The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (17 page)

By the time he reached the ground floor of the stairway, the air seemed balmy compared to his room. As he neared the commons, the halls were no longer empty. He made it a point to look each person he saw in the eye and greet them, challenging himself to remember the names of everyone. It was one of the few tasks on which Commander Aiden had him working that Nikalys did not mind.

Rounding a corner, Nikalys came across a thin, bearded man carrying a lumpy burlap sack. From the way the man was struggling, whatever the bag contained was heavy. As Nikalys met the man’s eyes, he smiled, trying to place the man’s name with his face. After a moment, he recognized him as a member of the kitchen staff, one of the head cook’s helpers.

“Good days ahead, Gregor,” said Nikalys.

The man’s eyes widened and he stumbled to a halt. With a notably nervous twinge to his voice, Gregor replied, “And good memories behind, Progeny.”

Nikalys’ friendly grin faltered a bit. He loathed when people called him that.

Despite his unease with the honorific, he did not correct the man. Commander Aiden insisted that Nikalys allow the Shadow Manes to call him ‘Progeny’ or ‘sir’ or whatever they wanted, saying “it helps morale, something we will need plenty of in the days to come.” Nevertheless, Nikalys did not like being treated as if he were someone important. Even if he was.

The man resumed his walk down the hall, struggling with the large sack.

Nikalys offered, “If you need help with that, Gregor, I could carry it to wherever you are headed.” He eyed the bag, knowing he could carry it easily with one arm.

Gregor’s eyes widened and he immediately shook his head back and forth.

“Oh, no, sir! Goodness, no! I would not dream of it. They are just potatoes. I brought the wrong type from the pantry for the cooks’ stew. I can manage, sir.”

Nikalys sighed. The man was fifteen years older than him, and calling him ‘sir.’

Stepping aside to give the man room to pass, he said, “Okay, then. Be careful, Gregor. They look heavy.”

Gregor nodded as he labored past, grunting, “Yes, sir, I will. Thank you, sir.”

Nikalys watched as the man grappled with the burlap sack, wobbling down the hall. After letting out a heavy sigh, he resumed his walk to the kitchen, a slight frown on his face. He knew he was different from everybody else here, yet he wished people did not treat him so. The heart of a simple farmer still beat in his chest.

When he reached the spacious commons, he was relieved to see that nearly all of the long tables and benches sat empty. Still, a handful of tables had groups of two or three people sitting at them who were catching a late midday meal or just enjoying the pleasant warmth of the room. Nikalys smiled as he spotted the three massive hearths, one on each wall other than the one from where he had just marched. A giant fire roared in each stone cavity. The sweet, yeasty smell of something baking filled his nose.

Nikalys had taken a few steps to the back wall to seek out a kitchen worker when a loud, happy shriek ricocheted throughout the stone room, startling him along with most others in the quiet room.

“Nik-lys!”

A smile split his face immediately as he scanned the room, trying to find the origin of the voice. His gaze settled on the corner to his right and his grin widened.

A small girl was clambering over the top of a table, ignoring the protests of the two young women sitting with her. Raven-black hair hung past her shoulders, her dark brown eyes were wide and staring, and a brilliant smile radiated from her slightly plump cheeks. As she scurried over the tabletop, kicking wooden plates as she went, Nikalys’ gaze shifted to the other pair at the table.

His sister, sitting on the table’s far side, caught his eye and flashed him a smile. Nikalys nodded back a silent greeting, his attention mostly focused on the other woman as she helped the young girl climb over the table while chastising her to behave properly. Upon lowering the child to the ground, she swiveled her head around and stared at Nikalys.

As happened every other time he saw Sabine, his throat caught.

Like the younger girl, the woman had the same intense, deep brown eyes and black hair, longer of course, pulled back and bound, reaching the middle of her back. Unlike her sister, however, her face was sharper, edged with high cheekbones and a perfectly lined nose sitting over flawless, lush lips that were currently parted to reveal a brilliant, flattering smile that shot into Nikalys’ soul.

A second shout from the little girl shattered the moment.

“Nik-lys!”

