Chapter 17

Daelia was dumbstruck. Rouen was a Vitalis? Elian’s brother?

“How could you possibly be related to those…those…?” She managed in a strangled voice, though the word that correctly described what she thought of Elian and Livea escaped her. Suddenly she was picturing her friend among those at the feast that evening—a thought she found faintly repulsive.

“They are not my family!” Rouen growled, “They betrayed me—Elian and my father.”

“Your father? You’ve never mentioned him.”

“Elian was always my father’s favorite. If he ever did really care for me at all, he certainly didn’t after…” He stopped mid-sentence, “Let’s just say he was all too pleased when I gave him a reason to lock me up and hand the Lordship over to my brother.”

“Your own father locked you up here? I thought that was Elian,” her head was spinning. What else had he been holding back from her?

“No, my father convinced everyone, even my own mother, that I had gone insane and kept me confined to my chambers for months before I managed to evade the guard posted outside my door. I made it as far as the armory. When they caught me, my father ordered the guard to break my leg to keep me from running again—then he locked me up here.” Rouen shrugged and took his seat again on the bed, “I supposed justice was served in some capacity; he died only a year later.”

“Is your mother still alive?”

“No, she died shortly after my father. Elian told her that I was also dead. Since then his only concern has been to make sure that I stay here, out of his way.”

Sorrow enveloped Daelia; her heart ached for the betrayal that Rouen had known from his own family. Such a thing she could hardly comprehend. What sort of monster would commit against his own son the crimes that the elder Lord Vitalis had been guilty of? What father would encourage such hatred between his children?

She could feel the pain emanating from him—it mixed with her own. The injustices they had both faced were overwhelming. She tried unsuccessfully to stop the tears from forming and clamped both hands over her mouth to silence the sobs that threatened to escape. Crying wasn’t something that she allowed herself to do very often, especially not in front of another person.

Despite the efforts, Rouen must have sensed her reaction, “Don’t cry for me. Those tears were shed long ago.”

Taking deep breaths, Daelia tried to compose herself. The sorrow wasn’t just for Rouen, it was for her as well—for her family, her parents, and her loneliness. She wanted to tell him about Duard, about everything, but she didn’t. It wasn’t the right time; he needed encouragement, not more burdens.

For the first time in a while, Rouen sat perfectly still, buried deep in his thoughts. So many secrets were hidden behind those eyes, too much pain lay masked in their sightless gaze. She looked at him, seeing not the son of a lord, but a man who had lost all that was dear to him, just like her. But what could she do to help him? I couldn’t even help myself.

Suddenly the room fell away from view in a familiar cascade of strange half-pictures and whirling colors. There were no sounds, only words like verses on a page:

Night nears its end.
One becomes two,
Two becomes three,
Three to secure the freedom of many.

Those words disappeared and were replaced by others:

The exile shall soon be set free,
And shall not die in the dungeon,
Nor shall my provision be lacking.

Though the vision had lasted only a matter of seconds, as the room came back into normal view, the words imprinted themselves in Daelia’s memory. The detail of the vision was far greater than any other she had experienced, and the authority behind the words, though their meaning was cloaked, left a pressing weight on her. Three to secure the freedom of many…What could it mean?

Trembling a bit from the powerful vision, she left her place on the pew to sit down next to Rouen and took his large hand in hers. Oblivious to what had just occurred, but still solemn, he turned his body to face her, leaving his hand cradled in her grasp.

“Rouen, I care not whether you believe that Deus can help us or not. I know and believe that He will get us both out of here, and when He does, you will know that what I say is true. What you have suffered, what I have suffered, will not be in vain. I cannot say how I know, I just do. You were born the eldest son for a reason, and you have been brought here for a reason. So have I, though I certainly don’t understand the purpose of it yet.”

Night-blue eyes roamed over her face, trying, straining to see what they could not, “When you say that, I can almost believe you.”

“You should. You will.”

His mouth twitched upwards, “You have become quite sure of yourself all the sudden. Are you always this direct?”

“Well…only sometimes.” Then she remembered his position in contrast to her own, “I hope you don’t mind me speaking to you like this—as though we are the same.”

“Daelia, how are different? We are both prisoners, trapped behind stone walls, and denied the freedom we want by a life neither of us wished for. We are equals—in intelligence, in the desire for knowledge, and in the depth of our loneliness. Now we share a common danger in Elian, and I would dare say even in Livea.”

She sat very still as Rouen’s free hand raised, hesitating for a moment before gently cupping around her face. Soon the hand she held left her grasp to join the other. Ever so slowly they felt out the lines of her cheekbones, eyes, nose, mouth, and ran over her hair, held up loosely in its combs. After a long moment they dropped back into his lap.

“Thank you,” his voice was just above a whisper.

“For what”

“For letting me see you.” He didn’t mention that it was the first physical contact he’d had with another human being in…well…longer than person should be forced to live without.

But she had noticed the roughness in his voice and for a moment was grateful that he wasn’t able to see the blood that had flooded her cheeks at his touch. “But what do you look like?” she forced a light laugh in an attempt to clear the tension, “I can’t tell under that beard! And how long has it been since your hair was cut?”

A bit of a smile appeared at the corners of Rouen’s eyes. Standing to his feet he held out a hand to her, “Come, enough has been said for one night. You’d best get some rest; the guest’s will be leaving tomorrow.

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It was late, long past midnight, when the latch on the chapel door clicked loudly in the silent hallway where all the guests had retired to bed. As quiet as she had tried to be, she was sure the sound would have roused someone. Standing motionless in the shadows of the doorway, she listened for movement. Nothing, only faint snoring came from behind the nearest chamber door.

Her visit to the chapel could have waited; she could have gone when the sun was up and the guests were gone, but she was very glad that she hadn’t. What she had learned made the loss of sleep worthwhile.

Just as she came upon the first two side-by-side chamber doors, a shadowy figure stepped out from one the shadow of one of the doorways. The person, a large man, stood directly in front of her, blocking the hall. Nothing except the doorway to the chapel lay behind: she was trapped. Instinctively, Daelia’s body tensed up, ready to either run or fight. The man stepped forward, close enough that she could see his face in the weak light emitted by a single torch halfway down the passage.

“Where are you off to at this hour?” asked the familiar man in low tones, a slight smirk on his face.

She recognized him as one of the rowdy lords from the feast. “Please, let me pass, my lord,” she replied firmly, her heart pounding

“Why the hurry?” He stepped closer and placed his hand against the wall to block her path.

Daelia attempted to duck under his arm, but he grabbed her belt and swung her roughly against the wall.

“Let go of me! If you don’t, I swear I’ll…” but his hand clamped over her mouth before she could finish her threat. Both of her arms were pinned to the cold stone, and though she kicked and struggled to get loose, he was much stronger than she.

“You’re coming with me,” the man hissed.

Just then a figure appeared behind him. A large hand clasped the brutes shoulder, spinning him forcefully towards the dark form. The young lord seemed about to send his fist into the face of the other person, but stopped suddenly.

“Let the girl go, Tanen.”

“But Milord, I was just about to…”

“Do as I said! You have no right to detain the wench I sent for. Now go!”

Reluctantly, Lord Tanen released his hold on Daelia’s mouth and arm and pushed her away roughly. “Forgive me, my Lord. I had no idea this one was already spoken for,” he sneered.

She and the shadowed figure watched as Tanen took the few strides to his chamber door and angrily slammed it shut behind him. “Don’t worry, he shouldn’t bother you again,” the man said quietly but firmly.

“Thank you, sir. I…” Suddenly the man stepped forward into the dim torchlight where she could see his face more clearly, “You!”