Pieces of Eight (The Frey Saga, #2)

I was startled for a moment and then I shook my head to show my confusion at the accusation.

She grimaced. "Well, he has pushed back our plans and refuses quite sourly to explain why."

I thought back past the raw ache of his closing words and recalled that he had been upset. "Something about his mother," I muttered, deciding not to include the "like Ruby" portion of our conversation.

She eyed me suspiciously. "What did you do, Frey?"

"I don't know," I said honestly and groaned again.

She must have felt sorry for me and my memory loss. "Yes, well, he is likely sensitive about that, if all the stories are true. And they generally are."

I sat up. "What stories?"

She smiled wickedly, relishing the opportunity to yarn one of her fairy tales to an uninformed audience. But as she spoke, her face transformed into utter seriousness and her tone was so low I had to strain to hear. "These stories, though widespread, are not told boldly. It is said that the lord Asher was somehow involved, so to flaunt them would assure death." I felt the slackness of astonishment on my face and she leaned closer. "Sapphire, Chevelle's mother, was much endeared by him, though she was not acknowledged by leadership. She was forced to live outside the kingdom, just as he was required to reside inside the castle, with his father. Rune was a hard man, and Chevelle equally stubborn. Reports of strife began even at a youthful age and the discord only increased with time. Their distaste for each other did not arrive from one particular incident, but it was merely one that achieved the breaking point." My hand rested on my throat as I listened anxiously. "From that moment, Chevelle declared his division from his father by claiming his mother. He intended to go to her and leave the life that had been set before him."

I gasped, shocked by her revelation, but she wasn't finished. "Asher was informed and did not interfere, which was, in itself, highly suspect. But on the day that Chevelle was to depart, he was summoned to the gates." Her expression went cold as she continued, "What he found there was the body of his mother, draped in a royal gown, a lifeless beauty, intact but for her eyes. Those striking, deep blue eyes that so mirrored his own," her voice dropped lower, almost a growl, "cleaved from their sockets."

I could feel the horror and disgust distort my features and Ruby nodded in silent agreement. I considered the awfulness of it for a long, terrible moment before questions flooded in. I chose a random, less appalling one. "Why would Asher be involved in something so horrible?"

I saw in her expression, I'd hit the heart of it. She wanted to find a way not to explain, but she'd gone this far already and when she finally spoke, it was with her practiced "careful" tone. "Freya," she said, "in all fairness, it is not known that Asher was to blame."

"But-" I started.

She cut me off, holding up a hand. "It is thought so because of several factors, among them, the strong reaction of Rune. He was openly devastated by the loss, something that would have been an embarrassment to one of his position. But, furthermore, he was angered by the display."

"Rune didn't do it, he didn't even know?" I asked, baffled.

"It appeared he did not," she answered.

"So, what did he do?"

She shook her head. "Not as he should have. He held Chevelle responsible, entirely and for the remainder of his days."

I was mystified. "Ruby, I don't understand. Why would Asher care if Chevelle left?"

Her jaw clenched and she looked as if she would refuse to answer. I waited and she decided. "It was not Chevelle's leaving that he took issue with, Freya." She leaned forward and placed her hands on my shoulders. To steady me. "It was that his second intended to join in the departure."

It took longer than it should have to connect her words with their meanings. When they finally did, I was only able to whisper, "Then we ran?" My mind was racing in so many directions I could not pin one down but, for a moment, I couldn't help but remember my first real memories of Chevelle, how I'd ran from Fannie, from the village, how council had come after us...

Ruby was shaking her head. "No," she said, "you chose to stay."

"He left me?" I asked, with an unfair hint of resentment.

"No, Freya," she breathed, "he stayed for you."