“The decree, yes. Outsmarting the southern kingdoms, yes. Opening the Eyrie to the free use of magic, yes. But more than that, Bryn. We proved to ourselves, to everyone here, and to the gods that we have earned our place as king and queen of the Baersladen.”
She rolled over, resting her chin on his chest. “My king.”
He stroked her hair. “My queen.”
She leaned into his palm, then closed her eyes. “There’s only one thing left to do. Something that the forces that be—the gods, the Saints, magic itself—seem to keep returning us to.”
“What is that?” he asked.
“You saved me from wolves once, Rangar. Now we must stop the wolves one final time before they destroy the Eyrie.”
Chapter 42
HEX OF THE WOLF . . . the Ardmoor gathering . . . princes and common folk . . . a caged beast . . . snowfall
Two weeks later, an entourage from the Baersladen arrived at the market town of Ardmoor under cover of darkness. Oliver and a fleet of Baer guards led the small traveling party, their swords prominently on display should any of the town’s riffraff get the wrong idea. Rangar, riding Legend, rode behind the guards with no hood covering his bronze crown this time. Bryn rode behind him on Fable, her eyes keen as she took in the town that had once caused her so much trouble.
“Last time we were here,” Valenden said from atop his horse behind Bryn, “I was calling you my wife.”
Bryn hissed wryly, “You’d better hope Rangar doesn’t overhear you.”
“Ididhear that,” Rangar called from ahead, barely glancing over his shoulder. “And you’d best keep in mind thatmyring is on her finger now, Val, if you value keeping all ofyourfingers.”
Valenden snorted at his brother’s threat. “Come, Rangar, that’s not very kingly of you.”
“I was a warrior long before I was king.”
Bryn sighed fondly as the two brothers bickered. For all his faults, Valenden had proved himself to be an essential and highly effective ruler in Rangar’s stead. During the time they were in the Wollin for the grand parlay, Valenden had orchestrated a system of defensive traps around the villages to protect the Baer people from berserkir wolves, had dealt with a shortage of fishing hauls, and had settled a land dispute between two prominent Baer families.
But more than his accomplishments, Valenden had proven his loyalty. With Rangar and Bryn far away in the Wollin, it would have been easy for Valenden to have stolen the Baer throne if he’d so wished. As the elder brother, he had some arguable claim to it, and some people would have supported that claim. And yet, when Bryn and Rangar had returned to Barendur Hold, Valenden had ceded power to them without incident. When Rangar had asked if he’d liked the taste of rulership, Valenden had only laughed.
“Not half as much as I like the taste of freedom,” he'd said.
Ever since then, the two Baer brothers had been closer than ever. Bryn was grateful that their obstacles had only solidified their bond, and now the two of them moved in lockstep: Rangar making decisions, Valenden helping to carry them out.
As queen, Bryn had been heavily involved in their decision-making about the kingdom, but lately, she’d found herself distracted.
She pressed a hand to her belly. A small smile graced her lips.
Oliver turned to Rangar and asked, “Shall we settle in at the inn first?”
“No,” Rangar said, “Directly to the arena. I fear we don’t have time to rest before the gathering is set to begin.”
“Yes, my king.”
Oliver signaled to the other soldiers, who steered the traveling party down a thoroughfare lined with vendors. Even at the late hour, the streets of Ardmoor were crowded. In a busy market town at a crossroads, they’d known their presence would garner much attention, yet it was the most logical meeting place. Given the heavy snowfall that had recently fallen in the north, travel there was too difficult. And meeting too close to the southern kingdoms—who were still disgruntled after the results of the grand parlay—could be dangerous.
So, Ardmoor it was.
A large stone structure loomed ahead, lit by torches. A chiseled sign declared “Ardmoor Grand Arena” with painted murals of warriors locked in combat. Though the fighting competitions were finished for the day, the arena gates remained open.
Two figures flanked the gate with swords drawn. When they saw the Baer party arriving, they lowered their swords. A man and woman disguised as market vendors stepped forward.
“Elysander!” Bryn said, dismounting from Fable and hurrying over to embrace her sister. “And Jon. Thank you for coming.”
“Of course,” Elysander said. “The others are already waiting inside. You’re the last group to arrive. Our bandits are spread out in the nearby streets to keep away any troublemakers who might get curious about what’s happening in the arena after hours.”
“We are grateful for your assistance,” Rangar said as he and Valenden dismounted. “Our guards will wait here at the gates with you.”
