The King of Anavrea (Book Two of the Theodoric Saga)

The King of Anavrea

Book Two of the Theodoric Saga

Written by Rachel Rossano

Published by Rachel Rossano

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Rachel Rossano

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form without the prior written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine, or journal.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This novel is a work of fiction. Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author. Similarities of characters to any person, past, present, or future, are coincidental.

Cover by An Author’s Art (©2014 Laura Miller)

Formatting by Rossano Designs

The Theodoric Saga

Book One - The Crown of Anavrea

Book Two - The King of Anavrea

Coming Soon

Book Three - The Reward of Anavrea

Also written by Rachel Rossano

Duty (First Novel of Rhynan)

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/281699

Wren: A Romany Epistle Novel

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/322579

The Crown of Anavrea (Book One of the Theodoric Saga)

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/96223

The Mercenary’s Marriage

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/83328

Word and Deed

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/121981

Exchange

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/92034

Also Coming Soon

Honor (Second novel of Rhynan)

The Making of a Man (A Rhynan Anthology)

Chapter One

Ireic Theodoric, King of Anavrea, couldn’t keep his eyes from the garishly patterned floor in the King of Sardmara’s main audience chamber. His gaze kept wandering back to it in morbid fascination. Gold, orange, and gray tiles marched across the expansive floor. Clashing with the scarlet drapes and the teal upholstery, the squares set his teeth on edge. Sardmara’s king must be color blind. It was the only possible explanation. He would ask Trahern’s opinion tomorrow when he arrived for the wedding.

Trid the eighth, of the house of Parnan, King of Sardmara, a herald announced. The double doors opposite the throne opened wide. A dark-haired man strode through them with a slender woman on his arm. Rich robes, expensive jewels, and cosmetics couldn’t disguise the fact the King of Sardmara was a man who enjoyed his food too much. Corpulent to the edge of obesity with a face permanently flushed from excessive wine, he moved toward his throne at a snail’s pace.

Welcome, my brother king. Trid nodded his condescension as he passed. My wife, Keyrain. He jutted his double chin in the direction of the woman on his arm. Now to business. You brought the modified treaty, I assume. He dragged his wife toward the pair of thrones before she could manage more than a wan smile.

Ireic felt for her. To be married to such a man must be difficult. His stomach tightened. He hoped the daughter took after her mother, not her father.

We have it right here, your majesty. Councilor Kline stepped forward. As spokesman for the council and one of the three council members in the Anavrean royal party, he kept track of the treaty and did most of the negotiating.

Read it again. Trid levered himself into his throne. His queen perched on the edge of her backless seat, tense as a deer ready to flee.

A treaty of military alliance between the sovereign nations of Sardmara and Anavrea...

Kline’s voice droned on, reading the precise language agreed upon after months of debate, arguing, and petty squabbles. That was just on the Anavrean side of the negotiations. Upon the presentation of the contract to the king, Trid had grunted, clarified three items, and agreed to sign.

As a show of good faith, Ireic Theodoric, King of Anavrea, agrees to take to wife as co-regent and life partner, Trid Parnan’s daughter, the Princess Lirth Yra Parnan.

The Queen Keyrain stirred.

King Trid thrust himself to his feet. Where do I sign?

But, sire, three pages still remain to be read.

Trid waved away the objection as though it were a gnat. I have heard enough. Come, my brother, let us ally ourselves. Where is my pen?

Footmen carried a table from the far wall. Inkwells and ornamental pens gilded with silver images of the Sardmaran goddess Yaren lay on a matching platter. One of the goddess’ three arms held the nib of the pen.

Trid signed first, with an inky flourish more T than any other letter. Ireic set his practiced signature below with a small measure of relief.

Anavrea was now safe from Braulyn, their eastern neighbor. Braulyn would think thrice before attacking with Sardmara as Anavrea’s ally on their opposite border.

The representative Anavrean council members signed after Ireic as witnesses. As Councilor Kline lifted his pen from his name, Ireic spoke the burden on his thoughts.

I wish to meet my bride.

He had kept his mouth closed. The country’s fate was of greater importance, but now it was time to assess his future daily life.

She could not attend us here. I sent word to have her made ready for you, but I haven’t received a response.

Where are her quarters so that I might arrange a meeting?

