Exiles Page 9

  Following Darq’s lead, they dismounted, but didn’t get much farther than that before three imposing cretes blocked their path. The lead man stood at average crete height—several inches shorter than Jace—but was more heavily built than most cretes. His thick bare arms sported an array of brown tattoos, including one of a dragon, and he was armed as if to fight a war on this very rock.

  “Captain Darq,” the crete’s stern voice rang out.

  “Captain Lan,” Darq responded, nodding respectfully.

  “You bring visitors.” His tone held accusation, as if he would sooner use the word ‘intruders,’ and his cool gaze touched each one of them with a measuring glance.

  “I have.” Darq’s voice never lost its confidence. “Lord Balen, King of Samara, has come to speak with Lord Vallan.”

  Lan gave the group another examination. “And the others?”

  “The king’s security force, as well as men to speak on behalf of Arcacia.”

  Lan’s gaze returned to Darq, losing a little of its suspicion. “Well, let’s hope they present a compelling argument.”

  “And that the council is willing to listen,” Darq added. He turned to the group. “Gather your things, and I’ll take you into the city.”

  Jace turned to Gem to retrieve his pack and his bow and quiver. Once everyone had unloaded their belongings, they gathered around Darq and their other crete friends, who led them to a ledge winding downward around the edge of the peak. Thankfully, it wasn’t too narrow, though Jace kept well clear of the edge. They followed this path around the peak until they stood almost directly below where they’d left the dragons some fifty feet above. Here, they reached another plateau surrounded by thick forest canopy. From the sheer edge, three rope and plank bridges stretched out into the trees. Darq stopped at the center one and turned to them.

  “This bridge is the main highway into the heart of Arvael.” A smile brought a sparkle to his eyes.

  Jace gazed out across the bridge hanging suspended over the open space to its anchor point some sixty feet away. A thick band wrapped around his throat, his legs turning wobbly. He struggled to halt the rapid acceleration of his heart, but it defied him. All the same sickening sensations he’d experienced the first day he’d flown with Gem rushed back.

  He found some small measure of comfort that he wasn’t the only one who appeared to have reservations. Some of the others glanced nervously at each other, and Marcus took a cautious glimpse over the edge. Jace didn’t have to join him to imagine the fall they would face if the bridge collapsed. This close to the treetops, they were at least two hundred fifty feet from the ground. He failed to swallow past his dried-out throat.

  “I assure you, it is secure,” Darq said, though Jace wasn’t sure if it was only for his benefit or the whole group. “We maintain and inspect our bridges regularly. Safety is taken very seriously.”

  He and Glynn started across first, followed by Talas, Leetra, Timothy, and Aaron. One by one, the others stepped out onto the bridge, which swayed gently with their footsteps. Jace’s knees weakened just watching them. He clenched his fists. He should have conquered this by now. Would he ever have victory over some of these recurring battles?

  Rayad was one of the last to go and mumbled under his breath, “I’m getting too old for these sorts of adventures.”

  Jace almost smiled, but it died immediately. Now only he and Kyrin remained on the plateau. She stepped to the bridge and paused to turn back to him.

  “We’ll go together.”

  She gave him a heartening smile, but his feet fused to the rock. As much as he wanted to follow her, his blood had turned to immovable ice. His mind accused him of being weak and cowardly in front of her. However, her smile only grew, and she held out her hand.

  “Come on, nothing will happen to us.”

  At her soft prompting, he took her hand, and the warmth melted the ice. He had led her to face her fears in the caves of Samara—now she would lead him. They stepped out onto the bridge. Jace gripped her hand tightly and used his other to hold onto the hand ropes, but he kept his eyes glued on her. His legs shook as the bridge shifted beneath them, but he didn’t look down. He glanced at the others, who were still quite a distance ahead, and then focused again on Kyrin.

  “How do you feel about staying with Falcor’s family?” A conversation would help distract him from the crossing. Though Kyrin hadn’t said anything when they’d discussed their lodgings earlier, her expression had seemed pensive to him.

  She looked over her shoulder. “I’m not sure yet. I trust Darq . . . I just keep thinking about Falcor and how I should have trusted my instincts. I’m afraid that will cloud how I feel about his family. I just don’t want to make the same mistake again.”

  “You won’t.”

  Another faint smile grew on her lips. “I do agree with Balen about letting them repair their name. I know what it’s like to live with the shame of having a traitor in the family. It—”

  She stopped, peering out into the trees. Jace followed her gaze, and his eyes widened. Previously hidden by the thick foliage, an incredible view had opened up to them—a city unlike anything he could have imagined. Circular buildings of all sizes filled the giant trees—some built around the enormous trunks, and others built on the boughs that could have been trees themselves. Bridges crisscrossed between them, almost like a spider web. The place was alive with activity. Nearby, two crete children raced across a bridge as easily as one would run down a solid woodland path.

  The sight drew Jace and Kyrin the remaining distance to a large platform where their friends waited.

  “Welcome to Arvael,” Darq said with a tone of pride.

  “It’s beautiful,” Kyrin breathed.

