“What!?” Gwen said, shocked.
Kendrick nodded, gravely.
“I sent him to apologize and he murdered the man?” Gwen asked, trying to process it. She could hardly conceive what had happened, and she was furious at Reece.
“Word is that there is an open revolt on the island, that our men are cut off, stuck on their small fleet of ships. Perhaps we can reach them in time.”
Gwendolyn nodded, determined.
“Tirus deserved to die,” she said, “yet Reece was foolish to defy my orders. That said, we abandon no one. We will sail as hard as we can throughout the night, and if need be, we shall fight to the death to rescue our men.”
She looked to her men, who all looked to her for leadership, and her voice rose with confidence.
“Do not worry,” she told them. “We shall take back the Upper Isles. At least in this we shall be successful. And once there, we shall establish a new stronghold, a new home for us, expatriates of the Ring.”
They all nodded, and she could see that they took some reassurance in her words, in her confidence.
“And what if Argon’s spell should falter?” Godfrey asked. “What if those dragons should be let loose? How can we possibly fight them off?”
“Romulus now has the Ring,” Gwen replied. “Perhaps he shall be content with that and not pursue us.”
“And if he is not?” Aberthol pressed.
“Then we shall have no choice but to fight him. And his dragons.”
The men looked grave.
“But my queen, we cannot win,” Aberthol said. “It would be us against a host of dragons—and a million-man army.”
Gwendolyn nodded, realizing he was correct.
“For now, let us reach the Isles, free our brothers, and establish a home. Let us pray that Argon’s shield holds.”
“And if not?” Aberthol pressed. “Have we no other options?”
Gwen turned and looked out to the horizon, as somber as her mood, knowing they did not.
“Yes,” she said. “We can do what we always do: fight for our honor—and fight to the death.”
* * *
Godfrey and Illepra sat below deck as night fell, the huge ship rocking up and down. Godfrey leaned his back against the wall as Illepra tended his wounds, wrapping a bandage around his arm again and again. As he studied her, so close, he noticed a difference in how she looked at him. Before, she’d always looked at him in a disapproving matter—and yet now, he was surprised to see her smiling at him, wrapping his arm slowly and affectionately, cutting the bandage tenderly, tending his wounds with love and affection.
“You’ve changed,” she said to him.
Godfrey looked at her, puzzled.
“How so?” he asked. “That’s funny, because I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
“You’re not the boy you once were,” she said. “You are a man now. You stood up and fought as a man. You risked your life for others, for the sake of our city, as few others would. I’m surprised. I would not have expected it from you.”
Godfrey blushed, looking away.
“I did not do it in order for you to be proud. I was not seeking your approval, or anyone else’s—especially not my dead father’s. I did it for myself. And for my sister.”
“Yet nonetheless, you did it. I know you are not your father. But I’ll tell you something: I think you are going to become even greater than your father ever was.”
Godfrey raised his brow, surprised at her words.
“You mock me,” he said.
She shook her head, and her face grew serious.
“Your father was born into rank and privilege,” she said. “He was born to be a king. You, on the other hand, had nothing expected of you, being the middle child. You came to it on your own. You did not accept the status quo, but rather you sought out for yourself the best way to live, and you came to your conclusions in your own right. Not because anyone forced you to. Not because anyone expected anything of you. You were going on one track, and you turned it around, all by yourself. You transcended who you were. It is easy to become a warrior when being a warrior is all that one’s ever done; it is much harder, though, when one comes to it later in life, when one decides on one’s own that he can be a warrior, too, just like anybody else.”
Godfrey felt touched by her words as he processed them; it was the first time in his life that anyone had ever showered him with praise. He blushed.
“There are many warriors who can wield a sword and spear better than I,” he said humbly. “I shall never be able to match their skill, not this late in life.”
Illepra shook her head.
“That is not the point, and that alone is not what makes a warrior,” she said. “It takes honor. Will. Sacrifice. And that is what you now have. Whether you see it in yourself or not, I see it in you.”
Illepra surprised Godfrey as she suddenly leaned in and kissed him on the lips. He did not resist.
And then, after a stunned moment, he kissed her back.
They held the kiss for a long time, until finally, Illepra pulled back, smiling at him.
“It’s been a long time since I kissed anyone,” she said.
“Then we must do it again,” Godfrey said with a smile, and he leaned in and kissed her again. As they held the kiss, their warm lips meeting on this cold night, Godfrey soon forgot all about the pain in his arm. For the first time in as long as he could remember, on this rocking ship in the middle of nowhere, he felt at home in the world.
Maybe, he thought, this warrior thing was not so bad after all.
* * *
Steffen stood on the deck of the ship in the rain and wind as the gloom gave way to twilight, standing not far from Gwendolyn. He stood just far enough away to give her privacy as she stood looking out at the sea, as if looking for some long-lost friend, clutching Guwayne. He had remained up here long after the others had gone below, unable to part from her, to leave her here all by herself.
Beside him stood Arliss, who had stayed by his side for most of the trip, as she had ever since they’d met. Steffen was flattered that she cared about him; he had never experienced anything like it before, and he was overwhelmed with love for her.
“She wants to be alone,” Arliss said to Steffen. “We should go down below, with the others.” Her voice was filled with caring and concern for him.