With a savage yell, I kicked my horse through the

skin. He reared and nearly threw me, but I managed to keep

my seat. I kicked him again. This time, he didn’t rear, but

leaped forward. Inevitably I lost my seat and flew

backwards, only to end up on my back in the middle of the

road, coughing and wheezing and trying to get my breath

back.

My back felt as if it were on fire. I rolled over to

check for broken bones. Good, nothing broken. I winced.

I’ll be sore, though. Upon further investigation, I picked

myself up and brushed my clothing and face off.


More trees swayed to the movement of outlaws. Great.

I’m tea toast. I groaned. That was not smooth, Fallor.

Thank you. I applaud myself on my graceful dismounts.

Someone dropped to the ground in front of me. “Stop,

stranger.”

Good. I think I’m taller than he is. Maybe I could

scare him away.

You, Fallor, are an absolute idiot. Isn’t this what

you wanted?

Most certainly not in this way! I straightened, hoping

to look more menacing than I felt. “Who dares threaten me?”

The man laughed. “Who said I threatened you,

nobleman?” I heard the sound of bowstrings behind pulled

back, a now familiar noise. “But now that you mentioned it,

perhaps a threat would serve us better. Drop your money and

your weapons, and maybe we’ll let you escape with your

life.”


Chapter 5

I froze. “I have no money! Leave me alone!”

The outlaw took two steps forward. “Everyone says

that. We usually choose not to trust the word of a

nobleman. Throw down your purse, or we will be forced to

hold you for ransom and kill you.” He stood toe to toe with

me and shook his finger in my face. “Now.”


Without thinking, I drew back my hand and punched him

in the jaw.

Only, my hand never reached his jaw. He grabbed it

mid-punch and twisted it. Pain shot through my wrist. The

outlaw grinned, stepped forward onto my foot, and I fell

over.

“Ahh!” I shouted. A knee slammed into my stomach,

knocking all air out of me, and the outlaw pinned my other

arm.

“Don’t try that again, or the results might be a bit

more disastrous. Now tell me, where is your money?”

“I don’t have any, you dimwits! Why won’t anyone

believe me?” I twisted under the outlaw’s body, trying to

get the upper hand, but failed. “Please, just let me go.”

The outlaw laughed in my face. “You’re a regular rich

brat, aren’t you? Your daddy would pay an awful lot to see

you back, wouldn’t he? No, I think we’ll keep you. Somebody

hand me a rope, will ya?”

A young man carrying a longbow flung a hemp rope at my

captor. “Here. Be nice, will you? He’s just a kid.”

I glowered, but didn’t say anything. Out loud. I am

not a child! I’m nearly eighteen. Why can’t anyone see

that?


With a deft knot, the outlaw tied my hands behind my

back. “I see no reason to. ‘He’s just a kid.’ Well, this

kid also happens to be a nobleman, who we can collect

ransom from. Take him to Caradoc.”

Caradoc.

That name sounded familiar.

The young outlaw gently prodded me from behind. “Come

on, let’s go.” His voice sounded rougher than it had a

moment before. “Shh, don’t tell, but my name’s Retn,” he

whispered into my ear.

“I’m Fallor,” I whispered back, touched by Retn’s

friendliness.

He and I, along with the rest of the outlaws, trekked

through the forest in the dead of night. I continually

tripped over hidden tree branches and rocks that Retn’s

torch didn’t reveal, while no one else did. I felt pretty

stupid.

“Who is Caradoc?” I asked Retn.

Retn stopped. “He’s our leader. Didn’t you know that?”

“No,” I muttered. “How long has he been the leader?”

“I’ll let him tell you.” A wry grin split his face.

“And besides, if we’re going to kill you, you don’t really

need to know anyways.”


“That’s unfair,” I complained.

“Life’s unfair, boy.” Retn and I both spun around at

the voice. The man whom I assumed was the outlaw leader

approached from a different path. “Leave us, all of you.”

Retn and the other men left without a word. The outlaw

scowled at me. “Who are you?”

I lifted my chin. “I don’t need to tell you. You’re

going to kill me anyway, so why even bother? It’s a waste

of your time.”

“Yes, I am going to kill you,” the outlaw agreed, “but

I could make it a lot more painful if you don’t tell me.”