She will arrive any day now.

Suspicion tightened Ireic’s chest. She isn’t in residence?

Trid signaled a servant before extending a hand toward his wife. She resumed her place at his side, but tension pulled at her face before she turned it from Ireic’s view.

Lirth has been living at our northern estate for the past few years. She doesn’t enjoy court life and I indulge her wishes. What can one do? She is the only daughter I have. He stroked his wife’s hand, but the pressure of his touch didn’t appear to comfort her.

Queen Keyrain offered a strained smile. My daughter suffered a— She winced in pain as her husband gripped her hand hard. Swallowing, Keyrain forged onward. Her health is delicate. The northern air helps.

What malady could improve in the harsh, barren wilderness of the northern mountains? Ireic glanced at Kline and the other councilors, but they stood off to the side discussing something among themselves.

Then I shall ride out to meet her. After a week of sedate travel and three weeks of court functions and diplomatic meetings, Ireic ached for hard riding and fresh air. Send word that I will come and claim her. She does have suitable traveling accouterments for the journey to Anavrea, I assume?

Of course. Trid watched the shine of his wife’s curls as he fingered them. Are you hungry, my son? His eyes brightened as he looked up at Ireic. You need to add fat to that frame, boy. You present yourself like a common soldier. Look how he stands, my love, all straight lines and pointy angles. Hardly regal. Come. Trid threw a heavy arm across Ireic’s shoulder, forcing him to stoop to the elder man’s level. My cook will fill you out. You must partake of his honeyed peacock. So succulent, so delicate, it melts before it reaches your tongue.

Pulling Ireic away toward the dining room, Trid ignored all the attempts of the Anavrean councilors to catch his attention.

~~~~~~

The stone walls of the tower cooled Lirth’s hands in spite of the unseasonable warmth of the past week. She leaned her head against the rough stone. The surface chilled her fevered skin.

A distant clash of metal striking metal echoed in the corridor and stairwell outside the thick oak door of her room. The din grew closer, and she grasped at the calm she had felt moments ago.

I knew this was coming someday, yet– She caught herself mid-thought. She should be thankful that she had not lost hope. Frustration flared. Why must patience be so difficult?

The unseen Kurios did not respond. Still, she knew He was there and listening.

It isn’t that I am not thankful, she pointed out. I know well enough Your intervention is the sole reason I wasn’t killed. Only by Your grace am I isolated and not abused.

Shortly after her abduction five summers before, Baron Tor locked Lirth away in the cold tower room and forbade his men from speaking to her. By the grace of the Kurios, the baron chose not to execute her or hand her over to one of his men for sport. Still, she cherished the hope of freedom.

The clanging below ceased. A death cry echoed within the stone tower below her room.

The sound indicated someone would be seeking her out soon. She paced the distance from the wall to her cot on the opposite side of the room. Her heavy cloak tugged as it caught on the corner of the single chair as she passed. She jerked the material free with more force than necessary. The chair rocked on uneven legs.

On the other side of the door the wooden stairs creaked and groaned. The victor climbed to claim his prize.

Lirth's hands shook. She missed the first time when she reached for the small satchel that held her few worldly belongings. Upon finding it, she moved back toward the chair in the center of the room, fastening the pouch’s ties as she walked.

The door’s wooden bolt struck the floor outside with a clatter.

Her fingers found and traced the worn lip along the back of the chair, seeking the familiar scratches. She measured her breaths by counting to two to keep the panic from overwhelming her.

The door uttered a grating squeal as it opened. The dull thud of it striking the wall and rebounding echoed in the bare room.

I hope it hit him.

She drew back the thought. The Kurios would not send someone to harm her.

What about those that sent the rescuer? Will they hurt me?

Nothing.

I have come for Princess Lirth. A warm male voice spoke above her head and about four feet in front of her.

I am the one you seek.

 Lirth drew herself up and tilted her head elegantly to one side. The smell of sweat came with the force of his presence.

What is the name of the one who seeks me?

The slight change in his breathing warned Lirth of the man's astonishment before he spoke.

They did not tell you? Surprise lingered in his question, along with a hint of uncertainty.

I am told nothing.

She heard his movement a moment before he touched her.

What is your full name? Warm fingers caught her chin and gently forced her face to turn. Flinching at the touch, Lirth closed her eyes and obeyed the man's verbal and physical commands.

My name is Lirth Yra Parnan. I am the only daughter of Trid, King of Sardmara.

Silence descended between them. The strange man studied her. His grip on her face remained gentle but firm when she pushed against it. After she tried unsuccessfully to move away a second time, she submitted. She reached out with her senses to examine him in return.

He smelled of battle: blood, and dirt. Beneath these, though, she detected a waft of the soap he bathed with recently. His hands were long and lean. Although he held her face with determination, she doubted she would be tender or bruised later.

She guessed him to be about six feet tall, maybe more. He must be fit, because his breathing though accelerated was not rushed. Four flights of stairs stretched from the tower’s base to her room.

Unfortunately, she was not able to guess at age or features. She needed her own fingers and his permission for that.

When he finally spoke, his voice sounded calmer and quieter. The tone was controlled so she could not read it.

I am Ireic Iathan Theodoric, King of Anavrea. He paused. Open your eyes, Lirth, and look at me.

I cannot obey you.

Steeling herself for a blow, Lirth was stunned when he spoke instead.

Why not?

She opened her eyes to the darkness she had known most of her life.

I am blind.

