Thornbear (Book 1)

“Will this be quick?” asked Gram.

  “You have somewhere to be?” asked his friend, grinning. He knew that neither of them had any obligations.

  Yes, I need to get some sleep. If he went to bed as soon as possible he would have at most five or six hours to sleep before midnight. “No,” he said with a sigh of resignation. “I’m just tired.”

  “I just wanted to tell you that the tattoo won’t work right now.”

  “Why not?”

  “The sword isn’t in the dimensional pocket. I have it out, in my shop. I’m working on the next phase,” explained the young wizard.

  “Shouldn’t it just teleport from wherever?”

  “No. Because it isn’t teleportation. It’s translation. It isn’t really moving when you activate the tattoo enchantment, it’s translating from the other dimension to this one, so it won’t work if it’s already in this dimension.”

  “What happens if I try to do it while it’s here?”

  Matthew shrugged, “I’m not sure. Maybe nothing, but it might ruin the tattoo, or worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “Imagine your arm being translated into the empty pocket dimension—without you.”

  Gram swore, “Shit! Every time I think you might be doing the right thing you have to scare me again.”

  “It’s just a hypothetical.”

  “Well you can keep your hypotheticals!”

  “Just don’t mess with it until I tell you I’ve finished,” reiterated his friend.

  ***

  That night Gram woke, sensing another figure in the room. Opening his eyes, he saw the slender figure of a woman leaning over the bed. Her hand was outstretched, as she prepared to stroke his brow.

  Reaching up, he caught her hand in his own, bringing it to his lips.

  “Gram? Are you awake?”

  He froze. It was his mother’s voice. Eyes wide he stared at the figure, beginning to see the subtle differences. His mother was taller for one, and her hair was piled on top of her head, braided into some mysterious design. Alyssa’s would have been loose, falling over her shoulders.

  “Mother?”

  “I’m back,” she told him. “I didn’t want to miss the Winter Ball.”

  His mind was awhirl. “Where’s Carissa?”

  “In bed,” said Rose. “She was tired and I didn’t intend on us arriving home so late.”

  “What time is it?” His heart was pounding in his chest. Alyssa might appear at any moment.

  “Only nine,” she answered. “I was surprised to find you asleep already.”

  “I was tired.” There’s still time. I have to warn her.

  “I can only imagine what you must have been up to these past months while we were away,” said his mother with a smile in her voice. She leaned close to kiss his forehead.

  No, you can’t, he told himself silently, horrified at the thought of his mother even suggesting it.

  “I won’t keep you up. I’m going to bed, the unpacking can wait until tomorrow,” she added.

  He sat up. “Actually, I’m glad you woke me. Matthew wanted to show me something. I only meant to take a quick nap.”

  “Don’t be out long then, sensible people should be finding their beds by now.” She straightened up and left the room. Nine was already late for his mother, who normally retired shortly after eight each evening.

  Gram rose and dressed quickly in a loose tunic and trousers and then added a pair of soft cloth shoes. Heading to the front room he slipped out the door and into the hall. He passed two servers before rounding the corner to find Grace waiting for him near the door to Alyssa’s rooms.

  “Going somewhere?” she asked.

  “I don’t have time to talk,” said Gram, preparing to knock.

  “Don’t,” warned Grace. “Moira’s inside. Keep walking before she wonders why you’ve stopped outside the door.”

  He reacted instantly, dropping his arm and moving on. Grace followed him. He scooped her up as he walked. “I need to warn her…”

  “…that your mother is home?” said Grace, finishing his sentence for him. “Moira’s done that already.”

  “She knows? You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!” he hissed.

  “I didn’t. She doesn’t. And may I add, how rude! You libidinous paramour, do you think me so unreliable?” said Grace, reacting with umbrage.

  “Libidinny…what?”

  The bear had her paws on her hips, “Would you prefer ‘oversexed suitor’?”

  Gram gaped at her for a moment. “You have to stop reading those books.”

  “That is not an appropriate response.”

  He blew out a lungful of air, “I’m sorry. I should not have doubted you.”

  “Apology accepted, my lascivious libertine. Perhaps there is hope for you yet.”

  “You have a plan?”

  “I meant for your manners,” said Grace. “You don’t need to worry about the other. Moira has already told her about your mother’s return.”

  “But you just said…”

  “Don’t be dense,” replied Grace, exasperated. “It’s news, women talk.”

  “Oh.” A sense of relief washed over him. “Do you think she noticed me outside the room?”

  “Definitely. Her magesight is very keen and you were only twenty feet from them so she most certainly not only noticed your presence but knew your identity.”

  He groaned.

  “Relax. She most likely thought you came to confess your undying affection for Lady Alyssa.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  “Because you lost your nerve,” she patted his cheek. “Such a shy boy.”

  He gave the bear on his shoulder a sour look. “That’s ridiculous. Why would she believe something like that?”

  “Because she reads the same books I do.”

  “People don’t really do things like that, though,” insisted Gram.

  Grace put one paw over her eyes. “It might surprise you to learn this, my scandalous swain, but many people do express their endearments for one another before taking off their clothes.”

