Pencil Sketches
Happy Valentine’s Day
74-Intoxicating
“Do you like to ride, Miss Meredithe?” Lucius asked.
“Oh, I love riding whenever I can.”
“Then you must come out to our estate sometime, because it’s truly spectacular territory.”
I agreed that this would be a simply wonderful thing. The conversation continued; amiably discussing horses, hounds, tack and terrain. It was a pretty safe topic. I pretended to know less than I did and listened raptly to Bel and Lucius discuss the finer points of choosing a saddle horse. They were ideal young gentlemen; polite, charming, and funny. I wondered if Khattmali had picked them for these qualities or if there were other reasons. Other young men joined us, a Bekren Derren, Touli Hasreda, and a few others whose names I quickly forgot. Someone handed me a plate of food which I gratefully ate. I was aware of being entirely surrounded by young lords, and receiving some arch looks from the ladies and older men in attendance. That, at least, was something genuine in this farce of a luncheon. I would have enjoyed the attention if I didn’t know I was notorious and this crowd was Khattmali’s doing. I was just finished eating when Khattmali clapped her hands and drew everyone’s attention to her, “Friends, it’s time for the afternoon’s entertainment, please adjourn to the music room.”
Her suite had a music room?
Bel stood and offered me a hand up, which I accepted. To my surprise he then tucked my hand in the crook of his elbow and guided me with the rest of the crowd through a set of double doors with fantastic molding, into a large room with a stone floor and vaulted ceilings. The other young men of my entourage scattered into the crowd. The room was dim, the windows were covered with heavy drapes and the only light came from a glittering chandelier above a dais at the far end. There were alcoves down either side, and semi circles of comfortable chairs throughout, all pointed to the dais.
This had been a shrine.
Once the open space had been full of long benches—the windows were probably full of intricate patterns and scenes in colored glass, and the front had once had a small altar for burning incense to Eloi. The alcoves had been for prayer and meditation.
The crowd had swelled to fifty or more, and people started looking for places to sit in small groups. Some pairing off into couples and snuggling down on the heavily cushioned seating. Bel headed for one of the alcoves toward the middle.
I was relieved that Lucius came with us. The alcoves had been well equipped with cushions that invited lounging. Lucius sprawled out across half the cushions on the other side, I tried to sit as upright as possible as Bel languidly arranged himself across far more space than he needed. “Have you heard Vivianne Deroliedes sing, Miss Meredithe?”
I shook my head, “No.”
He smiled. “Then you are in for a delight.”
A servant appeared at the entrance to the alcove and set up a little table with wine. The servant filled three wine glasses and presented them to each of us before leaving the open bottle of wine behind on the table.
The musicians had set themselves up on the dais and started to play again. A soft, ethereal tune that built strength as people settled into seats and talking ceased. A large, black haired woman in a shimmering dress of gold silk stepped onto the dais. She folded her hands in front of her, swept her gaze around the room, and opened her mouth to sing. Her voice…I gasped as if punched, the beauty was so startling. She sang with the accent of the mountain cities, and the resonance was haunting, the sounded laced with an achingly lovely mourning. The song was about merchant sailor and the lover left behind—a fitting story for the city that controlled the commerce between the bay and the mountains—but I felt as if the music reached inside me and pulled out my own griefs, making the song about them instead.
When the song ended I flinched as Bel touched my cheek. It was wet with tears. He smiled, his own eyes brighter than usual. I quickly wiped my cheeks with my hand, giving him a quick, embarrassed smile. He handed me a handkerchief. “Thank you,” I patted my cheeks dry just as the music started again, a lighter tune this time. Mercifully.
Maybe mingling with the nobility wouldn’t be so bad, if it came with music. I sipped at my wine, focusing again on the enchanting nightingale on the dais. Her hands were poised in the air now, floating on the rivers of music, dancing on the sound of strings as her voice filled the old shrine and reverberated off the stone floor. I thought Eloi wouldn’t mind his shrine being a music room…even if it had been made so out of spite. I watched Vivianne Deroliedes, enraptured, allowing the music to carry me far away, till the darkened shrine fell away, swallowed in the golden dress. The golden dress became the sun over the blue green sea and I felt myself rocked by the kindly waves.
