Wager Me A Kiss

Many, many thanks to Snidne, StoryJunkie, and Moonstar for their marvelous reveiws! You guys sure know how to keep a girl inspired. Smiles and confetti to all of you!

Love,
Falcon

Wager Me A Kiss

Chapter Three: Julen

Julen awoke early the next morning, a little sore from his night spent on the floor. However, when he pulled himself to his feet, and stretched his stiff muscles, he felt the blood start to flow back into them.

From the kitchen, he could hear the clatter of pans as Rosemary began preparations for their morning meal. But he couldn’t yet smell any porridge cooking. Since that meant breakfast wouldn’t be ready for a little while, Julen decided to clean himself up. Without bothering to get dressed, he pushed open the cottage’s wooden door, and stepped outside.

Dawn was just a thin line on the horizon, like a woman’s tight-lipped smile. As Julen walked across the garden, drops of dew stuck to his bare feet, and a slight breeze snuck through the herb beds. But the summer air had remained warm all night, so even the wind didn’t make him shiver. For a moment, Julen paused, and drew a deep breath. Everything always smelled so fresh in the morning. As if during the dark hours, while everyone slept, God made the world all over again.

Julen’s predecessor had dug his own well in the back of the cottage. Reaching it, Julen tossed the wooden bucket down into its depths. Then, once he heard the bucket splash, he took hold of the rope tied to its handle, and began to haul it back up. Even summer never did much to heat the well water, which came from a river flowing deep beneath Domele. As Julen dumped it over his head, the sudden chill jolted his senses, and raised tiny bumps on his skin. Julen gasped. Shaking his head, he sent drops of water flying in all directions. God -- that felt good. Bracing. Twice more, Julen lowered the bucket, and poured the cold water over his body.

Finally satisfied that he was clean, Julen brushed away the water which still clung to his skin. Then, pausing only to pluck one of the wild daisies that grew in clumps around the well, he headed back to the cottage.

As Julen entered, his nose immediately filled with the rich, nutty scent of cooking porridge. Carefully, he set down the daisy, and put on his clothes from the day before. Then, retrieving his flower, he went into the kitchen.

Rosemary was bent over the fire, stirring the contents of an iron pot. Momentarily unwilling to disturb her, Julen simply watched. Even though he couldn’t see his wife’s face, he could imagine her frown of concentration, and the slightly faraway look in her eyes. She always made even the most mundane tasks look like acts of grace. Thinking about how hard Rosemary worked, Julen wished he had more to give her. Was Sebastian right? Did she secretly pine for jewels and fancy dresses? Should he have done more to win that necklace for her?

No. The prize was pretty, but the cost had been too high. As much as Rosemary might enjoy the necklace, how would she have felt when she leaned that he’d gambled something more precious than any piece of jewelry could ever be? That he’d staked her on the outcome of a game, as if she was nothing more than his chicken, or his cow, or his whore? No, for now they would have to content themselves with gifts they could afford. In time, he would find a way to give her more. A way to reward her for everything she’d already given him.

Slipping up behind his wife, Julen brushed back strands of her long brown hair, and attempted to tuck the daisy behind her ear. But when he touched her, Rosemary screamed in surprise.

“Mary!” Quickly, Julen wrapped his arms around her, and held her close. “Mary, it’s me. It’s Julen.”

“Julen?” At the sound of his voice, she seemed to grow calm again. “I – I thought you were someone else.”

“I’m so sorry,” Julen apologized. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that.” Like a peace offering, he held up the daisy. “I just wanted to give you this.”

Smiling, Rosemary took the flower, and curtsied. “Thank you, My Lord.”

“Speaking of royalty, is Sebastian still asleep?”

Rosemary shook her head. “When I woke up this morning, I went to check on him. He was already gone.”

“Oh.” Julen felt slightly hurt that Sebastian had left without even bothering to say goodbye. But then, what did he expect? Sebastian was a prince. Doubtlessly, he had a great many important things to do. “Well, more food for us, I suppose.”

After eating, Julen kissed Rosemary goodbye, and headed for the church. The morning hymn needed to be sung. And he still hadn’t helped Benedetto select music for the upcoming service. Considering all the work that lay ahead of them, Julen wasn’t surprised to find Benedetto waiting for him outside the church door. But the old priest’s expression carried the weight of an unfamiliar sadness.