Helene’s exclamation was more insistent this time, demanding that he pay attention to her. Shifting to watch the little girl run toward him, he tossed the book he was carrying on a nearby table and dropped to a knee. Extending his arms, he said with a genuine smile, “Come here, Helene!”

The girl launched herself into his outstretched arms and he stood up, cradling her and giving her a hug. With affection matching the cozy warmth of the fire-heated room, he said, “It’s good to see you, Helene. I missed you.”

Helene wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed.

“I missed you, too, Nik-lys.”

She had yet to learn how to pronounce his name correctly. He loved the way she said it and hoped she would never stop.

Pulling back, Helene stared at him with sparkling eyes.

“Did you know that I can eat five potatoes?”

Nikalys smiled wide at the randomness of the question and gave Helene another hug, patting her back gently.

“I did
not
know that, Helene. I don’t think even I can eat that many.”

“Sabine told me not to. She said I would get sick.” Shaking her head side-to-side vigorously, she added, “But I didn’t. I ate all five!”

With that, she shot a proud look over to her sister, claiming victory in a debate that was apparently very important to the four-year-old. Nikalys followed Helene’s gaze and locked eyes with Sabine again. His grin faltered a bit.

Helene began tugging at Nikalys’ collar. Turning her big brown eyes on him, she begged, “Come sit with us!”

Nikalys hesitated.

“I don’t know, Helene. I have reading I should be doing.”

His reluctance had nothing to do with the book on the table. For reasons he could not name, something about the young raven-haired beauty at the table gave Nikalys pause.

While traveling though the Southlands, the Isaac siblings and Broedi had interrupted a brigands’ attack on the Moiléne farm. They disposed of all but one of the bandits, saving Helene and Sabine from a horrible fate, but were too late to save their father. Upon learning that one brigand was still alive and unconscious, Sabine had slit the man’s throat without hesitation.

To this day, the image of her standing over the man, bloody knife in hand, still haunted Nikalys. Despite everything about Sabine that called to Nikalys, the cold callousness she displayed that day repelled him. He felt pushed and pulled at the same time.

Shortly after the Battle of Shorn Rise, he had discovered that Jak harbored feelings for her as well. Ever since, Nikalys avoided Sabine whenever possible. For the most part, his strategy worked. He had managed not to speak with Sabine since everyone said farewell to Broedi and Nundle.

Now, as he stared at the beauty, he tried to think of a way to wriggle free yet again.

Helene pulled his tunic again, pleading, “Please sit with us, Nik-lys?”

Powerless against the adorable four-year-old, Nikalys smiled.

“Sure. I can sit for a little while.”

Helene’s face lit up with pure joy.

“You can sit with me!”

Nikalys prayed the girl’s exuberance would help him get through what was sure to be an uncomfortable few minutes.

Carrying Helene in his arms, he walked to where Kenders and Sabine sat. His sister shot him a quick, sympathetic look as he neared, knowing the quiet turmoil he felt over Sabine. He had made her promise to never say a word to Jak or Sabine and, so far, it seemed as if she had kept her word.

As he approached, Sabine affixed an innocent smile on her face and said politely, “Good days ahead, sir. I do not believe we have met. My name is Sabine Moiléne.” While her words—spoken with a lilting, musical tone unique to her—were kind and courteous, she wielded them like a sharply pointed dagger.

Nikalys cringed. He supposed he deserved that.

Stopping beside her bench, he offered, “Good memories, Sabine. I apologize for my absence as of late. I have been very busy.”

Sabine cocked an eyebrow.

“Busy? Doing what?”

Nikalys paused a moment before answering, “Training?” Somehow his response came out as a question. He wondered if the excuse sounded as pathetic to her as it did him.

Sabine’s other eyebrow joined the first.

“You consider sitting around, watching others practice ‘training?’”

He forced a small grin.

“In a manner of speaking, yes. I still have to watch.”

Helene pointed to a spot on the bench next to Sabine and demanded, “Nik-lys, you sit here.” He wavered for a moment, long enough that he saw that Sabine noticed. The smile on her face twitched, shrinking the tiniest of margins.

With an internal, silent groan, Nikalys lifted one leg over the bench and sat, straddling the bench. Helene settled herself on the bench, trying to sit as Nikalys did, but her tan dress got in the way. She shimmied side-to-side, freeing her legs from the cloth to let them dangle in the air.