I was vaguely aware of the music ending, but I couldn’t come back. The sea and the sun faded to blackness and I felt my fingers release the wine glass. It fell.
I cursed.
Damn wine was poisoned.
73-Belle of the Party
Khattmali was the perfect hostess. She put her arm through mine and led me from group to group, presenting me as only a socialite could. People who had never spoken two words to me out in the halls were now all smiles and bows. As if they hadn’t been painting me with disdain whenever they glimpsed me for the past few months.
Courtly parties had been just another pleasant memory of my pre-siege childhood. Now, facing a roomful of beautiful vipers, I felt that I must have always hated court life. Hated it. Perfectly and completely.
“How do you do, Miss Meredithe?”
“So pleased to meet you, Miss Meredithe.”
“Enchanted, Miss Meredithe.”
I smiled, blushed, and curtsied with just a touch of unpolished bounce. I also invented new curse words in my head. There were more men than women at this party. Most of them thirty or younger, though there were a few older. When Khattmali ran out of people, I realized that I hadn’t retained a single name, and had glazed over most of the faces, too. I started angling for the wing chairs near the fire, but Khattmali steered me toward the couch instead.
I accepted a tea cup from a passing servant and settled onto the couch, Khattmali beside me.
She lifted a jeweled hand, “Bel, darling, come sit with us!”
A good looking young man in a fine white shirt under a navy doublet redirected his path to sit in the chair across from us. He smiled, the expression brightening his face so much that I thought it might be a real smile. “My name is Lord Belledi Valredes,” he bowed slightly to me as he sat, his eyes sparkling in a way that made me think we’d just been introduced but he’d seen the utterly blank look in my face.
Valredes…one of the older families to survive the fall. “Analie Meredithe,” I said, narrowly keeping myself from offering him my hand like a princess. I made an effort to mark his features: High cheek bones, brown eyes. Short brown hair. Broad shoulders that hinted at active pass times. His coat had the faint shimmer of silk, and a gold brooch in the shape of a leaping fish sat over his heart.
He kissed my fingers and sat back in the chair. “How have you found the palace, Miss Meredithe?”
“It’s lovely,” I said. “Just…really beautiful.”
“I’m sorry we haven’t met before now, for surely the palace is made even more beautiful by your presence.”
I looked down demurely to keep from rolling my eyes.
“Bel, you charmer,” said Khattmali with a light laugh. “Oh, Lucius, come here!” she beckoned to another young man even as she stood up. “Keep Miss Meredithe company for me, I must greet the other guests.”
I thought it was a thin excuse, even if new people had just entered the chambers. How many people had she invited to this luncheon?
Lucius had blonde hair, and he smiled as he kissed Khattmali’s hand before taking her place next to me on the couch. “Miss Meredithe,” he flashed the same smile at me. “Lord Lucian Tene. I hope you won’t be too bothered by our company.” His doublet was a pale blue that intensified the blondeness of his hair and the blueness of his eyes.
“Oh, not at all!” I said quickly, wrapping my hands around my tea cup as I watched Khattmali disappear into the crowd. It was happy coincidence, that an irritated and sulking princess could so easily pass for a shy and overwhelmed common girl.
“The Ambassador told me your father is a spice merchant,” said Lucius, “She failed to mention that you were stunning, though.”
I blushed. “You’re too kind.” And I could easily take you in a fight.
“I heard that your family was rescued by the King’s men after being robbed on the road,” added Bel, leaning his elbows on his knees and taking a sip of his wine. “That must have been terrifying. I’m so sorry you had to experience that.”
“Yes, it was awful—I’m so grateful to the men who rescued us, I can’t even imagine what would have happened if they had not come along.” I kept my eyes wide and earnest.
“Bel,” Lucius interjected, “This is a party, don’t remind the lady of such things.”
“My apologies,” Bel dipped his head, apologetic.