Fear evidently showed on my face, because he laughed again.

“Or I could just ask Retn.”

“Fallor,” I said without hesitation.

He scratched his chin. “Fallor… Fallor… where have I…”

His eyes widened, suddenly filled with a deep sorrow I

never expected to see in a heartless outlaw. “You’re not

Fallor Braeden?”

My jaw dropped. “How in all Hareem did you know that?”

“You have a reputation was one with a quick temper.”

He winked, all grief gone. “I am Caradoc.”

A realization hit me. Caradoc! This is the man my

father was talking about! The outlaw! Pieces of thoughts


slipped in and connected in my mind. “You’re—the outlaw!

The leader! The one with all that money on your head!” I

stared at him, absolutely flabbergasted.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” He patted his hair.

“I didn’t think any coins were hidden there, but one can

never be sure…”

“My father—talking—instructor—said you were—done,” I

blubbered incoherently.

Caradoc raised an eyebrow. “I think you’ve some

insomnia to settle before I can get anything out of you.

Come along, spend the night with us. We won’t hurt you.”

“Right,” I muttered, but I followed him anyway,

thoughts whirling through my head.

Retn came back at that moment, bow still in hand.

“Want me to blindfold him?”

“No, let him see where he is. And untie him while

you’re at it.” Caradoc continued in the direction I

supposed the camp to be. Then he stopped. “You take him to

the camp and give him a bed for the night. I have other

business to attend. We’ll deal with him tomorrow.”

* * *

I didn’t know what to make of the camp next morning

when I woke with the sun, determined to forget about my


problems at home. I’d been put in a lean-to shelter covered

with bark and dried grass, higher up in a tree than I had

ever climbed before—also known as higher up than I cared

for.

Rope bridges were strung all across the camp, and

ropes hung from platforms in the trees and over-hanging

tree branches. I noticed seven or eight other shelters

erected in the trees, similar to but not the same as mine.

I wondered if anyone had to share.

The only thing on the ground was the cooking fire. The

smells wafting from it filled my stomach with thoughts of a

good breakfast. Surely even outlaws had decent food.

I glanced around, trying to figure out how to get

down. The ‘rope bridges’ were actually two thick ropes

strung between the trees, with bits of thinner rope wound

between them. It didn’t look in the least bit safe.

But fortunately for me, I found a convenient ladder.

Retn chuckled when he saw me. “You need some new

clothing,” he said. “I’ll get you some after breakfast.”

I glanced down at myself. My nobleman’s clothing had

taken a hard hit, especially after being smeared with dirt

and grime the day before. But still, I didn’t care about

being a sorry mess. “No, no, this is fine. Really.”


“It isn’t the least bit fine.” Retn shrugged. “But

have it your way and be miserable. We have a full day ahead

of us.”

“I can’t wait,” I muttered. “On a happier note, what’s

for breakfast?”

“Well, this morning, it’s porridge. Traven made it.”

Retn indicated a well-dressed outlaw rigging up something

on the other side of the camp. The man waved back and me

and went back to whatever he was doing.

I leaned on the cooking spit. “So, why do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Kill innocent people.”

Retn stared at me. “We most certainly do not kill

innocent people! Only when he need to, or in self-defense.

True, we threaten to kill, but that’s only to get what we

want from them.”

“Right.” I cast him a dubious glance. “I doubt it.

What about all those stories I’ve heard? You are every

noble’s bane and fear.”

“I see.” Retn handed me a bowl of unidentifiable goop.

I stirred the oatmeal. “What is this? Never mind. I’m

not even going to ask.” I lifted the spoon to my mouth and


gagged, nearly dropping the bowl. “Who poisoned this?” I

gasped in between chokes.

Retn doubled over in laughter. “Oops! I forgot to warn

you about that.”

“This is poison!” I insisted.

“No, it’s an acquired taste.” I spun around to face

Caradoc. He was dressed the same as most of the other men:

dark brown tunic with pants and boots nearly the same

color, topped by a dark green cloak. His dark hair blended

with his tunic, though it was tied back to keep it out of

his face. He smiled at us. “Good morning, gentlemen. I

assume you slept well?” he asked me.

“I nodded. “Yes… sir,” I added, not sure what else to

call him.

