Whisper and Rise by Jamie Day Page B

waited for another night of haunting dreams. Those dreams would come later than I wanted. Father yelled at me to leave my room before the last crimson hues of the sunset dropped their grip on Taylor’s Ridge.
    “Rhiannon, if you don’t leave your room, I’ll send the Elders up to you.”
    His words were enough to prompt a frantic scramble to make myself presentable. No man had ever entered my room; Father had forbidden it when Sean had started courting me. Still, his tone told me he intended to break his own rule. I quickly obliged and met him downstairs.
    “Look at that,” said my father proudly to the two men in our dining room. “I told you she’d come running.” His grin revealed the gaps in his teeth and his satisfaction at my annoyance.
    “Hello, Rhiannon,” said Donavon Gale. He held a goblet full of ale.
    “Good evening, sir,” I answered, bowing with respect. I turned to Orson Phillips, Father’s cousin, and offered him the same gesture.
    Father patted both men on their shoulders, grinned at me, and then disappeared out the back door.
    “Where’s Mother?” I asked, calling out to him. “And Leila?”
    Father answered over his shoulder, “Stone Meadow,” as the door shut behind him.
    I turned to the men, suddenly afraid. The village Elders rarely presented themselves like this. There was a problem.
    “How may I help?” I asked them. I was eager to end the discomfort that had plummeted into my stomach. I grabbed Father’s bottle from the table and held it to the men, offering them silent refreshment.
    “We’re not here on behalf of the village,” said Orson. “We’ve come at the request of your father. He sent a messenger today.”
    I dropped the bottle. The ale poured over the table and dripped onto the floor. Father never sent messengers. He had always told us they were too expensive and a waste of our own legs.
    “I’m sorry,” I told the Elders, excusing myself while rushing to the kitchen to collect a cloth. “I need to clean that.”
    Orson took the cloth from my hand and smiled. “Sit down,” he said, reaching over to wipe some of the liquid. “I can manage this.”
    “We’ve come to talk about security,” said Donavon. Then his face went stern. “And your refusal to accept the protection that Colin Druce offered to you.”
    I suddenly felt like a small child, told by an adult that I shouldn’t touch fire. I nodded my understanding and sat quietly in the dining room while both men explained to me the challenge of keeping Darian.
    The trouble, they explained, was not that the bandit kept escaping his prison. Truthfully, he wasn’t kept in one. Aisling had never needed such places. The Elders kept Darian in Owen’s old smokehouse, a filthy black hole that offered no light, and barely room to stretch.
    “You can’t keep a man in a place like that,” said Donavon. “And the men who guard him aren’t warriors, they’re merchants.”
    Orson tossed the soiled cloth onto the kitchen counter and rejoined us in the dining room. “We need to find the scrolls.”
    “That is our priority.” Both men spoke the same words at once.
    “Yes, I know.”
    Orson coughed, as if his next sentence was difficult to exhale. “Unless you know where the scrolls are.”
    I froze as their intentions reached my soul. Slowly, I raised my eyes to stare at my accusers.
    “You took the scrolls,” said Donavon, prodding me with an urgent continuation.
    I nodded again, afraid to speak.
    “Where did you put them?”
    “You know this,” I said. “I—I gave them to Cael. He was going to use them to save Sean.”
    Donavon nodded and smiled at Orson. Then he glanced back at me. “Yes, we know what your claims have been. Cael Bauer, you say?”
    “Yes.” I started shaking. What was happening?
    “Why do you blame another man for treachery—something you admitted to have done?” Donavon leaned closer to face me.
    “I never said that Cael took them,” I told him. I was having trouble