“It’s alright,” I assured him. “Much good came out of it.” I flicked my lashes down. Love makes you stupid. I tried to imagine being in love, but instead thought of throwing a pillow at Tarr’s head. My neck heated, which worked well enough.
“Have you ever been to a party like this before?” Lucius asked.
“Yes—well,” I hemmed, “I’ve been to large parties—just not with so many lords and ladies, of course. And not in the palace.”
“The Ambassador means well,” said Bel, kindly. “Though I fear a party of this size might not have been the kindest way to introduce you to people.”
I titled my head, uncertain what to make of even the gentlest criticism of Khattmali. Also, uncertain if he actually believed she meant well.
“Though, we’re certainly glad to meet you at long last,” said Lucius, leaning back and lifting a hand to wave over a servant carrying a decanter. “The palace is much improved by your presence. And I believe your brother is here, also?”
I didn’t want to talk about my family. “He is, yes. But he’s often out working the family business. It pleases the King for him to continue on restoring trade.” In the economy your High Queen shattered. I looked at Bel, “Lord Valredes…your family owns half the fishing boats, doesn’t it?”
“We do, yes,” he nodded, “Please call me Bel, Lord Valredes is my father.”
“Bel,” I smiled at him. I almost asked how they were affected by the purging of the nymphs but thought better of it just in time. I also almost asked how in Serrifis he’d managed to keep his parents through the fall, but I knew the answer to that already thanks to Quill and Tarr preparing me for this luncheon. Some hadn’t been given a choice to bow to the new Queen; Yet others had, and most took it after watching the executions and rituals.
Bel continued, “Lucius’s family owns hundreds of acres along the Market Road.”
“It’s a spectacular amount of work, but has some excellent soil and beautiful views,” said Lucius.
“Sounds wonderful,” I took a sip from my tea.
72- Armor
I was delirious with exhaustion by the time Namal and I made it back to the palace. It was a long walk to start with, but add in avoiding patrols and making certain we weren’t followed and it became a lengthy, predawn walking tour of the city. One of the royal guard, one we’d traveled with from Gillenwater, was waiting to bring us back through the tunnels to our chambers. Once I’d shucked that blasted armor I found Quill waiting in the sitting room to hear how our little meeting had gone. I told him everything and felt better for it. The sky was turning gray when I finally crawled into bed—after checking on the king who slept on the couch.
The sun woke me up hours later. I stared at the huge arching windows, feeling as if all the sand in Daisen were in my eyes and piled on my body, making it far too heavy to move. I had gotten used to sleeping at night. I liked sleeping at night.
The winter light was bright and cold, and I felt it wasn’t high enough in the sky for me to be awake yet. This wasn’t a fair exchange of hours. Perhaps I could close my eyes again and convince the bone crushing weariness to leave. Something moved in my peripheral, I turned my head to see Hesperide laying out a deep burgundy gown. With a groan, I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow.
“Good morning, my little owl,” I could hear the smile in Hesperide’s voice.
I lifted my head enough to squint at her. “Is it good?”
“It is good that it’s still morning, because you have that luncheon today.”
Right. I rolled onto my back and starred at the gilded ceiling. Khattmali hadn’t wasted any time pulling together a little lunch party to introduce Analie to people. Everyone was unhappy about me mingling with the nobility, but short of faking illness I didn’t know how to get out of it. I had been a small child the last time I’d been to Dalyn, it seemed highly unlikely that anyone would recognize me. The Midwinter Ball was mere weeks away and I was certain Khattmali wanted me out of the King’s bed by then. Did a second visit make poison more or less likely? What hideous thing would she tell me about Tarr today? I rubbed my hands across my eyes and tried to reconcile myself to being up. “Next time I’m impersonating someone of higher rank, so I can say no to more people.”
Hesperide snorted. “The King is out already, and your bath is ready for you,” she headed back into the closet and returned with a couple pairs of slippers, which she then set next to the gown and eyed critically. “You should probably get started on that.”
