The Forgotten Crown (2019) Book 1 of The Broken Crown Series

46. A light in the dark

A great ceremony was taken up honoring all who had passed, before leaving Barund, thanking those both great and small. The road to Draesia was bittersweet. All who came knew they did so on the actions of many who were no longer present.

King Feldin remained true to his word, sending a large pledge of men, including Garen, who would not be swayed from his duty. "Why?" Sirena asked of him, surprised the Prince still wished to journey with them.

"I must see this land for myself. Bea gave her life for it, so I must see that her vision does not die with her."

The dust from the road and the myriad of horses and men kept them from speaking any more candidly but she determined to spend more time with him in the future. Garen had rescued her even as she had brought war to his doorstep, had loved her best friend even upon death and still he remained. What truer friend could she wish to find?

They camped along the River Dorn as often as possible, following its steady course east. Sirena sought one out whom she had not spoken to at length since their departure from Thor Grind. She found him on the outskirts of the camp leaning against a large boulder, a small fire glowing at his feet as he stared off into the night.

"May I join you?"

"Of course, your highness." A small smile graced his lips. He made room for her in front of the fire, offering part of his cloak for warmth.

She made a face. "Must you call me that?" she asked knowing what his answer would be.

He chuckled, "I had a feeling you would not like it."

"You were right." Sirena simply could not get accustomed to the title. She felt like a pretender, an interloper. Each time she was addressed so, she resisted the urge to turn around in search of said person. Sirena truly could not be the one whom they addressed in such a manner?

Donovan and Sirena grew silent for a time enjoying the rare stillness of the moment. "What is it like?" He gave her a questioning look. "Draesia. What is it like?"

Donovan stared deep into the fire, a faraway look in his green eyes. "Beautiful. Wild." Sirena gazed at him expectantly, his face half cast in shadow and the opposite lit by the dancing flames of the fire. The silence grew and when no further explanation came she sighed in resignation.

"It's unlike any other place I've been." The longing in his voice was mirrored in his eyes so passionately she almost felt as if she were intruding on something private. "It is a vibrant country full of color and life. In spring the land blossoms like a giant flower, the air so fragrant you feel as if you could live off the scent alone. In the summer the moors sing as the winds pass, sounds more delightful than any instrument could hope to produce."

He paused a moment and turned to her, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper. Sirena had to scoot closer to hear him speak. "In winter a great silence fills the land, the North wind sweeps over hill and loch, tree and stream and all becomes still, covered in white. As a boy I used to walk through the wood near my home and all was a sea of glass, tinkling like the tiny silver bells my mother would string in her hair during Yuletide." Donovan's gaze was wide and glassy. Sirena longed to touch him, to comfort him, but dared not break whatever spell held him captive.

"In autumn I would follow my brother, Alexander, and my father through the fields at harvest time, sneaking sweet corn and frost berries and I would beg them to take me on the Hunt. I remember the first time my father let me ride with them, how proud he was and how excited I was. I was determined to bring home the legendary white hart and be the hero of the Hunt. At twelve years old I had rather grand visions" He gave a small chuckle. "Grand visions indeed." The sadness in his voice did not go unnoticed.