Stories from a clever mercenary in a wild world.
Pinterest is a vast resource of images from which to practice your art. This was practiced off a piece linked here. Practice, practice, practice, right?
I don’t properly know what character this might be. Not Zare, I think. Perhaps A’rora, who you have not met. Yet.
Three weeks passed pleasantly enough. I certainly didn’t mind having a hot bath every night, and a seemingly endless supply of fine dresses. We snuck out to the gardens to spar in the mornings, then usually spent the afternoons lying low in our rooms or the library. Most of the time it was Quill and Vaudrin with us in the little house under the poplar trees, but sometimes one of them was on duty and Jemin filled in. Namal and I thrived under their instruction; besides grappling, we also practiced with swords, knives and staves. I was thrilled to be getting stronger again, having both good food and several hours of training time every day. It was good that we already insisted on bathing alone, however, as the bruises from our sparring would have certainly raised eyebrows.
We learned the way to and from the library on our own, though Namal still insisted that someone accompany me if he wasn’t going. I didn’t mind since I found Quill, Vaudrin and Jemin to be good company. There is nothing like a companion with whom you can sit in silence. This was especially important since, even though the library was generally deserted, we couldn’t very well talk about the Nether Queen or our pasts, and eventually the list of things you can’t discuss drowns out the things you can.
The atmosphere of the palace, overall, was not friendly. We avoided courtiers, and when we did encounter them I felt their looks drag down me with disdain so tangible I checked my dress the first time it happened. They had no doubt heard that the King had taken…interest…in a humble spice merchant’s daughter. I was an otherwise unimportant object of derision, and I did not enjoy it. I tried to focus on the fact that there was great safety in this perception, but that didn’t help as much as I hoped it would. The red-headed child who walked the young hounds was the only soul at the palace who was warm toward us, and we sometimes played with the hounds when we came upon him in the garden.
I did not see the King—though each morning another note arrived with his seal, bearing a sweetly worded invitation to join him for a few hours in the morning. I took to keeping these notes in a drawer, tied with a ribbon–figuring that’s what a girl in love would do. I knew Amantha had found them, and doubtless read them.
My father and Namal exchanged a few coded letters which covered the high points of the negotiations with Tarr and also dropped little tidbits about the family. Father was recovering from his wounds, Mother was doing well. Nadine and Ayglos were keeping themselves occupied. Which I hoped meant someone had worked out a way for them to spar in secret. I didn’t press Namal for details, but I knew he’d met with Tarr at least once more to discuss strategy and alliance. It didn’t seem to be a question of friendship between our kingdoms, but more a dispute about how to move forward with subversion.
It was evening, and I was curled up in front of the fire in my rooms, finishing the epic poem I’d started the first day, when a knock came from my dressing room again. I didn’t lounge about without a robe anymore, so I looked up and called, “Come in.”
The door opened and Jemin stepped in. “Good evening,” he managed. “The King wishes an audience with you, in his chambers.”
“Alright,” I said slowly, surprised. I closed my book and rose. “Like this? Now?”
He nodded. He looked grim, and that made my stomach tighten.
“Alright,” I said again, moving uncertainly toward him. “Through the dressing room?”
“Yes, your Highness,” Jemin stepped aside and held the door for me as I walked into my dressing room. At the back of the room, part of the wall had swung back into a dark hallway. A lamp hung on a hook just inside the hallway. I stepped forward and Jemin followed, swinging the door closed behind us. He took the lamp off the hook and led the way down the hall. It was a narrow space, but I could stand and move comfortably. Jemin barely fit.
“Is something wrong?” I asked quietly.
“Ravens came from Hirhel today.”
I balked. Hirhel. The Nether Queen’s seat.
Jemin looked at me, “She has not discovered your hiding place,” he guessed my worst fears easily enough.
But it wasn’t good news. How could it be? The hall curved, and here and there other narrow passages opened up. After a while Jemin turned right and, then left, and then went up a narrow flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs was another door, on which he knocked a little pattern.