“Call me Caradoc, and do away with the ‘sir’ business.

It makes me feel old.” The outlaw leader reached over my

shoulder and took a spoonful of breakfast from my bowl.

“Hmm. Retn, tell Ayden it could have used a bit more salt

and a pinch or two more of sugar next time you see him.”

Retn pointed. “He had road patrol today, so he didn’t

make this. Traven did.”

Caradoc chuckled. “Of course. I’ll have to remind

Traven that his talents belong with deer, not porridge.” He


took my bowl, set it down, and stalked off without anything

else to eat.

“Is the food always this bad?” I demanded.

Retn shrugged. “Depends on who’s cooking. We all take

turns, although I daresay there are a few who get stuck

with it more often than anyone else.”

I eyed the fire. “I think even I could do a better

job.” I ignored the hunger in my stomach from skipping two

meals in a row. “What am I supposed to be doing?”

“Ask Caradoc. He should know. I’m thinking that he

will have you write out a letter to your family asking for

a certain amount of money for your ransom.”

I started to protest, and then stopped. “He can’t

write?”

Retn stared off into space. “Not to save his life, he

wouldn’t,” he said carefully. “That’s why you’re doing it,

not him.”

Without any further ado, I followed Caradoc’s steps.

“Sir! Caradoc!”

He stopped and waited for me. “Aye?”

“Surely you aren’t going to make me write a letter for

my own ransom, are you?”


Caradoc blinked. “Did Retn tell you that?” I nodded.

“Actually, yes, I was. Saves me the trouble of tying you

down to slice off a piece of your hair.”

My eyes widened. “Don’t do that!”

“Don’t do what? Cut off your hair?” Caradoc grinned.

“Are you as attached to your locks as a maiden is to hers?”

“No! I meant don’t ransom me!”

“I won’t be doing the ransoming, lad. Your family will

be.”

I bobbed my head up and down. “Exactly why I don’t

want to be ransomed.”

“I suppose we’ll just have to kill you, then.”

I crossed my arms. “Retn all ready told me. You don’t

kill people—you only pretend to.”

“So we should kill you, and then ransom you?”

“No, I don’t want to be killed or ransomed!”

Caradoc put a hand on my shoulder. “Then what do you

want? That’s all we do to strangers here.”

I glared at him. “I want answers.”

“Answers?” Caradoc shook his head. “Answers to what?”

“My questions!” I shouted. “I hate my family, and my

family hates me. I want to know why. Someone told me you

would know! That was the whole point of finding the


outlaws! Because you were here, and you can tell me what I

want to know!”

But that wasn’t the real reason, was it? Running away

from family. That’s why.

Caradoc looked away. “I can’t tell you those things,

Fallor. It is not the right time. Whoever gave you

instructions should not have told you to come here.” I

stared at him, flabbergasted, before he spun off. “Oh, and

Fallor,” he called back, “don’t touch any of the ropes!”

Retn came up behind me. “What was that all about?”

I clenched my fists and marched after Caradoc. “I’m

not leaving until I get what I came here for!”

“Listen to me!” Caradoc whirled and came nose to nose

with me. “You will just have to accept things the way they

are and learn to trust those you don’t know, because I am

one of them! And I tell you that you are staying, whether

you like it or not!” To Retn, he growled, “Make sure he

doesn’t leave the camp!” Then he stormed off.


Chapter 6

Lord Braeden slammed his study door closed. “Why me?”

He collapsed at his desk and buried his face in his hands.

“I have made so many mistakes. And I cannot take them

back.”

He picked up a pen and a piece of parchment. Agonizing

memories of Fallor’s last words to him ran through his

mind, over and over again.


“If you make me marry her, I’ll never forgive you.”

Jariath chewed on the end of his pen, deep in thought.

Nothing mattered here except the proper wording. He

resolved to be as emotionless as possible, to get rid of

any hopes that his son might have had of returning home

without any punishment.

"Fallor:

I am writing this so that you may know that you are

still welcome here. Not without reserve, of course, but I

hope that you may forgive me—“

The nobleman scowled and flung the parchment behind

him into the fireplace. "Not good enough!" He began again.

This time his pen scribbled for a few minutes longer. But

that effort, too, joined its mate in the scorching flames.