Nikalys made a show of adjusting Helene on the bench while trying to think of something to say. He wished more than ever that he had stayed in his chilly room.

Thankfully, Helene broke the awkward silence, saying, “See, Nik-lys? That’s my plate. There were six potatoes. Now there is only one.”

Glad to have something to focus on besides Sabine, Nikalys stared at the wooden platter as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen. Sure enough, there was a single small red potato drenched in a pool of butter and herbs along with two long, untouched carrots.

“What about the carrots, Helene?”

The little girl tilted her head up to stare at him, squishing her face together in an expression that revealed she did not hold a high opinion of the vegetable. Her answer was firm.

“They’re mushy.”

Nikalys leaned forward and whispered in Helene’s ear, “You know, I don’t like mushy carrots, either. I’ll tell the cook to make them a special way—my way. I’m sure you’ll like them.”

Helene scrunched up her face, considering his offer, before giving a short nod.

“I’ll try your way.”

Sabine let out a low huff, pretending to be perturbed.

“I’ve been trying to get her to eat carrots since we got here. You walk in and—poof!—she says she’ll eat carrots.” There was a friendly, teasing tone to her voice. “Too bad those are the last in the storerooms.”

Nikalys was relieved. He hated carrots.

He looked up at Sabine and smiled the first natural grin he had given her in turns. At first, she returned his smile with one of her own, but her expression quickly shifted to one of anxious interest. She stared at him beseechingly, asking a dozen unspoken questions with her eyes alone. As much as he wanted to look away, he could not. Something about Sabine mesmerized him.

Suddenly, Kenders stood up, cutting short the odd interlude. In a firm, decisive tone, she announced, “Helene, as you did such a wonderful job eating your potatoes, perhaps we should venture into the kitchen and see if they have any of those sweet cakes we were talking about earlier.”

Nikalys threw his sister a dagger-filled glare. He did not want to be alone with Sabine. Completely ignoring him, Kenders moved to the end of the table and held out her hand.

“Let’s go, dear.”

Helene freed herself from Nikalys’ suddenly tight embrace and was halfway off the bench when she stopped. Peering at her sister, she asked, “Sabine, may I?”

“Yes, Helene. But only one cake.” Turning around to face Kenders, Sabine reiterated the point. “Only
one,
Kenders
.
”

Nikalys’ sister nodded solemnly.

“Of course, Sabine. Only two.”

Helene giggled as she gripped Kenders’ hand and the two scurried away to the back of the commons.

They were less than a dozen paces away when Sabine turned back, stared straight at Nikalys, and said, “So, you’ve certainly been going out of your way to be everywhere I’m not. Care to share why?”

Nikalys blinked twice. Sabine did not waste any time. He opened his mouth, thinking he was going to protest, but not having any idea how he possibly could. She was right. He sat that way, gaping for a moment before pressing his lips shut. No lie would be believable, and the true reason—that he and Jak both had feelings for her—was not something he wished to discuss.

Wholly misinterpreting his hesitation, Sabine said in crisp, clipped tone, “Fine. If you won’t talk, I’ll find somewhere else to be.”

She put her hands on the table and began to stand up. Before he could stop himself, Nikalys reached out and placed his right hand on top of hers. He was surprised how soft her skin was.

“Don’t go,” he said.

Sabine halted, holding her half-standing position, and glanced at his hand on hers. As soon as she did, he pulled it back, embarrassed that he had been so presumptuous. She sat back down on the bench, her dark blue dress rustling quietly. Once seated, she folded her arms on the table and turned her gaze on him, eyebrow cocked. She waited with an expectant expression, her long, silky black hair framing her perfect face. She was going to make him speak first.

Nikalys took a deep breath, exhaled and tried to say something, anything.

“I…”

The single syllable hung in the air. He had no idea what to say.

Frustrated, he dropped his chin to his chest and stared at his hands, resting on the wooden bench. A flash of reflected firelight near his left hip caught his attention. His gaze flicked to regard the silver band encircling the white stone carving of the lion’s head pommel on his sword. He stared at the lion’s head, mouth permanently open in an eternal, silent roar, reminding him of his purpose, his duty.