~~~~~~

Ireic’s stomach ached.

The woman gazed straight before her with calm assurance. Her composure unnerved him considering she acted as though he was going to strike her a moment ago.

He dropped his hand and studied the top of her head. Shiny, dark brown hair caught the fading light as she turned toward the door. He registered the sounds of the creaking stairs and voices as he grappled with yet another betrayal.

Ireic!

His older brother stood in the doorway.

Behind Trahern, he could see the outline of his personal guard, Isack. Ireic returned his attention to his brother's strained features and tried to pull his anger back under control. This woman could not be blamed for her father’s dishonesty.

Ireic?

Trahern's blue eyes regarded him, questioning as he nodded toward Lirth. Ireic glanced back at his betrothed and encountered her upturned face.

Your brother? An amused smile pulled at her mouth and one eyebrow raised with her question.

How did you guess?

You sound alike. She turned to his brother. A pleasure to meet you, Prince Trahern. She dipped a low curtsey. Blind or not, she had been raised well at some point.

The pleasure is mine, Princess, but I must ask you to call me Trahern and later perhaps brother.

Ireic's heart sank as he watched first confusion and then surprise pass across her face as she realized the implications of the title. She dropped her chin.

Trahern caught Ireic's gaze over her bent head and silently asked the obvious.

Ireic shrugged his shoulders in reply.

He didn’t understand the situation any better than his brother.

After the treaty signing, Ireic had waited a day for Trahern to arrive before traveling to claim his bride. At the end of the four day journey, he found an empty house and a gardener keeping watch over the grounds. The truth was Princess Lirth hadn’t lived there for years, ever since her abduction by a northern baron named Tor.

Determined to finish his task and validate the treaty, Ireic, his brother, and half of the armed men with them continued north while the councilmen headed back west across Braulyn.

Now, frustrated and tired, Ireic was tempted to walk back down the tower stairs, out the main gate and disappear forever into the northern wastes. The council could run Anavrea just fine without him.

But what would happen to Lirth? He was not the only person being managed and manipulated.

He glanced at his bride. Her father valued her as a pawn in his political games, not even bothering to rescue her. More a victim than he in this political mess, she needed protection.

Am I a clause in an alliance agreement?

Lirth's bright, blue eyes drew Ireic's focus back to the present. For a woman just informed of her betrothal to a stranger, she appeared unusually calm. How could she act so serene?

Is our marriage part of an alliance agreement? Small lines appeared between her eyebrows.

Watching hesitancy and wariness play on her face, he replied. Your father offered your hand to me as a show of goodwill between our nations.

A muffled call from below saved him from additional explanation. Ireic, grateful for the excuse, turned his attention to the door.

Trahern spoke with one of the men in the stairwell. Ireic caught his eye.

We need to leave. Trahern answered his unspoken question. The men are concerned about your safety.

The tower would be easy to defend but hard to leave should more of Tor’s men arrive. Ireic nodded his agreement and faced Lirth. Behind him, Trahern gave orders to the men.

I am ready. She