Warrior by Violette Dubrinsky Read Free Book Online

body may not have the
    strength to fight it.” He paused, his
    gaze looking across the stream. On
    the other side was a thick cluster of
    trees. The hand around hers tightened,
    and Jaisyn hastily looked to him,
    searching his features for strain.
    Wilhelm looked well. There were
    some wrinkles on his face, but that
    was due to age, not illness. “I want
    you to promise me— promise me —
    that whatever happens after I am
    gone, you will accept. You must
    promise me, Jaisyn. Let that be the
    wish of an old man.”
    She didn’t answer soon enough
    because he released her hand to grip
    her shoulders. His eyes were almost
    wild as he repeated his entreaty.
    Feeling her eyes fill with tears,
    Jaisyn nodded. “I promise, Father.”
    She didn’t know when he pulled her
    into his arms, but she was glad for it.
    Inhaling deeply of the cinnamon scent
    that clung to him, she felt tears wet
    her cheeks.
    “That is good, Jaisyn. You will
    eventually come to understand that
    everything that I’ve done, I’ve done
    for you, your sisters, and our people.”
    “What have you done, Father?”
    Jaisyn asked hoarsely. Why was he
    certain she wouldn’t accept it unless
    he dragged a promise from her?
    As he gently pulled away and wiped
    at eyes so similar to hers, Wilhelm
    smiled sadly. “I have secured our
    future.”
    He said no more than that. Instead,
    he took her hand and led her back to
    the horses and the guard. They didn’t
    speak on the ride back to the castle,
    but Jaisyn couldn’t keep her eyes off
    of him. Not only did Wilhelm appear
    healthy, he’d ridden for two hours
    today
    without
    complaint.
    There
    wasn’t even a hint of strain across his
    face.
    Her father would be fine. No doubt
    he only wanted her prepared in the
    event of his death, but he would be
    fine. They had years left with their
    only surviving parent. Years.
    Unable to shake the chill in her
    body, Jaisyn made her way to the
    Temple as soon as she returned to the
    castle. On her knees before the stone
    statue of Lyria, Jaisyn clasped her
    hands together and began to pray. She
    prayed that her father beat his illness,
    that whatever he’d done to secure
    their future would be put off by his
    new health.
    Somewhat
    appeased
    afterward,
    Jaisyn stood and took to her
    chambers. Tomorrow, she would
    return to the Temple, and ask the
    High Priestess to pray with her.
    Something was coming their way, and
    she was positive she wouldn’t like it.
    Chapter 2

    Lytheria,
    Two weeks later…

    The Lytherians were in mourning.
    They had just buried their king, as
    they had buried his ancestors, in a ring
    of fire. His soul would travel to the
    heavens where he would be greeted in
    the Hall of Lyria by his royal
    ancestors. As was tradition, the
    Lytherians would remain in dark
    clothing for five more days.
    No more than a week after she’d
    given her promise, Wilhelm passed on.
    It had been so sudden.
    She’d sat next to him at supper the
    night before, debating the merits of
    the sword versus the battle-ax—he’d
    given the scholarly interpretation while
    she’d
    promoted
    the
    warrior’s
    approach—and he’d been healthy and
    happy. Wilhelm had even danced with
    the noblewomen and villagers who
    took to the floor.
    Early that morning, she’d been
    awakened to the news that her father
    was ill. Jaisyn had rushed to his
    chambers, and once there, it had
    taken the stone wall to keep her
    standing. Instead of the healthy man
    she’d eaten with, the person on the
    bed was but a shell. His eyes were
    sunken, his entire body pale and
    wracked with shivers. Though he was
    awake, he barely seemed conscious.
    The
    apothecaries
    and
    surgeons
    gathered had all said the same thing. It
    would be a miracle if he survived. He
    had not.
    Before the first shaft of sunlight
    announced dawn, Wilhelm St. Ives,
    King of Lytheria, was dead.
    His daughters and a few of his loyal
    advisers had been with him. When
    he’d breathed his last, everyone had
    shed tears.