A bath made getting up more tolerable. Mostly because it bore so many similarities to staying bed with the added perk of being in water. Hesperide yelled through the washroom door at least twice to hurry me along. Finally, I presented myself to her, clean, dry, and un-striped, and she helped me get into the gown. It was a different look than the others, the long skirt a separate piece from the fitted brocade bodice that buttoned down the front. The embroidery of the brocade had a metallic blue sheen that caught the light. A collar swooped down into a flattering point that showed off the gold necklace which hung around my neck. Another gift from the king. I touched the pendant—a gold disc imprinted with ships traveling in the gilded circle of trade. He’d tried to give me a sapphire surrounded by a river of gold, but I’d argued that giving a mistress jewelry that mimicked his seal did, perhaps, send too strong a message. I found Hesperide’s eyes in the mirror.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I feel like this is really yours,” I tapped the necklace before letting my hands drop into my lap.
“Ah,” she was braiding my hair, but she freed a hand to reach forward and tap my heart. “This is what’s mine of his. You, and that,” she looked at the reflection of the pendant, “Are armor to protect us. They are all armor.”
I started to nod, but couldn’t with her grip on my hair. I tried a grim smile instead.
“Be careful with Khattmali today,” Hesperide returned to braiding. “She got Tarr drunk last night after dinner, but he didn’t even try to kiss her. In her ideal world, she’d drive him so mad with desire that he’ll think her proposition of marriage is wonderful—or, even better, he’ll come up with the idea himself.”
“I know, I know…I’m in the way.”
Hesperide nodded, “After so many failures in recent months, I suspect the ambassador is eager to have a success to show her mistress when she arrives for the ball. It’s becoming an urgent need.” Finished with the braid she began to coil it on my head, pinning as she went.
It seemed a little unfair to have to deal with intrigue of this nature without any of the intoxicating feelings of being in love to give it dazzle. Then again, it had to be a miserable situation for the people in love, so I shouldn’t feel too left out. There was a distant look in Hesperide’s eyes and I wondered if she was thinking of a version of her life where she didn’t need decoy lovers to protect her life and the lives of her children. “How do you know all these things, anyway?” I asked.
“I’m a servant,” Hess scoffed, “Servants know everything.”
“Oh. I’d forgotten.”
“If you want to know what’s happening in a palace, befriend the cooks, or the washer women.” Hesperide stepped to the front and eyed my hair. She pursed her lips, plucked at a curl, then nodded to herself.
“Not the maidservants?” I asked.
“No,” Hesperide shook her head, turning to collect the remaining pins, “Too much politics there.”
I grunted. “I’ll steer clear, then.”
“Wise.” She smiled at me as she left the room, “Jemin will be here soon to take you to the ambassador’s chambers.”
I thanked her and moved to the sitting room to pick up a book. There was a tray with tea, muffins, and a few pieces of fruit sitting by the fire and I happily dug into them with one hand—the other held the book. I was very hungry and hadn’t realized it. As I ate, I felt sleepiness returning to remind me that I’d been out most of the night.
When Jemin entered the sitting room, I jolted awake, book tumbling to the floor.
The burly royal guard was smiling. “Good morning, my lady.” He bowed slightly. “Are you ready to go?”
I straightened from being curled up in the wing chair and made a few faces, as if stretching and scrunching my face would wake it up more quickly. Blinking, I stood, and said primly, “Of course.” Then my lips quirked up in a dubious half smile, which Jemin rewarded with a matching one. Ready or not, it was time to go. There wasn’t anything either of us could do about it.
“Should you drink another cup of tea before we go?” asked Jemin, kindly.
I shrugged. “The ambassador has tea.” But I did pick up my cup and finish the last sip, now cold.
Jemin held the door open and then guided me to the ambassador’s chambers. The ambassador’s guards opened the door for me, and the sound of music and voices greeted me. The ambassador’s opulent chambers were even more spectacular today. Had she brought in more chandeliers? The crystal chandeliers cast splintered gold light and occasional rainbows everywhere through the main room. The windows were open, making up for the monstrous fire in the fireplace and the heat from the thirty men and women milling about in beautiful clothes. A few tables sat about, laden with meats, breads and fruits, and gray-clad servants bustled here and there carrying tea pots and decanters to ensure that no one saw the bottom of their cups. Four musicians sat in a corner playing stringed instruments.