"Is nothing worth writing?" Jariath stood and paced.

He couldn't possibly write it in the manner his emotions

demanded. Why? Why couldn't he? He could be emotionless,

surely. "Belloc would know how to write this," the nobleman

muttered. Without any further ado, he strode out the door.

But something made him stop. Something that, a few

days earlier, would have stopped him no more than the


threshold of a door would have kept him from entering into

a room. There had to be a reason for Fallor's absence.

Perhaps he was in the wrong after all.

Yes, he was in the wrong. But not now. No, the present

had no bearing on the actions of Jariath Braeden. It was

the past that haunted him and his actions. The ghostly,

fleeting history of a nobleman who carried much more than a

weary soul behind him. Even murder could not compare to the

ghastly deeds that marked this man, though Jariath looked

back on it not as equal to taking a man's life, but instead

consuming everything he had.

Never again could he face his old friend. Not after

all that he had done to him and against him. So why bother

trying? He could never be forgiven.

Jariath shook his head and stepped into the hall,

hardened once again to the wave of emotions breaking over

him.

But again, something made him stop. He felt a

presence, a ghost, watching him. What if the man were in

that very room? Outlaws were notorious for being places

they didn’t belong. “The alcove!” Jariath cursed his

stupidity and dashed back into his study. There, sitting at

the desk with his legs crossed and chewing on the end of an


arrow, was that man. “What are you doing here? Get out!”

Jariath commanded.

Caradoc straightened in his chair, eyes glinting.

“I’ve come to inform you of a few incidents of interest. I

seem to have misplaced my contact.”

“Your—I beg your pardon? Contact?”

“Yes, my contact.” Caradoc dropped a slip of paper

onto the desk top. “You ought to keep better track of your

messenger birds, my lord. One of them might slip off

someday and warn me of something I’m not supposed to know

about.”

Jariath sank into the wall. “I don’t believe this.”

The outlaw stood. “So, were you ever going to tell

him? Or were you planning on letting him live a lie?”

“He’s not living a lie!” Jariath thundered. “He’s

living what he believes to be the truth! And is that not

worth more than telling him the reality in which he is

tangled up through no fault of his own?”

Caradoc stepped forward and placed a single finger on

Jariath’s chest. “You’re right—Fallor has no part in this.

It is we two who are dancing through the motions. You

started this, and I shall finish it.”

Jariath looked away. “So you are going to tell him.”


“If I die, it will be better for him to know.”

“If you die—" Jariath stared up at Caradoc. “You

aren’t going to kill yourself, are you?”

“Wouldn’t it just serve you right?” Caradoc turned and

set each foot deliberately in front of him on the worn path

to the window. “I commit suicide and leave you to settle

the guilt in your conscience for the rest of your life. I

call that irony.”

Jariath smirked. “And how do you plan on letting him

know? I certainly won’t reveal it, you know that.”

Caradoc shrugged. “You are free to do so. But I doubt

you will, since it would greatly damage your pride, and

steal your son’s love and admiration.”

“Didn’t he tell you? He hates me now.” Jariath slumped

down in his chair. “I arranged a marriage for him. The

ungrateful boy refused and made a big deal out of it.

That’s what made him run away, you know.”

“No.”

“No what?”

Caradoc ran a finger along the edge of one bookshelf

and brought it off, covered in layers of dust. “You should

let the maids wipe off these precious shelves of yours once


in a while, my lord. It would be a shame to let the wood

rot.”

Lord Braeden wiggled his fingers at Caradoc. “How are

you planning on telling him?”

“I’m not as illiterate as you think I am, Jariath.”

“So—you’re going to write it?” Jariath blanched. “How

do I know you won’t give said writing to him before—before

—“

“Before I die?” Caradoc examined his fingernails, and

then picked the dirt out from under them with the point of

his knife. “You have absolutely no guarantee. But you have

my word that I will let you tell him if I do not fall

before he returns home.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Caradoc tapped

his fingers on the windowsill. Jariath squashed a little

ant running across his desk with his thumb. A draft blew a

layer of dust off one of the bookshelves. “But—you will

bring him home?” Jariath said finally.

“I owe you absolutely nothing.” Caradoc blinked at

him.

Jariath spun in his chair and glowered at the outlaw.