“Julen? I need to speak with you.”

“Of course. What is it?”

Instead of answering, Benedetto turned around, and led Julen inside. The church was quiet, as it had been on so many similar mornings. Sunlight poured down over the old wooden pews, and then dripped off them, forming bright pools of gold on the stone floor. But something felt wrong. Something intangible was missing, like fire that failed to warm what it touched, or water that no longer tasted wet. Without understanding why, Julen shivered. Then, his gaze reached the altar, and he nearly fell to his knees. The box was gone.

“The wings,” Julen gasped. “Did Amaranda--? Did she return? Did she give them to another?”

“Perhaps, in a fashion, she did. Even after all these years, the ways of angels remain a mystery to me.” Benedetto sighed. “The young prince came here this morning. It is his opinion that such powerful relics shouldn’t be hidden away where few can ever see them. He plans on taking the wings to Theodosia, to be placed in the great cathedral.”

Julen couldn’t believe the horror of what he’d just heard. “But he can’t! Amaranda herself chose this place. A man has no right to challenge the will of an angel.”

“I fear that our prince is not overly concerned about the will of angels.”

“No. It isn’t right.” Julen remembered his evening spent with Sebastian. The prince hadn’t seemed like a tyrant or a madman. This must to be a mistake, a simple misunderstanding. “Has he gone yet? I could talk to him. I could try to explain why he can’t take the wings.”

“He hasn’t gone yet. To tell you the truth, I wish that he had.” Taking Julen’s arm, Benedetto led him over to one of pews, and gestured for him to sit. When Julen obeyed, the priest sat beside him.

“Perhaps it’s blasphemy for me to say this,” Benedetto admitted, “but I’m not overly concerned about the wings. They’re just things. Very sacred things, yes. But just things. I would let the prince carry them off, and be glad about it, if only he would leave behind the rest of what he plans on taking.”

Julen’s mind raced. He imagined Sebastian ordering the entire church to be disassembled, stone by stone, in order to bring it back to Theodosia. “What? What else can he possibly lay claim to?”

“You. The prince has requested that you and Rosemary accompany him back to the capital. As his guests.”

For a moment, Julen couldn’t reply. He felt the grains of his life draining away like sand in an hourglass. “But we can’t leave. I have my duties to the church. And there’s the garden to care for. And our home. You explained that to him, didn’t you? You told him why we need to stay?”

Benedetto looked grim. “One does not explain such things to a member of the royal house.”

“But he can’t make us! We’re not his...” Julen grappled for the right word. The one he found seemed so distasteful that he nearly spat it, eager to get it out his mouth. “We’re not his slaves.”

“That’s true,” Benedetto agreed. “The laws of Eldoris grant you the status of a free man. But the laws of Eldoris also grant our young prince the power of life and death over you. So, really, it becomes a matter of semantics.”

“What...what should I do?”

“Go with him. If not for your own sake, then for Rosemary’s. No woman should see her husband executed. Or watch him be hauled off in chains.”

A great weight seemed to press down on Julen. His body slumped forward, and he just barely managed to catch his face in his hands. Was it only yesterday? Was it only yesterday that his life had seemed safe, and stable, and sane? “This is my fault,” he groaned. “For no better reason than a whim, I invited Sebastian into my home. And now it’s come to this.”

“Don’t blame yourself.” Another sigh escaped Benedetto, and he gave Julen an encouraging pat on the back. “You were just a babe when you parents placed you in my care. As you grew, I came to feel the way a father might feel, and I hoped you would spend the rest of your life in Domele. Then you opened your mouth to sing, and that voice sprang out. It made me afraid.”

“Afraid?” Julen lifted his head from his hands and gave Benedetto an inquiring glance.

“Great gifts so often belong only to those with great destinies to fulfill. And great destinies are cruel things. Still, I had hoped you might be spared.” Benedetto shook his head. “But after what happened with Rosemary...that should have told me for certain, I suppose.”

Julen remembered Rosemary laying on the church floor – just fourteen years old, her body ravaged by the wasting sickness, and still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “Do you...? Do you think Amaranda is punishing me? For what I did then?”

