Free Lonen's War by Jeffe Kennedy Page B

impossible
place.
    The clank of weapons fell from cacophonic
levels to bearable. Enough for the men to hear Lonen as he called
the command to desist but remain alert. He pushed to the fore,
ready for a trick. If she did wield magic she might be able to
obliterate them all, and he’d be responsible because he could have
killed her at her window.
    All for youthful idealism and a soft heart
he’d long since thought shredded by the golems’ claws.
    Quiet spread outward, reverse ripples that
stilled the fighting, bringing a welcome respite as she approached.
Men continued to face off, holding their poses, ready to reengage
at the slightest hint of betrayal.
    She rode a pale horse, decked out in
exotically smooth fabrics that caught the sun and shone with
reflected light like Grienon, all in shades of cream and crystal
white. The gown she wore distorted the slight frame he recalled
from her silhouette, an impressive display of wide shoulders and
voluminous skirts. It put him in mind of a small cat arching its
spine, every hair on end to appear bigger and more ferocious. She
dripped with laces and shimmering pearls, jewels from the sea he’d
only read about or seen in illustrations.
    That bright rain of copper hair was the only
color about her, a stubborn note of resistance against her vigorous
demonstration of surrender. That and the armed guard who walked at
her stirrup with a determined mien, and desperate emotion in his
eyes. He loved his mistress, whoever she might be.
    The white dragonlet on her forearm moved,
spreading its wings and blinking at him with those green eyes so
brilliant they vibrated against her vivid copper hair.
    Lonen tore his gaze away from the mythical
creature and forced himself to focus on the woman’s face, to read
her intent. Though if she opened the earth beneath them, there was
precious little he’d be able to do. Rationally, he should not let
her approach.
    But he seemed to be far beyond rational
thought.
    Normally her skin would be golden-kissed by
the sun, he guessed, but something had made her unnaturally pale.
Lines of strain rode her forehead and bracketed her mouth. She
looked to be in pain, possibly injured in the fighting? But she
didn’t look like a fighter, all soft limbs and graceful
slenderness. Young, too. Younger than he’d first thought, when he’d
glimpsed the curves of her woman’s body in the candlelight.
    Barely more than a girl, in truth,
especially to be apparently negotiating a surrender.
    But then he wasn’t that far into his own
majority. Only last season his father had scolded him about
flirting with girls more than he practiced with his axe. How things
changed in a short time. Look at him—war-weary and in the position
to discuss terms for the Destrye armies. War had aged him far
beyond the demands of daily life. What he wouldn’t give for those
irresponsible days.
    The woman reined up before him, her eyes
narrowed. Another sign of pain.
    “I believe you can understand my words?” she
asked in an accented but clear use of the trade tongue.
    “I do. What is your intention?”
    “I will speak with the leader of these
men—is that you?”
    “Yes. I am Prince Lonen, son of King
Archimago of the Destrye. In his absence, I may speak for him.” He
hoped. His father was in no position to disagree and Lonen would
pass off negotiations to him soon enough.
    “I am…” The woman swayed a little in the
saddle and her guard cast her a concerned glance. She recovered,
however, straightening her spine. “I am Princess Oria, interim
ruler of Bára. I wish to negotiate a surrender.”
    A susurrus of surprise ran through her
people. Not what they’d expected, despite the banner she carried.
Probably, in their arrogance, they’d never witnessed or even
contemplated such extremity. Well, they would now.
    “Total surrender,” he stated, his voice
harsh to his own ears. “You, your people, and your city agree to
complete subjugation to King Archimago of the Destrye. In