Khattmali was in the center of it all, resplendent in a blue gown with a neckline that swooped deeply from one shoulder to the other, showing off both her skin and the layers of sparkling jewelry. She saw me immediately and came to greet me with a sweet smile on her face. As if greeting a favorite pet. “Analie! Darling! I’m so glad you’re here. I have so many people I want you to meet.”
Dear heaven.
71-Lamp in the Night
The warehouse smelled like fish and fresh water. Huge empty crates sat in rows awaiting the morning’s catch, though no catch had come for weeks. I was perched on top of a desolate crate, swathed in a fur lined cloak, watching shadowy figures arrive by ones and twos, and listening to the siren call of the river. Most of Dalyn’s fishermen had been nymphs, and they had been everyone’s first thought when the Nether Queen’s order had come. Most had fled, and those who hadn’t were caught or in hiding. Winter deadened the blow to the economy, and the king had seized and consolidated many of the icehouses and their contents. Time would fill the demand for more fishermen, but for now everyone was too frightened to go near the wharves, with their checkpoints and patrols, if they didn’t have to.
Namal stood in front of me, also cloaked and hooded, arms crossed, a dark looming figure against the small lantern on the floor. Under the cloaks, we were in our black leather armor—Tarr had commissioned an entire new set for me with chain link sewn inside. When I’d protested the weight, he’d given me a withering look and made a comment about only pretending to be a vengeful ghost. I’d worn the armor a couple hours a day for the past three days in an effort to get used to it. I still felt like I tired quickly, and I was more than happy to sit behind Namal and watch people arrive. These were the people he’d spent the last two months talking to. The people who helped him get people out of the city. Mostly men, and mostly dock workers of various social strata. There were a few people from other trades, and at least one or two very fine cloaks in the mix.
My eyes wandered over to Domjoa, the black-haired thief who had persuaded me to take some criminals in my jailbreak. He was standing nearby, silent and cloaked. He was clean-shaven now, and had lost the pallor of prison. I guessed he was in his thirties, and must have been a successful thief, because under that cloak were clothes just as fine at the King’s. According to Namal, Domjoa helped them choose a warehouse, and had generally been quite helpful when it came to finding places to hide or stage. He had, after all, found a safehouse for us the very first night, outside of which I’d collapsed in a heap. He’d bowed and kissed my hand when I arrived with Namal, “Your Highness, it’s good to see you out and about.”
“It’s good to be out,” I replied, meaning it. “I trust you have been well, and well behaved.”
He’d smiled, looking positively dashing, and bowed again. “Of course, your Highness.”
I wondered how many people he’d robbed since I’d released him. But I thought it was significant that neither Domjoa, nor Moonie the horse thief, Haystack the vandal, nor Shayn the murderer, had fled. Namal grumbled that he wished they had. But they were with the rest of my men—the ones from Gillenwater who owed me their lives—stationed around the perimeter of the warehouse, keeping watch. They were a comfort, ironically, considering that just a couple months ago we’d been trying to kill them. But Namal and I had come alone from the palace, and it felt strange to be out without Quill or Jemin nearby.
Trinh arrived, slipping in to my right and lingering in the darkness with a couple of his men. According to Tarr, eight knights had awoken with Trinh, and none of them had aged since the day Shyr Valla disappeared. I’d never seen them before, and tried to get a good look at them without openly staring. They stayed too far from the sad pool of lantern light for me to learn anything interesting.
Another shadow moved into the circle of lamplight with the grace of a dancer. I jumped off the crate and turned quite a few heads as I bounded into the arms of Ayglos.
Ayglos grunted at the impact, but laughed softly as he wrapped his arms around me. “Hey, Little Zare.”