  He colored at that, but held his peace. Gram’s face took on a look of concentration.

  “What are you…” she started to ask.

  “Wait,” he said, holding up one hand. “Give me a minute.”

  “For what?”

  “I’m working on a response.”

  She waited patiently while he thought. Eventually he responded, “That was unfair, you—truculent teddy.”

  Grace chuckled, “That was terrible. I am neither of those things. If you’re going to give me a name with a “t”, for the sake of alliteration, then at least use a girl’s name, something like “Tamarah”, or perhaps “Tiffany”. I will never be a “Teddy”. Where did you get the word truculent from anyway?”

  “Despite your low opinion of my wits, I do have an excellent vocabulary,” he replied. “Remember who my mother is.”

  “You should have remembered that before you let that minx into your bed,” observed Grace pointedly.

  ***

  The next morning Gram’s mother was already up, sipping her tea when he left his room. She studied his face as he entered.

  “What happened to your face?” Setting the tea aside, she rose and examined him. “What terrible scars. How did this happen?”

  He was forced to relate the story, though he omitted all of the questionable details. Carissa joined them before he had finished and he had to begin again. Neither of them were happy by the time he had finished.

  “Why didn’t you let the Count heal you?” asked Rose. “He might have kept the scarring to a minimum.”

  “Grandmother said the stitches were very well done.”

  “That isn’t an answer, Son.”

  “Not many fight a panther barehanded and survive,” he told her.

  “Youthful vanity?” exclaimed Rose. “You thought a good story was worth being disfigured?”

  He sighed, “I’m not disfigured, Mother.
” The scars made three rough lines across his face, marking his cheek, with one of them scoring a line through his eyebrow.

  She threw up her hands, a dramatic gesture she would never have made if they had been in public. “Just like your father! Sometimes I wonder if you got anything from me at all.”

  Chapter 21

  Two days had passed, and Gram was going quietly insane. He had stopped going out with Chad Grayson in the mornings, mostly because he was hoping to see Alyssa. He haunted the halls and corridors of Castle Cameron hoping to run into her, but his luck had abandoned him. She hadn’t shown up for meals in the great hall. Claiming a sudden illness, she had Moira bringing food to her in her room.

  “Why are you so interested?” Moira asked him after he pestered her for what was probably the fifth time, hoping for information about Alyssa.

  “I just want to make sure she’s alright,” he said defensively.

  She gave him a sly smile. “I’ll just bet you do.”

  “Is she sick or not?”

  “She isn’t feeling well,” affirmed Moira, “but I have it on good authority that she will be present at the ball tonight.”

  “So, she’s just pretending to be sick.”

  “Where is your couth?” She frowned at him.

  “I just don’t understand why she’s gone into hiding.”

  She sighed. “Maybe she’s nervous about meeting your mother.”

  Gram was stricken with panic, “She said that?!”

  “No, but your reaction is telling.”

  His mouth gaped, closed, and then fell open once more.

  “Ordinarily you would have said, ‘Why is she nervous?’, or something like that, but your immediate acceptance, coupled with shock and fear…,” she let her statement trail off, staring at him. Then she smiled, “Congratulations, you sly devil. And she never gave me the faintest hint either! I should have known, though, she’s been giving Perry nary a glance since the Winter’s Dawn Festival.”

  “By all the dead gods, someone save me from women!” he swore.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “Have you kissed her yet?”

  Gram choked, but Grace joined them then and took pity on him. “Shame on you, Moira! You know a true gentleman would never discuss such things.”

  Moira focused on her small companion, “Ooh! I should have known! You were in on it weren’t you? How dare you hide things from me!”

  “Run Gram!” cried Grace, pretending to struggle as her creator snatched her up. “I can’t hold her for long. Save yourself!”

  “Shhh!” ordered Moira. “You’re making a scene.”

  Gram took the bear at her word, though, and beat a hasty retreat, escaping before Moira could ask him any more questions.

  ***

  “What do you think?”

  “About what?” said Gram, teasing. He already knew exactly what his sister was referring to.

  Her blue eyes widened, “The dress!”

  He gave her an astonished glance, as if he had just seen her for the first time. She was clad in a light blue gown with long sleeves decorated by white embroidery. Her hair had been elaborately braided by their mother’s expert hands and it was ornamented with a delicate silver tiara featuring a brilliant topaz. She looked every inch her mother’s daughter.

  “Aren’t you too young for the ball?”

  “You know very well that I turned ten last month,” she chided.

  He had not forgotten. “My, my!” he exclaimed. “Ten, now… please forgive your poor brother. It pains me to remember my dear sister’s ever advancing maturity.”

  “You will have to work harder. I can’t take care of you forever,” she told him seriously. “One day soon I will be a married woman, and you will be left to fend for yourself.”

  “Never!” he protested. “I will defend your honor so vigorously that none will dare to court my sweet little sister.”

  “Poor Brother,” she said, pityingly. “You’ll never find a wife if you dote on your sister too much.”

  He laughed, “You really think I’m helpless don’t you?”

  “With girls—yes, but don’t worry, someday I will find a good one for you.” She paused. “But only after I’m married, of course.”