“It’s possible that the two events are related. But punishing you? No. Amaranda loves you. Never forget it. She sacrificed her wings to help mankind, and if you don’t turn your faith away from her, she will sacrifice so much more to protect you.”

Then, to Julen’s great surprise, Benedetto embraced him in a tight hug. “Be safe, my son. Follow your heart. No matter where it leads you.”

As Julen walked out of the church, it seemed like the whole world had dissolved into a strange, grey fog. Nothing was real anymore -- not even his own emotions. Struggling to regain some semblance of calm, Julen paused to stroke the bright pink blossom of a summer rose. But its petals felt like dead skin against his trembling fingers.

How could this be happening? How could he possibly tell Mary that they were about to be ripped away from everything they’d ever known? The very idea of it nearly choked him. But maybe he could still find a way to protect her. Maybe, if he put the right spin on things, he could spare her from the fear that filled him. Stopping just outside of the cottage, Julen closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer. Please. Give me the strength to do this. And forgive me for the lies I’m about to tell. Then, he pushed open the door.

“Julen? Are you back already? You’ve been spending less time in church than a grasshopper in a hot kettle.”

“I...” Julen’s first effort came out scratchy and soft. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “I have some exciting news.”

“Do we have another royal guest?” Rosemary stepped into the entrance hallway, still holding the dress she’d been mending. “Who is it this time?” she teased. “King Ilarius himself?”

Somehow, her smile gave him more strength than any prayer ever could. Feigning an enthusiasm he didn’t feel, Julen walked forward, and kissed his wife on the cheek. “You’re joking. But, believe it or not, we may be dining with the king soon enough. Sebastian invited us to accompany him back to Theodosia.”

The partially mended dress slipped from Rosemary’s hands, falling to the floor with a ghostly rustle. “Theodosia?”

“Won’t that be a wonderful opportunity? I can visit the great cathedral; maybe even see the books of knowledge. You can mingle with the royal court. Meet the people that Sebastian told us about. There will be feasts, carnivals, dances -- all manner of amusements. And we’ll be Sebastian’s guests for all of it.”

“Theodosia,” Rosemary repeated, and the delight in her voice reassured Julen that he’d managed to make their forced departure seem like an adventure. “But who will feed the chickens while we’re away? And the roof needs to be patched. And -- oh!” Rosemary clutched at her skirt as if it was burning her. “I don’t have a thing to wear. I can’t share the company of noble ladies dressed like this.”

Julen wanted to tell his wife that she made any outfit look beautiful, even the sooty rags she wore while cleaning the chimney. But two years of marriage had taught him something about the female mind. “Benedetto promised to deal with the chickens, and the roof, and anything else that comes up. As for clothing, I’m sure Sebastian will buy us whatever we need. We’re his guests. He’ll take care of us.” Julen didn’t know why he believed that, but he did. “Now, go get a few things. We won’t need much. And we don’t want to keep Sebastian waiting.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

While Rosemary hurried off to pack, Julen assembled some of his own possessions: a change of clothes, food for the journey, and his small hymn book. Absently, he flipped through the book’s carefully copied pages, and let his mind dwell on the man who had made it. The man who had raised him. He’d never thought of Benedetto as a father. But now, about to face the world on his own, Julen realized how much he’d always relied on the old priest for guidance and advice, even on matters that had little to do with religion. The prospect of facing this ordeal without his wisdom seemed unbearably daunting.

“Julen?”

Forcing a smile, Julen turned to face Rosemary. But she knew him too well. Now that the news of their trip had settled in a bit, she seemed to sense something bothering her husband.

“Julen?” she repeated, taking his hand in hers. “Are you sure you want to do this? I know how much you love it here.”

Julen glanced around, letting his eyes linger on the familiar surroundings. The simple, sturdy furniture, and the unevenly worn floor, bearing its map of all the paths they’d walked across it. “We’ll come back,” he murmured. “We’ll grow old here. And we’ll tell our children wild tales about the time Prince Sebastian himself invited us to visit Theodosia.”

Rosemary nodded. But as they stepped outside, clutching their small bundles, Julen couldn’t shake the feeling that he would not see his home again.

