LITMIR.BIZ

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harrumphed. “It’s happened in the past.”

      “Our music doesn’t fabricate love. Our songs bring out the true shape of the heart.”

      Bron growled, stepping toward him. “You’re saying our queen had the heart of a betrayer?”

      Valorian held his ground, calm and rational. “I’m saying she chose her place.”

      Emotions whirled in Danika’s chest and she shoved them down before they overwhelmed her. The time to argue about her mother’s loyalty had passed long ago. If Bron and Valorian continued at this rate, they’d kill each other before they reached Darkenbite.

      She grabbed Bron’s arm. “Over here. There’s a hidden outcropping.”

      “Saved by the princess.” Bron snarled at Valorian and turned to Danika. “I don’t care what this minstrel says. We should conceal our trespassing.”

      The whispering trees sent shivers up her spine. She wasn’t about to argue. “You’re the bodyguard.”

      They steered the carriage off the trail and made camp uphill from the road where they could spot any passing travelers. Valorian unlatched a bag of fruit and passed a sweet peach each to Nip and Danika. Bron refused, chewing on jerky.

      The warrior said nothing. Danika leaned forward, swallowing a mouthful of sweet peach juice. “How did King Troubadir acquire such a massive scale?”

      Valorian had finished eating and swung his lute over his shoulder to rest against his flat stomach that could or could not contain chiseled abs. Danika didn’t need to know.

      He strummed a tentative chord. “The table?”

      Danika nodded, leaning on the trunk of a massive black pine. The cool, mossy bark soothed her aching back.

      His fingertips plucked a series of melancholy notes. Two high chimes then a low bass drone. “Traders from Brimmore’s Bay brought the scale in. They said the monstrosity washed up on their shores.”

      “Makes sense with the tide rushing up from Scalehaven.” Danika ran her tongue over her front teeth, still tasting sugar. “Have you talked with anyone who’s actually seen the She-Beast?”

      Tension grew in Valorian’s melody. “No one has seen her up close and lived to tell the tale. The reports come from witnesses on the shore. They see the worm’s writhing outline on the horizon. They say her body resembles a corkscrew unfurling infinitely long, cutting the sky in half.”

      Danika refused to let fear in. Village bumpkins were known to exaggerate their accounts. “And how do you plan to vanquish her?”

      Valorian struck a dissonant note and the lute rang throughout the woods. “I have reason to believe these fire worms are intelligent, and if they are, my minstrels will find a way to use our songs to quell their raging breath. But, our music cannot kill. Our songs open one’s heart to the emotions residing within.” He gazed at Bron. “I’ll need your bodyguard’s steel to strike her when her guard is down.”

      The note dissipated into silence. Danika nodded. “’Tis a good plan.”

      Bron shifted his weight, stretching his massive legs across the pine needles. “Only if the She-Beast and her kin can understand the music’s meaning.”

      His song finished, Valorian strapped his lute to his back. “Music is a universal language understood by all.”

      Bron unsheathed his dagger and used the tip to clean his teeth. “What if these fireworms don’t care for music?”

      Valorian smiled like he’d won the game. “Everyone cares for music, even a newborn baby or an elder too old to remember anything else. The trick is finding the right chords to strike to find their innermost desires and open their heart. All I need is the protection to get near enough for my music to reach these fireworms’ scaly ears.”

      Bron sheathed his dagger. “Consider it done.”

      A foul wind tickled Danika’s nose and she covered her face with her sleeve.

      Valorian stood. “It seems my song of warning has been ignored.”

      Bron took a deep whiff, his dark eyes staring at the trees in a menacing challenge.

      “What is the meaning of this ill-fated breeze?” Danika pulled Nip to her side.

      “Grab the horses and prepare the carriage.” Bron drew out his claymore. The steel reflected the dark silhouettes of the pines, framed with patches of shadows. “We’re being followed.”

      Chapter 6

      A Perceptive Boy

      They rode as swift as the wind blowing across the sea and silent as an unspoken secret. As a farmer’s son, Bron’s experience lay in hauling heavy shipments in carriages, and he knew the maximum speed of the horses and the berth the wheels needed for each bend in the trail. When they’d rested, he’d rubbed woodwork oil on the joints to keep the wheels from creaking like toads in the bog.

      Bron kept checking over his shoulder but the forest refused to surrender its secrets. Since camp, the air held no trace of hunters. They rode into the wind, and anything trailing them would have the advantage. Bron had only smelled that redolent stench once in his life, and that time it meant trouble. So, why did he wonder if he’d suffered from some paranoid delusion?

      It was because the princess’ life hung in the balance, and he did not--would not--fail again. Even if it meant he played the fool.

      Valorian had made a jest of his urge to hide the carriage, and surely the pretentious minstrel thought Bron’s assumption of someone, or something, hunting them to be superfluous as well.

      God’s willing, the long-haired pretty boy was right.

      Bron would rather be proven wrong by Valorian than have anything or anyone endanger the mission.

      Valorian rode side by side with the princess, like two love birds acquainting themselves. A thorn twisted in Bron’s side, and he did what he did best: ignored the pain. Ushering Danika into Valorian’s arms was the right move for the kingdom, and if everything the minstrel said rang true, his hand in marriage would keep her and Ebonvale safe.

      So, why did seeing her with Valorian irk him so?

      The memories of the past surged like ghosts, peering over his shoulder. Even now, he felt King Artemus’ pain. Bron couldn’t protect him from heartache.

      The warrior sighed. This was an entirely different situation. Danika wasn’t married or even promised to anyone else. She was free to give her hand to whomever she chose. Or whomever provided Ebonvale with the best protection.

      They passed under an overhanging bough and Bron ducked, pulling Nip down with him. Just in case. Needles rained on top of them, prickling Bron’s neck as they brushed the lowest branch.

      “Horred’s Temple! That was close.” Nip’s eyes widened as he turned back to see the branch whipping in the air.

      Bron ruffled the boy’s hair, threading out the needles with his awkward sausage-thick fingers, better for wielding a weapon than a gentle caress. Then he swiped his own neck. “Where does a boy your age learn such language?” If he’d spoken that curse in his house, his father would have stuffed soap in his mouth.

      Nip shrugged. “Pill.”

      Bron raised an eyebrow in question.

      “My older brother.”

      “Of course.” No other name would complement Nip’s so well. Bron wondered where potty-mouthed Pill was now then remembered the blackened village they’d left behind. He thought of Hule and thanked Helena his brother lived safely in Oaten’s Dell, looking after their aging parents. Fate had been kind to Bron, and he should be more thankful instead of dwelling on unattainable quests.

      Nip tugged on Bron’s pinky finger. “Are you thinking

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