  I might surprise you, he thought, but he kept it to himself. “Do you need help with the laces?” he asked, knowing that was what she was waiting for.

  She nodded, “Mother’s working on her hair.”

  He helped her lace the sleeves. “This will be your first ball.”

  “Do I look too young?”

  Forever, he thought sadly. You’ll never be old enough to me. But he didn’t tell her that. Instead he reassured her, “You look very much a lady now.”

  “Will anyone want to dance with me?” Behind the mature façade his sister was secretly nervous and uncertain.

  “They had better!” he growled, making a fist. She giggled and then he added, “Of course, then I’ll have to beat up the ones that ask.”

  “Then you’ll have to beat them all up,” she countered rationally, “those that ask and those that don’t!”

  He looked at the ceiling and struck a dramatic pose, “It’s a heavy curse our father has left to me.”

  “Do you think he would be proud of me?” she asked. The topic of their father was one of great curiosity for his sister. She was too young to remember him, or to suffer the same sadness that he and their mother did. He was careful never to let her see how painful such questions were, though, for fear she might stop asking.

  “He would,” was as much as he could say before his throat closed, so he hugged her to cover his reaction.

  Rose entered then, pretending she had no just been listening. “Are you both ready?”

  They nodded and together they left, but not before her sharp eyes noted the small piece of ribbon that had fallen between the bed and Gram’s bedside table. It wasn’t a color that she remembered her daughter having worn before, but she pushed the information to one side, like so many other things, to be considered at another time.

  ***

  The great hall had been transformed for the ball. Gone were the massive trestle tables from the center area. Some had been kept, to provide a place for drinks and small treats, but the majority had been removed. The elevated area that normally held the high table had been converted into a stage where the musicians had set up their instruments, and the air was already filled with light music.

  People mingled in small groups around the room. Some of them were not even nobility; the Countess made a point of inviting some of the more prosperous citizens of Washbrook. Roland, the Duke of Lancaster was present, along with his wife, Melanie they had brought with them number of important members of their household as well. The Baron of Arundel, Walter Prathion was there as well, with his wife, Rebecca and both of their grown children, George and Elaine.

  There were a few from Malvern and Trent, along with visitors from Surencia, in Gododdin, but none of them interested Gram in the least. His eyes scanned the crowd with only one goal.

  Where is she?

  “Take your sister around for introductions,” said Rose. “I need to say hello to the duchess.” By ‘duchess’ she was referring to Roland’s wife Melanie, who was already deeply engaged in conversation with Penelope Illeniel. Like the Countess, Melanie Lancaster had come from common stock, so she naturally gravitated to Penny for advice in social settings.

  Gram did as he was told, leading Carissa to meet various personages. She already knew those from Cameron and the town of Washbrook, but she was a newcomer to some of the nobility.

  “This is Lord Eric, son of the Count of Malvern,” said Gram, introducing her to a young nobleman close to his own age. “May I present my sister Carissa?”

  The Count himself was in poor health, but his son had taken over handling the affairs of Malvern. Given his age and unmarried status he was expected to attend every possible social event in Lothion. He greeted the two of them amiably, h
aving been acquainted with Gram years before. Gram felt a certain kinship to Eric, primarily due to the similarity in their ages and the expectations that would someday fall to them.

  “A pleasure to meet you young lady,” returned Eric, bowing to the young girl with a flourish and hovering over her hand for an instant without quite touching his lips to her skin.

  “Charmed,” said Carissa.

  “And this fine gentleman beside him is Lord Stephen Balistair,” continued Gram, introducing the Earl. It was a mark of his loyalty to Lothion that Stephen Balistair had taken up the cause against the usurper during the Duke of Tremont’s uprising years before. His father, the previous Earl, had been one of Tremont’s supporters until Dorian Thornbear had removed the man’s head at the order of Ariadne Lancaster.

  Gram had been uncertain whether his sister remembered everything that Rose had taught her regarding each of the guests but she dispelled his doubt when they moved on a few minutes later. “He seems nice,” she said, “despite what happened.”

  Gram nodded, “He stayed loyal throughout. He came with us when we fled the capital.”

  “And who is this remarkable treasure on your arm?” came a voice from behind.

  Turning at once Gram was relieved to finally see Alyssa. Keeping his composure, he answered, “Lady Alyssa, you look lovely this evening. This is my sister, Carissa. Carissa this is Lady Alyssa Conradt, daughter of Baron Conradt, from Gododdin.”

  “Very nice to meet you,” said Carissa.

  “I’d like to thank you,” responded Alyssa. “I’m told that the seat I’ve been sitting in is yours.”

  “Mother put me there originally so I could keep an eye on Gram,” teased the young girl. “I hope the task hasn’t been too much trouble for you.”

  Alyssa laughed, “I worried at first. He seemed so depressed when I first sat across from him. I only learned later that it was because he was mourning your absence.”

  Gram was, as always, amazed at his young sister’s ability to charm adults. She really is growing up to be like Mother. The musicians began to play for the first dance of the evening, and Lord Eric came over quickly, offering his hand to Carissa.

  “Might I prevail upon the lady to grace me with a dance?” asked the young count.