Armor doesn’t make for the warmest hug, but I didn’t care. I grinned. I hadn’t seen Ayglos—or the rest of the family—since coming into the city. I was happier than I could have imagined to have my accomplice brother back for a couple hours. Ayglos held me at arm’s length and we inspected one another. He looked good, dressed in black armor exactly like Namal’s, with the albatross emblazoned across the chest. His muscles were hard, and the armor was not pristine. He had been busy, spiriting Nadine around the surrounding towns to do small good deeds in the night and spread the rumor of the ghostly armored girl who might be Nelia of Legend. Or who might be an heir of Galhara. . “You look good,” I said.
“So do you,” he rapped his knuckles on my pauldrons. “New armor?”
Namal intervened, clasping Ayglos’s arm in greeting before motioning us back to the spot behind the lantern. Now was not the time to catch up. We settled in place flanking him, leaning against the empty crates. I wondered if Namal had told Ayglos about my injuries or not. They had seen each other at least once since the jail break.
Namal stayed in the light of the lantern and addressed the small crowd grouped in its penumbra. “Friends, thank you for coming tonight. I’ve gathered you because we all share a common interest in protecting the innocent, and the future of Dalyn.” He paused, “I wanted to tell you about an opportunity which is before us: The Nether Queen will be coming to Dalyn for the Midwinter Ball.”
Silence stretched a few heartbeats too long before one of the men coughed. “What?”
Air released, another said, “She’s coming to crush us.”
“We’ll hide.”
Namal held up a hand to stop the fear from mounting. “She has undoubtedly decided that it’s time for a show of force, to remind Dalyn why she is Queen.”
“What kind of show of force?” someone asked.
“She’ll wipe us off the earth like she did to Shyr Valla.”
“Stop,” Namal’s voice was sharp, and powerful. I was glad it was not directed at me. “If she intended to wipe Dalyn off the map, she would have six years ago. She needs this city. This is an opportunity. For us. She will be more vulnerable on this journey than she is in her palace. She will leave her stronghold at Hirhel and travel through the mountains to the river,” Namal continued, “then she will board a barge and come straight to our shores. We have an opportunity to take the head off the snake and see what becomes of her empire.”
“Fat lot of good it will do to be rid of the High Queen when we still have her lackey, King Nymph’s Bane,” grunted one of the dock men. “What’s to save us from him?”
I cringed.
“He will be no trouble,” Trinh stepped into the light of the lantern, tossing back his hood, causing the gathered to gasp and recoil. He’d not been to any of these meetings of Namal’s, though a few of those present had heard Namal speak of the returned prince. Trinh, grim faced, with burning blue eyes and broad shoulders, filled the space with his presence. And looked so much like his brother.
For a moment, I feared they would mistake him for Tarr and tear him to pieces.
If they could, that is.
I needn’t have worried.
“By Fornern…Trinh Kegan!” said a gray-haired man with nicer clothing.
“How is this possible?” demanded another, a dock worker.
“You died!”
“Where have you been?”
“Is this a trick?”
“No trick,” growled Trinh. “I was laid low, but now I have returned and I will take back my city.”
Laid low was certainly one way of putting it. Simpler than explaining the truth. Less frightening, too.
“Prince Namal told me you were alive,” said the gray-haired man. “I did not really believe him—though perhaps I should have, since he also should not be alive.”
“The Queen’s conquest is not as thorough as she would have you believe,” said Namal dryly.
“Narya Magnifique is a tyrant and an oath-breaker,” Trinh’s voice filled the room. “She has long waged war for her own ends, seeking to conquer all eight cities and set herself up as empress over all of Daiesen Bay. And I opposed her.” He began to pace slowly around the lantern, his burning gaze sweeping over the faces, “Her taxes are severe, her brutality unacceptable, her armies a plague. Entire cities turned to rubble or enslaved, an entire race hunted without provocation. She seizes their riches for herself.” He paused, his chest heaved, his face filled with intensity. “There is blood in the Cathedral Square. And it’s spreading. Her influence corrupts everything that is good. Neighbor turns in neighbor for coin. Betrayal is the only thing to be trusted. Orphans are made, maidens are kidnapped, young men are beaten. Children are forced to watch their own parents killed. Slaughtered in profane rituals to whatever demon she worships.”
