Morgan Rice - A Rite of Swords

He turned to Indra, sitting beside him.

“I hope you will join me,” he added.

She just shrugged.

“Domestic life is not for me,” she said. “I would rather be waging battle.”

Elden looked disappointed.

Kendrick turned to Sandara, who sat beside him, staring into the flames with her perfect posture, so noble. Of the Empire race, she seemed so foreign to the group.

“I hope that you shall stay with me here,” Kendrick said softly to her.

She glanced over at Kendrick, then looked away.

“I do not deserve the honor, my Lord,” she replied.

“You do, more than anyone,” Kendrick replied. “You saved all of our lives. Stay with me, and you shall have a life fit for a queen.”

“I am but a simple slave girl, indentured to Andronicus,” she replied.

“Indentured no more,” Kendrick corrected. “You are free now. Your home is here, within the Ring. If you choose.”

She lowered her eyes.

“I have witnessed Andronicus’ men wreak devastation on many peoples, many lands,” she said. “I will only be free when I see him dead. Until that day, I am still a slave. I fear he will return here.”

“Never,” Kendrick insisted.

“You heard Thor,” Reece added. “Andronicus will be crushed tomorrow.”

But Sandara did not seem convinced, and a heavy silence fell over the group.

“There are others who I wish would return here,” Gwendolyn said. “Steffen is missing. He helped give me safe passage to the Tower of Refuge, and I have not seen him since.”

“We shall send out a party for him,” Kendrick said. “We shall find him and bring him back.”

“Argon, too,” Gwen added. “He risked his life for me, and now he has paid the price. He is gone, and I do not know where—or if he shall ever return.”

Thor thought of that, and it pained him. He missed Argon terribly, and he wanted see him, to ask about the Sword, to ask about his destiny—and most of all, to ask about his father. Thor thought he could almost hear Argon, faintly in the back of his mind, in glimpses in his dreams; yet he seemed farther away than ever. Thor wondered where he was now, if he was trapped, if he would ever come back again. He felt orphaned without him.

Gwendolyn leaned in, and Thor held her shoulder tight; he looked over into her crystal eyes, glowing in the firelight, and leaned in and kissed her. He felt alive in that kiss. As he held it, his heart pounded with anticipation. He felt the ring burning in his pocket, and more than ever, he wanted to ask her, to give it to her.

But first, he knew, he had to tell her. She had to know about the monster he hailed from. The more he thought about it, the more he began to tremble.

“You’re shaking,” Gwen said.

“I’m just cold,” Thor lied.

She smiled, leaned in and whispered in his ear: “Then follow me.”

She got up wordlessly, and Thor took her hand and allowed himself to be led into the black night, between the fires, anywhere Gwen would take him.

Thor and Gwendolyn entered the ancient halls of Srog’s castle in Upper Silesia, guards stiffening to attention as they passed down corridors lit by torchlight. They walked hand in hand, Gwen leading them as they twisted and turned down one hall then the next, up a flight of steps, until finally an attendant opened the door to the guest chamber.

As they stepped inside, Thor looked up at the ancient arched ceilings, all stone, at the roaring fire in the huge marble fireplace, at the massive four-poster bed, at the torchlight along the walls, and he was grateful to Srog for his hospitality. They had been given a room fit for a King and Queen. Of course, Gwendolyn was Queen, but Thor did not feel entitled to any of this. In his mind, he was still just a boy from another small village on the periphery of the Ring.

Walking into a room like this, though, made him feel like a king. He had always envisioned bigger things for himself; but now that they were here , before his eyes, he could hardly believe it. This all didn’t seem real. Here he was, with Gwendolyn, the Queen, wielding the Destiny Sword, with his own dragon waiting for him in the castle grounds. He had managed not just to join the Legion, but to become the head of it; he had not just earned the respect of the Silver, but had become the one they looked up to most. He had dreamed big for himself, but never that big. And now that it was all here, it was hard to process. He still expected someone to wake him up and tell him he was dreaming.

As Gwendolyn took his hand, her soft, smooth skin warm in his palm, he knew this was real; he felt as if it were the first time he had ever touched her. And as he held her, he realized his joy had nothing to do with this room or this castle or any of it—it was all about Gwendolyn’s love. As surreal as everything else felt, her love, and his love for her, felt natural to him. It grounded him.

As they approached the pile of furs before the fireplace, Gwendolyn leading him with a smile, Thor found himself feeling nervous, as if it were the first time he had ever been with her. They had been apart for so long, and so much time and distance had grown between them, in a way it was like meeting her again for the first time. He felt a fluttering in his stomach, and the old fear of saying the wrong thing.

Thor thought back and remembered when he’d first met her, how tongue-tied he had been; in a strange way, a part of him was feeling that way again now. He had to admit, he was still intimidated by her beauty, by her charm, by her graciousness—by everything about her. He could not help but feel she was of a greater class than he, that she was so much greater than he would ever be.

As they lay down together, Gwen leaned in and kissed Thor, and he kissed her back. They held the kiss for a long time, the fire crackling beside them, Thor feeling the heat of it on his face. He took her into his arms, and the two of them lay side-by-side on the furs.

Gwendolyn smiled over at him, and he felt his entire world restored in that smile.

Yet Thor was still nervous, for another reason. As Gwendolyn looked into his eyes, he wondered if somehow she recognized who his father was. He blinked and looked away, self-conscious, and hoped not. He knew his thoughts were foolish, that it was impossible, yet still, it plagued him. He had to get it off his chest, to tell her. At the same time, he didn’t want to ruin the moment.

Gwen looked away, and Thor sensed there was something she wanted to tell him, too. He was not quite sure what it was, but he knew her well enough to know there was something she was withholding. He could see it in the slight tremble in her lip. It made him wonder. Did she know of his father? Or was it something else?

As he studied her, he could not imagine the horrors she had endured at the hand of Andronicus. Yet here she was, still happy, smiling. He admired her more than he could say. She was stronger than him—stronger than all of them.

“What’s wrong?” Gwendolyn finally asked. “You seem quiet.”

Thor shook his head. He was afraid to speak, afraid to tell her. He knew he had to, but he just could not summon the courage. He was too ashamed.

“I… I… just miss you,” he stammered.

It was true, he had missed her; but it was not what was on the forefront of his mind.

“I missed you, too,” she smiled back. “It felt like you were away for a lifetime. You don’t seem like the same boy that left. You seem more like…a man,” she smiled.

Thor understood. He felt older himself. Much, much older.

“The Empire…” he began, then stopped. “It was so foreign…everything about it so different, so exotic… The things I’ve seen…” he trailed off.