A bolt slid and the door opened, Jemin stepped in and offered me a hand. I accepted and with a deep breath crossed the threshold into the King’s chambers.
The door, disguised as a panel of the wall, slid closed behind us. The room itself was round, and it had with a vaulted ceiling. A huge four poster bed covered in rich blue covers was to the right. There was an ornate writing desk in the middle and a monstrous stone fireplace on the left. A long couch tossed with furs faced the fireplace.
The King was leaning both hands on the mantel and staring into the fire. He was wearing fine trousers, and an open collared white shirt that had clearly gone under a doublet of some sort. He looked as if he’d gotten distracted while getting ready for bed. Standing to the right of the fireplace, clearly intent on the King, but now looking at me, was Quill. Our eyes met, he dipped his chin.
“Your Majesty,” said Jemin, “Princess Zare is here.”
“Hello,” said King Tarr, not turning.
Hesitance wouldn’t accomplish anything, so I walked forward until I reached the couch. “Your Majesty.”
“They will all die tomorrow,” said Tarr, so quietly I almost didn’t hear him.
A chill shuddered through me. “Who?”
“The soldiers from Gillenwater who lost the King of Galhara.”
I actually wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Those soldiers hadn’t been the best to my family, and we had killed a few in the rescue…but still this was different.
“Narya is angry,” continued Tarr, “because even if the men from Gillenwater were wrong about who they caught, it’s sown doubt that her conquest was complete.” The King lifted his head, looking up at the empty wall above the fireplace. “So she ordered me to have them killed. Immediately.”
“Oh.” He’d have to give the order. I moved around the couch and ventured closer to him. He still hadn’t looked at me. My eyes flicked to Quill, his mouth was a thin line and the look in his face warned me there was more.
“She also,” the King’s voice strangled, then he continued, “wants the nymphs in the Dalyn and the surrounding towns rounded up for questioning and execution.”
This piece isn’t finished. I’m not satisfied with Quill’s face (men are hard to draw!) and haven’t determined what weapon is in his left hand. But I like how it’s coming so far.
What starts as a project cleaning acrylic off paint brushes turns into a really nice pattern.
It took a good twenty minutes of walking to reach the library after lunch. Though I didn’t think Quill had taken the most direct route. We saw a few servants, and very few others on the walk. Quill maintained his military demeanor and I rounded my shoulders and tried to look awed by every graceful hallway instead of merely appreciative. Between the play acting and the stiffness setting in from the morning’s work, I was very relieved when we arrived. The library was so heavily shrouded in quiet that silence stretched into the surrounding halls. Carpet swallowed our footsteps when we entered the dim room. Long gauzy curtains covered the windows on the western wall while splendid chandeliers descended like angels from a vaulted blue heaven to cast a warm golden glow on the room.
I noticed alcoves niched in the walls, some with tables and chairs, others with wing chairs. It was a long room, though not as long as I had been expecting, with a fireplace roaring at the far end. There didn’t appear to be a single soul around. My heartbeat quickened as I took in each delightful detail—each curve of woodwork, the height of the ceiling, the white stone of the fireplace, and above all, the books.
Quill left my side and quickly checked every single aisle and alcove before returning. “We are alone at present.”
I turned slowly and surveyed the tall shelves full of beautiful books. “No librarian?”
He grimaced. “We have one who tends the books, but he doesn’t have much to do.”
“But who answers questions about history, land, and philosophy?”
“There are not many questions that are safe to ask.”
I walked forward, “Do you know where the histories are, at least?”
Quill spread his arms, “The Library of Dalyn is arranged chronologically, you will find history on every shelf, as well as philosophy, economics and literature from the same period.”
My brows shot up in wonder and I picked an aisle at random. Trailing my fingers along the spines of the books as I walked. “Why?”
“Do you arrange yours differently?”
“By subject…you know, history, in one place, philosophy in another…”
“Why would you do that? You can’t truly understand Beltrain’s Treatise without knowing about the wars and famine that led to his writing it?”