  And it was. The cretes didn’t build with straight lines as most of civilization did. Their rounded structures flowed with the natural curves of the trees. Yet, the beauty of it dimmed for Jace with the knowledge that he would not just have to face his fear today, but every minute of their stay here.

  Darq turned to face Balen. “I will take you all to the Tarns and then get word to Lord Vallan of your arrival. He may not be free tonight, but I expect he will want to meet with you as soon as possible.”

  They set off across another long bridge, Kyrin never letting go of Jace’s hand. Though he kept his focus trained on her, he did take in quick glimpses of his surroundings. Many of the cretes they passed gawked at them. He could well imagine how he, Kaden, and King Balen stood out as the tallest men in the group. Most of these people had probably never seen outsiders within their city.

  Two more bridges led them to what could only be described as a wide front porch to one of the crete houses. Darq stepped to the door and knocked as the rest of the group filed off the bridge behind him. When the door opened, Jace caught sight of an older crete woman.

  “Verus. We didn’t expect you back so soon.”

  “I’ve brought visitors.” Darq glanced over his shoulder. “King Balen and others from Landale.”

  The woman’s eyes rounded. “Please, come in,” she invited, her voice quiet.

  Darq led the way into the house. Jace had to duck to pass through the door, but the way the ceiling inside slanted upward left plenty of headroom. He stopped just inside and looked around. It was almost like stepping into the tree itself. Wood dominated the space—rich golden brown and polished to bring out its honey hues. Leather was another chief commodity and so were linens of deep earthly colors. It reminded Jace, in a way, of the cabin back at the farm, and he found it comforting despite being a couple hundred feet in the air.

  “I’ll get Novan,” the crete woman said.

  “Thank you,” Darq replied.

  She sent the group a glance that still held surprise and hurried to a half-log staircase that wrapped around the central tree trunk, disappearing on the other side.

  Darq turned to the group. “That is Sonah, Novan’s wife . . . and Falcor’s mother.”

  Now that Jace thought about it,
he could see the resemblance in the woman’s face—in her serious expression and high cheekbones.

  They waited in silence for a moment or two before Sonah returned with her husband. When Novan stepped into view, Jace’s breath snagged in his chest. It was like seeing Falcor walk down those stairs, but twenty years older.

  Kyrin’s heart stuttered for a beat or two as Novan Tarn approached them. He was so much like Falcor that her limbs grew weak. Her father had died over a year ago, but seeing the Tarn family resemblance brought the emotions rushing back with more force than she anticipated. She drew a shallow, trembling breath. Maybe she wasn’t ready for this. If all she could think about was the loss of her father, how could she respond appropriately? What if she missed something that put them all in danger? They relied on her to pick up clues and signals of potential threats.

  At the gentle, reassuring pressure of a hand against her back, she glanced up at Jace and received a comforting and protective look. She steadied herself and let the emotions subside. She had to remember why they were here. None of this was about her or the past.

  Darq introduced Balen first, working his way through everyone until he came to Kyrin and her brothers. Novan stood before them, matching Kyrin in height. He glanced at each of them, but his focus rested on Kyrin. She sucked in her breath. However, though his eyes were identical to Falcor’s in their ocean-blue color, they were not Falcor’s at all. They were softer, deeper . . . sadder. Their gazes held, and he seemed to share her hesitancy.

  He spoke then, his voice low and heavy with regret she had to believe was genuine. “Welcome. It is an honor to meet and have you here in my home. I hope I can be of some service.”

  Though he was clearly a dignified man, Kyrin recognized the weight of family shame. After all, she had grown up under just such a weight. Her throat swelled and sent needles to her eyes, but this time the emotion didn’t grow up out of fear as much as regret over how so many lives could be affected by the actions of just one person.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, and her brothers echoed her.

  Novan nodded, deep remorse in his eyes, before he focused once more on Darq. “What can I do for you?”

  “Lodging. I want to keep everyone here in Arvael, close to the citadel. I have no doubt Lord Vallan would happily extend them his hospitality, but I would prefer closer, more private quarters, considering the importance of the king’s safety.”

  Novan’s stance straightened as he shifted his gaze to Balen. “We would be honored, my lord, to offer you our hospitality. Whatever you need . . . any of you.” His attention strayed back to Kyrin and her brothers. “And no harm will come to you within this house as long as I live and breathe.”

  The conviction with which he spoke boosted Kyrin’s confidence in their safety with him. While men had fooled her in the past, she could detect no hint that he lied or wished them harm. Quite the contrary. She could almost feel his need to be of service to them, to atone for his son’s betrayal.

  “Thank you,” Balen said. “I know we are a rather large group to accommodate.”

  Novan shook his head. “It’s no trouble.”

  Darq stepped into the conversation again. “I will go see Lord Vallan and let him know of the king’s arrival. The sooner they speak, the better.”

  Novan nodded, and Darq left the group to the care of their hosts.

  When the door closed, Novan motioned to them. “Please, let me show you to your rooms so you may unburden yourselves.”

  He led them up the winding staircase around the massive tree trunk. Crete homes were certainly different from regular homes where rooms occupied the same floors. Here, the rooms branched off at different levels and directions—wherever a strong tree limb jutted from the tree. Kyrin glanced back at Jace. He’d seemed less nervous since they entered the house. At least everything was sturdy and enclosed. One would never know how far they were from the ground unless he looked outside.

