Confident

Two messengers had been sent ahead, to the generals under his command and to his father. Malav was not yet King, but when the gods had given him the weapon he had been given control of the armies of his father. He intended to have them ready. His father needed to be informed as well, a royal wedding was something that must be prepared for.

He had ordered a contingent of men to join him at Gaelel, they would need to be concealed as travelers or mercenaries, but he wanted them there. He had no intention of returning home without his falconet.

His sharp mind had already begun to plan, the Keam would certainly oppose him, but not all of his allies would be eager to embrace war with Cearazon. He would have to allow them to make the first attack, but he would be prepared for it. He would leave a soft spot for them to strike and when they did, he would show them why war with the north was best avoided.

Malav was confident. His gaze turned to the staff leaned against the wall next to his bed at the Inn. Choices. This one had been easy. With his appearance and temper, there had been few women willing to seek his consideration. They had been ambitious and could have held his interest, if they hadn’t expected him to be grateful for the crumbs of attention they threw him. This one was blessed by the goddess of song, and had dared to be furious with him for interrupting her theft.

That she sang of battle and of the scourge of Luzoron, only made her more appealing. Trying to take what was his carried a price, and she would pay it. A lifetime by his side. He took up the staff and sat on the bed, gripping it as he murmured the falconet’s name again, “Charyic.”

She was back in the Light Bringer’s armor for warmth and protection. Branches had been half woven, half wedged at a safe height in a tree and she was curled against the trunk. She was only half drowsing, gazing up at a large bird that had taken up a perch nearby and peered down at her curiously. It began to preen its feathers and her eyes drifted closed.

In the space between waking and sleep he spoke softly to her, “My thieving wife, do you have any wishes for our wedding?” Gentle teasing was the way women had most often approached him, and it was the only way he could think of to provoke her into giving him her attention at such a distance. He heard the murmur of song in response, softly and sleepily slurred, he understood only, “Birds in flight on the winds of war, joy on the wing, love forever more.”

This sleepy snippet of song inflamed him.“Wife. Charyic. My falconet.” Words of love and desire were beyond him and he could not speak.

Cerik cleared his throat and Malav had to restrain himself from killing the man where he stood. He had been pulled from her side, from the feeling of her sleeping mind and he burned.

“Cerik.” The menace in his voice was palpable.

The older man swallowed and bowed his head, “You asked to be informed immediately if anything was heard, your Highness. A Light Bringer’s horse and sword were being sold not far from here, I took the liberty of purchasing them, and confirmed that the girl is on her way toward the Minasmer Mountains.”

Malav took a deep breath. “The horse and sword might be useful to bargain with in Gaelel. The Light Bringer will want them returned.” He reluctantly set the staff aside. “I know where my wife is, you need not trouble yourself with that. But… I do have a pressing need.” He paused and Cerik waited patiently. “What does a man say to a woman when he wishes her to love him?”

“Ah.” Cerik smiled faintly lifting his head. “It depends on the woman. Some love flattery, some poetry, some prefer truth artfully spoken. Regardless, it must come from the man himself, my Prince.”

The sound that came from the covered prince was half a growl, half a grunt. “Find me a book of poetry.”

Cerik bowed his head again. “At once.”

Words could be learned. Malav was confident.