They found Sebastian in the town square with the rest of his hunting party. Several regal men and women stood around him, while a dozen others scrambled to complete the final preparations needed before departure. As Julen drew closer to the nobles, he couldn’t help noticing that even their horses, draped in elaborately woven coverings and wearing muzzles made from gleaming silver, were dressed more richly than he and Rosemary. A fact which, he feared, had not escaped his wife. She seemed to grow more nervous with each step they took. Determined to continue his charade of bravery, Julen guided her through the chaos of dashing servants, and addressed Sebastian with considerably more calm than he felt. “We’re ready to go.”

Sebastian grinned, and Julen wondered if the prince had any idea how reluctant his guests felt. Did it ever occur to him that their acceptance of his invitation might be anything less than wholehearted? For a moment, Julen considered speaking honestly with Sebastian. But how could he? When he’d already lied to Rosemary? When he’d already told her how excited he felt to have this chance? That was the problem with choosing deception’s path. Thorns surrounded it on all sides, and once tread upon, no one could step off of it without tearing themselves up.

With a sweep of his hand, Sebastian presented them to the assembled nobles. “My friends, this is Julen, and this is his wife, Rosemary. But I won’t waste anyone’s time by making more detailed introductions. You’ll have ample opportunity to get to know them, and they you, during our journey back to Theodosia.”

One of the women, a tall blonde with hair twisted into two tight braids, raised her eyebrow. Defiantly, Julen met her gaze -- dared her to say something disparaging about his wife. But perhaps she never intended any such cruelty, because her inquiring look quickly dissolved into a smile. “Julen and Rosemary. Well, since Sebastian has seen fit to give you my horse, I’ll ‘waste’ enough time to introduce you to it. Blizzard can be a bit skittish around strangers.”

With that, she beckoned them over toward a pure white stallion. But before they reached it, Julen’s gaze strayed to a different horse, and the box being strapped to its back. Amaranda’s wings. Pulled by the tug of his heart, Julen walked over to it. If fate, or destiny, or random chance demanded that he take this journey, at least he could look after the relics. Offer them the reverence that they deserved. Placing his hands on the metal casing, Julen began to sing the morning hymn, as he had done on so many mornings before this one.

But this morning, the song sounded different. No longer restrained by church walls, the notes flew from his lungs, and spread out in the open air, filling the sky like a flock of wild birds. The sheer power of them scared Julen. He felt as if he’d wakened something deep inside – something which, until this moment, had only been sleeping. And maybe he had. Because this was no longer a simple song of praise and contentment. This was fear, and anger, and grief. This was a prayer for guidance, a plea for faith, and a demand to know what the hell he’d ever done to deserve being torn from his home. And somewhere, at the very core of everything, it was the sound of him falling to his knees and weeping.

When he finished, there wasn’t a sound. The nobles gazed at him with a variety of expressions, while the servants gaped in open-mouthed astonishment, their tasks completely forgotten. Julen winced, acutely aware of each stare directed at him. Eager to remove himself from the center of attention, he hurried over to Blizzard, and helped Rosemary mount the white horse. Then he swung himself up behind her.

By now, Sebastian had recovered himself. Snapping out a few curt orders, he spurred the servants back into action, and the hunting party was soon ready to depart. Julen wrapped his arms around Rosemary as he took the reigns, glad to have an excuse to hold her. But his touch didn’t seem to provide its usual comfort.

“Julen...the way you looked just now, when you sang. There was something in your eyes.” Rosemary shivered. “I felt like I didn’t know you at all.”

Julen shifted his body, pressing closer to his wife. “Don’t be silly. You know me as well as I know myself.” Although, in some silent place, Julen had begun to wonder exactly how well that was.

“Something terrible is going to happen. I feel it.”

“Nonsense.” Bending his head forward, Julen nuzzled Rosemary’s neck with his cheek. “Everything is going to be fine. You’ll see.”

But as they rode out of town, a gust of wind caught the daisy that Julen had tucked behind Rosemary’s ear. Despite Julen’s wild attempt to save it, the blossom slipped through his fingers, and fell to the road, where it was trampled by the hooves of passing horses.