“Whatever you may say, think, or do, this is his home! I am


his father. This is all he’s ever known, and if you take

that from him, he will wither away.”

Caradoc snorted. “I don’t think so, my lord. Already

he is quite satisfied with staying with us, and I expect

he’ll stay that way.”

“But I will bring the law down on you! I will have

spies infiltrate you and bring you down and kill you! The

lot of you!” Jariath roared. He flung a book at Caradoc’s

head. The outlaw stepped to the side and let the book soar

out of the window.

“You,” the outlaw ground out, “are a coward! You don’t

deserve him! Nor Eliana!”

“Never speak of her again in my presence!” Jariath

screamed. “Get out!”

Caradoc, in one leap, crossed to the small bookshelf,

calm, cool, and collected once again. “I will be back,

Jariath. Count on it.”

“Wait!” Jariath jumped out of his chair and in front

of Caradoc. “Please, bring Fallor home. I’ll—I’ll do

anything. I’ll cancel the arranged marriage! I love him,

and I want him home. Please, as a favor!”

“I owe you nothing!” the outlaw hissed. “It is you who

owe me!”


Lord Braeden hung his head, eyes cast downward. He

clenched his fists, but forced himself to remain quiet. “I

was in the wrong. I am sorry if you still hold it against

me.” He winced, then under his breath added, “Will—you—

forgive me?”

“I gave my bitterness up long ago.” Caradoc hoisted

himself up onto the shelf that hid the alcove, and then

glanced down. A sudden piteous demeanor fell over his face.

“I will try to have him come home. If I succeed, I will not

attempt to take him back. If he wants to remain with us, I

will let him. But that will be his decision, and his

alone!” With that, he disappeared into a crevice.


Chapter 7

Sorrow filled Caradoc, sweeping away all other

emotions. Jariath simply didn’t understand all the hurt,

all the pain. No one could, least of all himself.

Why couldn’t he let go of it? That was so long ago.

Some good came out of it, he was sure.

Caradoc frowned. No, it was an ill wind that blew no

one any good. But why did Jariath offer, of all things,


forgiveness? Caradoc remembered his own words about giving

up all bitterness—but had he?

The cool forest helped to calm his nerves and soothe

his thoughts. There, that’s it, he thought. The forest and

the other outlaws.

A leaf crackling out of place caught Caradoc’s ear. He

froze, glued to his position by a sudden fear. “Come out,

whoever you are,” he demanded, placing one hand on the long

knife at his side.

The bushes behind him rustled. A man stepped out,

grinning wickedly. “Well, tree man. Paid a visit to my old

father, did you?”

Caradoc’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t belong here,

nobleman. Leave while you’re still ahead.”

Karran raised one eyebrow and leaned against the

nearest tree. “So you admit that I am in the lead?”

“Barely.” Caradoc scowled. “What did you say to Fallor

that would make him leave?”

“That’s of little consequence. My father really

cinched the deal, though. Why didn’t you ask him about

Fallor’s engagement while you were up there?” Karran

laughed at Caradoc’s mystified expression. “You didn’t know

about that? Well, I suppose I could’ve saved you multiple


trips if I’d stopped you beforehand…” He picked at his

nails with a dagger.

Caradoc gulped. Fallor, married? No doubt that was the

real reason for his running away. Belloc would still be in

trouble though. “Of course. Everyone has.” He bit his

cheek.

Karran glanced up. “Both you and I have a bone to pick

with my father. Why don’t I make us a deal? You kill him,

and I’ll cover your tracks.”

“You would wish your own father dead?” Caradoc

spluttered in disbelief.

“Well—“ Karran shrugged. “It’s a situation that

pleases both of us. I can finally get even with Fallor, and

you can get even with my father. Right?”

Caradoc couldn’t believe his ears. “What makes you

think I would want to get even with Jariath? Nothing!”

“Hatred is stronger than love, revenge stronger than

forgiveness. At least, it was the last time I checked.”

Karran smiled. “So? What do you say? I would really rather

not do the dirty job myself, but revenge is always cheaper

than professional assassins.”

Something inside Caradoc snapped. Who was this boy to

suggest such a thing? “You think this is about revenge? Or


hatred? No, this is about something much higher, something

you can never understand! Kill him yourself, if you want it

done!” Caradoc growled. He tore off into the woods, his

only place of comfort and safety.