“I’d never thought about it. I read the history, and if I want to know what Beltrain wrote I’ll go find that in the philosophy section.”
“But what if someone started in the philosophy section?”
“Then I suppose they find out of Beltrain’s ideas work without context.”
“They don’t. But that person would likely think Beltrain a fool, which he was not.”
I paused, “What on earth did this man write?”
“Satire.”
I stared at Quill.
“It’s brilliant, but makes no sense at all unless you know the story behind it.”
“Maybe I should read that.”
“You’d have to read two hundred years of history first, possibly more.”
“I’m not completely ignorant of history, you know. I had an excellent library and tutors.”
“An excellent library that was organized wrong.”
An excellent library that burned. I pulled a book off the shelf at random and gave Quill an arch look. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“I told your brother I would accompany you. Paperwork can wait.”
I headed for one of the alcoves with comfy chairs and Quill grabbed another book and followed behind me. I settled into one of the chairs, deciding that a merchant’s daughter would certainly pull her feet up under her—something a princess would never do in public. I’d gotten fifteen pages into my book before I realized I wasn’t actually reading, and this was an economics book. I closed it.
Quill looked up and watched me rise and stiffly march down the aisle to put the book back. I returned with Dalyn 2100c-2400c. Amusement glittered in his eyes.
I snuggled back into the chair. “This should be more interesting.” I waved the book.
He dipped his chin. “Most likely.”
“Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking about me getting in my history so I can read that satire.”
“I didn’t say anything.” A moment of silence passed before Quill added, “Anyway, that’s the wrong era of history.”
I shot him a glance, and then deliberately turned the page and made a great effort to actually read the words on the page while looking as stately as possible. I was aware of him smirking and returning to his own book. Then I did truly get drawn into the history book. The eight cities of Daisen Bay had had their share of wars over the ages, and I lost myself in the politics, skirmishes, weather and trade deals of two hundred years ago.
I was reading about a dispute centering on renovations to the cathedral when Quill cleared his throat. “I should bring you back to your rooms.”
I looked up. The dim light from the windows had faded to black, leaving the library to the golden lamps. “What time is it?”
“Dinnertime.”
That hardly seemed possible, but I when I examined my book I was a third of the way through. Come to think of it, I was hungry. I closed the book and uncurled slowly. My body protested and I winced. “What were you reading?” I asked, filling the time as I coaxed myself to stand.
“Seven Swords, a novel,” he replied.
“You read novels?”
“Surprised?”
“I was expecting military history…or satire.”
“I read those, too.” He shrugged. “But today, a novel.”
I stretched and almost shook my head, but my neck was sore also. “May I take my book back with me?”
Quill rose, “Of course. You may take as many as you wish, no one will mind.”
We turned and made out way out of the deserted library. There was a bit more of a bustle in the palace halls—people on their way here or there to dine. I wondered how far the gossip had gotten—that the king had given me gifts, and sent for me to join him somewhere for a few hours. Quill seemed to sense my thoughts and moved closer to me. I made myself small and unnoticeable beside him and we made it to my chambers without a single person looking me full in the face, even though a few had greeted the Captain of the Guard.
In my chambers, Quill strode in and habitually checked the entire suite for intruders before coming back to the sitting room where I had stopped to set down my book.
“I have rung for Amantha,” he said, pausing by the settee.
“Thank you.” I shifted, “Should I be expecting the king tonight?”
He shook his head. “The King is not planning to come tonight.”
“Good, because after dinner I’m going to take a long, hot bath. Something I would prefer to do alone.” My cheeks reddened but I continued with just a touch of umbrage, “So unless his Majesty has something truly urgent to discuss, I’m not available this evening.”
Quill bowed slightly at the waist. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought I saw a smile cross his face before he said, “As you wish, milady. I’ll see you in the morning, then.” He turned to go.
“Quill.”
He turned back.
“Thank you—for lessons, and the library.”
“You’re welcome.” He bowed again, then left.
The Legend of Zare Caspian 