Trei’s hand tightened protectively around Bryn’s back. “Damn the Saints,” he muttered, the first time Bryn had heard Trei say a black word.
“Who is it?” She asked, though her throat was bone dry. A terrible premonition was spreading like poison through her body.
“I cannot see the rider, but the horse is Legend,” Trei said stiffly.
Legend. The name of Rangar’s mare. Bryn hadn’t recognized the horse at first because Legend was dark brown, not black, but now Bryn realized that mud had darkened the mare’s hair.
She nearly doubled over.This can’t be happening!
The rider dismounted with a heavy thud as the dancers scattered back to give him room. He turned in a slow circle until he faced Trei and Bryn and then stalked forward while he lifted a hand to draw back his hood.
Dark hair soaked from rain. Fresh battle scars over the old ones.
Rangar Barendur had returned.
Bryn felt herself gaping as though she was looking at a ghost. Covered in rain and mud, Rangar looked like a beast. The scowl on his face portended dark things. She found herself unable to move as he stalked toward her, though his brown eyes were fixed on Trei, not her. Rangar’s expressions were always hard to read, and even now, his face bore no overt malice, though there wassomething in the way he moved that called to mind a lumbering bear ready to strike.
Fleeting thoughts came and went in her mind:How did he find out about the wedding? Who could get a message to him so quickly?
The entire great hall fell into a terrified hush. Out of the corner of her eye, Bryn saw King Aleth quickly signal to the soldiers stationed around the hall, who rested their hands on their blades.
As rain still dripped down his face over the old scars, Rangar stopped a pace in front of the married couple.
Trei’s hand remained around Bryn’s back, and Rangar’s eyes shifted to it.
“Brother . . . ” Trei started but didn’t seem to know how to finish.
A tense moment hung in the air before it broke sharply as Rangar lunged at Trei with a growl, fist swinging and murder in his eyes.
Chapter
Six
RANGAR'S RETURN . . . battle of brothers . . . wounded hearts . . . wounded bodies . . . Val's secret exposed
Bryn screamed.
Rangar had lunged at Trei like a beast dripping mud, blind with fury. He’d trained his whole life as a soldier—he knew how to fight. His fist was on a collision path with Trei’s jaw, but Trei had also spent time in the Baer army and managed to pivot away in time so that instead of shattering his jaw, Rangar’s blow glanced off his shoulder. If Trei had let go of Bryn, he could have dodged the blow entirely. Instead, he’d moved in front of Bryn, protecting his new bride.
Trei straightened and clutched his shoulder. The joint seemed at an odd angle as though it was dislocated, but Trei hid the pain well.
“Rangar,” he said tightly. “You’re supposed to be on the border, defending the kingdom.”
Rangar growled as he paced in a tight circle. “What this your plan, Trei?” He pointed an accusing finger dripping with rainwater toward the dais where their father sat. “Or was ithis?”
“Father knew you would react like this—”
“What? Likethis?” Rangar pulled back his arm to throw another punch. The crowd gasped. Trei parried, but his formal attire restricted his movements, and the blow glanced across the side of his head. Trei fell to one knee.
At a signal from King Aleth, soldiers began to close in.
Bryn threw herself on Rangar, clutching his shoulder to hold him back. “Rangar, stop! He’s your brother!”
Rangar had been posed to strike Trei again but stopped when Bryn touched him.
For the first time since he’d broken down the gate, he looked at her. His face was shadowed with emotion. There was anger there, but not as much as she’d expected to see. Instead, it washurtthat haunted his eyes.
Her own heart faltered, and her lips parted. “Rangar—”