He ran as far as he could before collapsing onto a

tree. His hands shook. “What have I done?” he whispered.

“I’ve just gone and told him to kill his own father.”

It was almost twenty minutes before he could control

his own body, with all of him shaking and tears flowing

freely down his face. How he wanted to break his promise—

but he couldn’t.

Caradoc pried himself off the ground and trudged

toward the camp. His camp.

When he arrived, he glanced around for the outlaws.

Not a soul in sight. Interesting. Then he saw why.

A hooded man sat at the fire, scowling and prodding

into the flames with a stick. “About time you got here,

slow poke. I left after you did and I’ve been waiting for

half an hour.” The stranger stood.

Caradoc sighed—and elf, not a man—therefore, Belloc.

“What do you want? I’m busy and I have other things to

think about.”


The elf huffed. “So? But now that I’m here, you will

just have to listen to what I have to say.”

“And what exactly is that?”

“Fallor’s engaged, and he’s run away.”

“Yes, I know.”

Belloc stared. “How did you find that out? He has only

been missing since last night!”

“It’s a small world, elf.” Caradoc, with a wave of his

hand, motioned toward the tree-top shelters. “We waylaid

him yesterday. It was an accident, but I suppose it turned

out for the good.” Caradoc crossed his arms. He remembered

what he wanted to talk to the elf about. After all, only

one person would—could—tell Fallor where to find him.

“Fallor seems to think that I am the one who can answer his

questions, and there’s only one person who would tell him

that. Belloc! What did you tell him?”

Belloc threw his hands up as a display of innocence.

“He overheard both Jariath and I and Jariath and Kahil! He

was asking too much. I had to get him out from underfoot,

so I told him to run away and find you.”

“He what?” Caradoc roared, his voice laced with

horror.


The elf shrank back. “He didn’t hear anything

important. At least, to my understanding.”

“To your understanding?” Caradoc clenched his fist.

“But you didn’t hear every word, did you? So how would you

know?”

“He would have said something if he had heard it.

Relax.”

Caradoc heaved a sigh of relief. Yes, that was true.

Fallor wasn’t one to keep secrets. “But no matter. Things

will son be back to normal. I’m taking him home.”

“You’re what?”

“Taking him home. I did speak to Jariath, and that’s

what he wanted.”

“You—spoke—Jariath—however did you get in? I only saw

you leaving from one of the main windows!”

Caradoc muttered something under his breath about

elves having too much sight for their own good. “I have my

ways.” He chuckled. “I excel at being places I’m not

supposed to be.”

Belloc nodded. “Yes, of course.” His brow furrowed.

“What else did you tell Jariath?”

“I told—" Caradoc looked away. How? How could he say

anything? “I told him I forgave him.”


A stunned silence followed. “Why would you do that?”

Belloc demanded. “You know what he’s done to you!”

“Yes, I—“

A muffled snort startled Caradoc. He glanced up to one

of the huts. A pair of hazel eyes framed by blonde hair

peeped over the edge, nearly scaring Caradoc out of his

wits. “Oh dear.”

Belloc blinked. “What?”

“Fallor’s been listening.” Caradoc sighed and lowered

his voice. “I’ve got a lot of explaining to do. You’d

better leave.”

Belloc held out his hand and shook Caradoc’s. “I am

pleased to bring you what little news I could, even if it

wasn’t really news. Keep an eye on him for me, will you?

I’d hate for anything to happen to him.” Caradoc drilled

Belloc with a vicious glare. The elf backed away. “And, ah,

neither would you. Good day.” He bowed and walked off.


Chapter 8

I swore to myself. How did he see me? I thought I was

perfectly hidden!

Belloc left and Caradoc sat down by the fire. “Fallor,

you can come out now. I know you’re there.”

I stood. “I’m really sorry about listening in on your

conversation, but—“

“Come down here, please.”


I found a rope ladder leading to the ground and make

good use of it. I didn’t trust myself on a knotted rope

more than once, as my muscles all ready felt like jelly.

forgiven by meghan lebedz · 2017. 11. 7. · but i kissed her hand anyway and hoped she didn’t...

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