  They split up into three rooms—Kyrin and Leetra sharing a small guest bedroom just off the main stairs. Two canvas hammocks hung from the ceiling rafters. Novan offered to gather cushions for a bed on the floor, but Kyrin declined. She’d never slept in a hammock before, yet she was willing to try it.

  She set her heavy pack down and looked around. There wasn’t much in the way of traditional shelving and cabinets since the walls all curved. A small chest sat near each hammock with a couple of linen pillows propped against them and animal hides on the floor.

  She stepped to the small arched window and peeked out. Lanterns twinkled to life around the city—those in the distance resembling fireflies. Laughter rang out nearby. Kyrin glanced down, but branches and thick leaves hid the forest floor far below. Bustling as it might be, Arvael didn’t have the feel of a city. It was more of a community, a lot like camp, though on a much grander scale.

  She turned to Leetra. “It’s beautiful here.”

  The crete girl glanced out her window and nodded, the barest hint of a smile on her lips.

  “You must miss it,” Kyrin said.

  “Yes. I always look forward to coming back.” Her softening demeanor changed in an instant, her lavender eyes going hard once more. “But if we can’t convince the clan leaders to stand up and stop Daican now, someday there may not be anything left to come home to.”

  Her face set as if ready for battle, she marched out of the room. Kyrin stood for a moment, and then followed her downstairs. In the main room, Sonah met them. She was a beautiful woman, but her eyes had such a sad, mournful look to them. Kyrin had noticed it the moment they’d walked into the house. The woman glanced between the two of them, her gaze lingering on Kyrin as she wrung a dishtowel.

  “Please,” she said a bit hesitantly, as if sorely out of practice in entertaining guests. “Sit and rest. I’ll have supper ready shortly.” She motioned to the living area, her expression painfully earnest.

  Kyrin smiled, hoping to put her at ease. “Thank you.”

  Childhood memories floated in her head of her mother crying over how no one came to visit because of their reputation. No doubt the Tarns had suffered the same situation, not to mention the time they must have spent in mourning. According to crete customs, Falcor was as good as dead to them—perhaps even worse.

  Sonah turned and disappeared under the stairs, where a hall must lead to the kitchen. Without a backward glance, Leetra followed her, leaving Kyrin alone. She looked around the quiet room, undecided, and then followed slowly. Maybe she could help in some way. They had shown up very unexpectedly right before mealtime. It would certainly take work to feed them all. Yet, when she rounded the stairs finding a door to the kitchen, she paused. Leetra and Sonah were talking.

  “How are you?” Sonah asked.

  A very long pause followed before Leetra answered tightly, “I’m still angry.”

  Kyrin backed away. Not long ago, Novan and Sonah were to be Leetra’s in-laws. Kyrin would not interrupt them, especially when they spoke of Falcor. She returned to the living room and sank into one of the chairs, smoothing her hands across her skirt. Her gaze wandered over the large space. Like the bedroom, it didn’t have much in the way of traditional furniture. Plenty of seating and low tables occupied the room, but no bookshelves, paintings, or tapestries. However, she took particular notice of a variety of different woodcarvings, mostly of animals. It was all very practical and straightforward, just like the cretes.

  Soft steps drew her attention to the stairs. She couldn’t stop the uncomfortable flip her stomach did when she saw Novan. He slowed, but then came nearer with a tentative smile.

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable in your room. If you find that a hammock doesn’t suit you, let us know.”

  “I think it will be fine.”

  She glanced toward the stairs, praying for the others to hurry. Suddenly all her confidence disappeared at facing Novan alone.

  “I’m sure they’ll be down momentarily.”

  Her attention jumped back to Novan, and she scolded h
erself for making her discomfort so rudely obvious.

  “They’re probably making themselves comfortable.” She tried to speak in a lighter tone. “It’s a long journey from Landale.”

  Novan offered a brief nod. “Verus is very dedicated to travel it so continuously.”

  Kyrin agreed, and silence fell. She let her gaze stray back to the carvings and resisted the urge to clear her prickling throat. If only Jace were with her. She drew a measured breath and prayed for peace.

  “I’m sorry I make you nervous.”

  Kyrin met Novan’s gaze. She shouldn’t act this way. She had no true cause to. “It’s my fault,” she said, shaking her head.

  “No. It’s my son’s.”

  “Still, I should know better than most not to judge a family by the actions of one member. My grandfather is considered a traitor in Arcacia.” She shrugged. “I guess we all are now.”

  “You have every right to be wary.” He took a step closer, his expression earnest. “I know words mean nothing, but I meant it when I said you would be safe here.”

  Kyrin’s breath seeped out with a final release of fear. “Thank you.”

  Still, emotion had begun rising up inside of her. She fought it, but it was bound to happen, considering the circumstances.

  “I wanted to say . . .” She swallowed and cleared her tight throat. Her eyes burned, and she blinked hard, determined not to cry. “I don’t hold your family responsible for anything that happened.”

  Her gaze faltered, but when she looked at him again, his eyes glistened.