Chapter 38 - Fin (Epilogue)-1

It hadn't been easy for Sam to tell Sander that she would be leaving with Braeden. It was the right decision for her, she knew, and yet she felt a little ashamed of it.  But Sander was a singular man and had been surprisingly understanding. She'd told him together with Braeden, and somehow during the telling of it their fingers had wound together. Sander's gaze fell upon their interlocked hands and his mouth had twitched, not into a disapproving frown but into an amused smile. "It is not an either or," Sander had said. "As Uriel, you are not bound to this soil, only to the principles that guide us. Duty. Honor. Loyalty. Belief in the goodness of man." He put one hand on each of their shoulders. "Do what you need to do, and come back to us. I told you this once before—the Uriel always have room for courageous men." He grinned at Sam. "Or women." It was worse telling Tristan. Sam knocked on the door of his chambers in the Beyaz Kale—which was awkward in itself, since he shared the room with Braeden—and asked if he would be amenable to a walk outside. She didn't invite Braeden; she owed that much to Tristan. It wasn't as though she'd accepted another man's proposal after turning his down, but it was close enough. And in the days following their first exchanged I-love-you's, she and Braeden had done a shockingly poor job of hiding their affection. Twice, Braeden had pulled her into a discreet corner and kissed her senseless, and twice Sam had accosted him. She blushed just thinking about it. And thus for the sake of her friendship with Tristan, Sam thought it best she break the news herself. In uncomfortable silence, Sam and Tristan trudged down the snowy slope to the Uriel training grounds, stopping when they reached the tree line. They stood apart, watching the Uriel men spar with swords and fists. When Sam could stand it no longer, she said into the silence, "I'm leaving." Tristan faced outward into the trees and did not turn. "With Braeden?" "Aye." The wind played across his hair, blowing overlong strands into his cobalt eyes. "Where will you go?" he asked. "Across the ocean," she said, "to Yemara. We're going to pay a visit to the old orphanage where Braeden first met the High Commander. Maybe we'll find some answers there." Tristan stiffened. "That's...far." "I'll come back," Sam promised. "Both of us will. The war will not be over so soon." "I don't suppose it will," said Tristan. He looked at her then, really looked at her, his gaze intent on hers. "Is this what you want, Sam? To follow a man halfway around the world on what may amount to a wild goose chase?" "I love him," she said simply. Tristan responded with a single nod, and they fell back into quiet. "I could have loved you," he said finally. She didn't want to hurt him, didn't want to lie to him either. "In another lifetime, I could have loved you, too." She offered him her hand. "Friends?" Tristan stared at her extended palm. His eyes, blue and wintery, drifted up to her face. "No." The single word shot like an icicle through her heart. Tristan whipped around, then, and with straightened shoulders, began the long trudge back to the Beyaz Kale. His pride was wounded, not his heart, and one day he would see it. A quarter of the way, he halted. Slowly, he turned, the frostiness in his stare melted into something else. "Ask me again when you return." Sam and Braeden rode out early the next morning on borrowed horses. The horses would carry them as far as Southport, and from there they would need to hire a ship with a willing captain and crew to take them across the Rheic Ocean. The horses would find their way back home, Sander had assured them. But before they could leave Luca, a small troop of armed men blocked their exit at the east archway, where Sam had first crossed into the city months back. They weren't Uriel; she recognized their faces from Haywood. The men belonged to her father. Sam drew her horse to a halt. "What does he want?" she asked the leader among them, a stocky man with a naturally red face. Braeden brought his stallion by hers. The leader shifted on his mount. "He didn't say, milady. He only said to ask you to wait here for him until he arrives." Sam's eyebrows rose. "He asked?" The Duke of Haywood did not ask; he ordered. "Those were his words, milady." Sam nudged her horse forward. "Move out of the way," she said, "or I will make you." She didn't have time for her father's nonsense. Whatever he wanted, it wouldn't be good. "Sam, maybe we should wait," Braeden said, quiet enough that his voice wouldn't carry to the others. She whirled around in her saddle, glaring at him. "Why should we do that?" "Because he's your father." Sam snorted through her nose. "Braeden, you met the man. I'm not exactly the apple of his eye. He probably wants to haul me back to Haywood." Braeden shrugged his shoulders. "Sometimes people can surprise you." She would have argued further, but the sound of frantic galloping drew her attention away. The Duke of Haywood was bent low over his horse's neck, his usually coiffed hair streaming in a wild halo behind him. He slowed when he neared them, pulling short on the reins. The duke sagged against his mount and wiped sweat from his brow. "You didn't leave," he said, panting for breath. "Not for lack of trying," said Sam. Her gaze roamed over his uncharacteristically disheveled appearance. "Aren't you a bit old to be riding like that?" His jaw tightened but his voice was even when spoke. "I've not got one foot in the grave yet." Sam lifted her chin and stared him straight in the eye. "Come to stop me?" she asked, with a hint of challenge. "As if I could," he scoffed. A reluctant smile flickered across his lips. She didn't understand the source of his smile or his choice of words. "Well, you couldn't," she said without heat. "Why are you here, your Grace?" The muscles of his throat flexed as he swallowed. "Branimir informed me of your plans. It is no small journey, nor an easy one." "I know," she said, unfazed. "You will not deter me." She glanced over at Braeden, who gripped his reins with white, tightfisted hands. "I have made my choice, and I am happy with it." "You have always known your mind, Samantha. I am no longer fool enough to believe you will change it, no matter what I wish for you." The duke sighed. "I came here to tell you that whatever happens on this soil or in Yemara, you will be welcome in Haywood. It is your home." She shook her head jerkily. She'd left behind her childhood there, but nothing else. "My home is not in Haywood. It's with him." She tilted her head towards Braeden. He reached across the space between their horses and threaded his fingers through hers. The duke's expression was unreadable. "You are my heir, Samantha. When I die, Haywood will be yours, whether you want it or not." "What about the High Commander?" she asked. "Surely he would not permit a traitor to inherit." Her father's eyes flared. "My daughter is no traitor, and any man who says otherwise is no friend of mine, nor friend to Haywood." He raised his voice, as though he were speaking to a large audience instead of a few men. "When war comes to Thule, Haywood will side with the Uriel and with Lady Samantha." Her breath caught. "Why?" she whispered. In eighteen years, the duke had done nothing to indicate he cared about her beyond her value as his heir. Yet in the war between the Paladins and the Uriel, he'd chosen the side of the underdog. Had he done it because of her?