Suddenly he wasn’t talking about recent events anymore. I felt my heart pounding, drawn by his passion. His terrible, thrumming passion.
He continued, reining himself in. “The Queen won’t bring a full army to the Midwinter Ball, compared to Hirhel, she will be unprotected. This is our chance to end her reign. With your help, the cities will be free again.”
70-After Tea
In the safety of the King’s chambers, I stormed. I wanted to change clothes and go find the hounds, or do anything active…but the shimmering blue gown laced up the back. I couldn’t get out of the dress without help. I didn’t want to call for Hesperide because I didn’t know if she knew about Tarr’s fourteen children, and I knew I would probably blurt it out the moment I saw her.
In frustration, I fetched out my daggers. Fine gown or no, I started to practice with them right in the middle of the bedroom. Finding solace in the motions Remko had taught me so long ago, and distraction in the newer techniques that Quill and Vaudrin had taught us. I moved slowly at first. It felt good to move. To bend. I spun slowly, striking and slashing imaginary enemies, and trying out crouches and low kicks in my fine slippers. Frustration released with every blow. The dress limited my motion, but I kept working, moving faster was my confidence grew, as I let myself disappear in a flurry of emotion. Sweat slicked my skin under the dress, and I was vaguely aware of my curls whipping free of their restraints.
I almost didn’t hear the door to the chambers open. It registered a second later and I stopped mid-motion. Straightening, I flipped Azzad casually in my hand, trying to decide if I should put the knives away on the off chance it wasn’t someone I knew in the outer chamber.
Quill appeared in the doorway on his way through his usual circuit of the rooms. He paused, his eyes swept over me, taking in the sweat on my brow, the tumble of my hair, and the knives. I met his gaze, blowing a strand of hair out of my face.
He leaned on the doorframe and crossed his arms across his muscular chest. “How was tea?”
“I drank too much.”
Amusement flickered across his face. “Was it just tea?”
I sheathed my knives and marched to slide them under the pillows of the bed. “As far as I know. I’m not dead yet.”
“How’s your side?”
I inhaled deeply. At the moment I was still warm, even panting a little from my exercise. “Fine.”
“Don’t overdo it,” he straightened and turned back toward the sitting room.
“Is the King with you?” I asked.
He glanced back at me. “He’s just here for a change of clothes.”
Tarr came into view, dressed in riding clothes. His boots were dirty and he smelled faintly of the stables. Quill stepped aside to let Tarr through the doorway. The King smiled when he saw me. “How was tea?” he asked.
“Fine.” I crossed my arms.
Quill leaned toward Tarr, “Don’t believe her.”
Tarr grunted, “Of course not,” and continued past me into his closet. He would be ringing for Hesperide. The thought made me so angry I followed him in. Tarr was in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt, he looked up at me, surprised. “Yes?”
“Fourteen children!” I snapped.
“Excuse me?” His brows quirked in confusion.
“You have fourteen children?” I repeated, stopping just inside the closet and lifting my chin.
“I have,” Tarr hesitated, processing, then he threw back his head and laughed. “Fourteen? By Fornern, the number just keeps getting bigger.”
“How is this funny?” I seethed. “You’re irresponsible! It’s demeaning and vulgar and rude! And what about Hess? She loves you.”
Tarr kept laughing.
When several seconds passed, I began to fear that I would throw something at him. Then I began to think throwing something would be a good idea.
Tarr tried to speak, but every time he looked at me he started howling again. Stepping back, I grabbed a pillow from the bed, glared at Quill, who was still in the bedroom doorway, and came back to hurl the pillow at Tarr’s face. I wished it was something heavier as it pegged him. He laughed harder, but covered his head with his arms as he struggled to regain control.
I had no idea what to do, his reaction was so unexpected. Laughter tugged at me, coaxing me to come dance with it, but I absolutely would not allow it. I crossed my arms and waited, frowning.
Finally, Tarr regained control of himself, barely, and said, “I have three children. Though I support seven.” His blue eyes were still rich with mirth. “As soon as word gets around that you’ll take care of your offspring, they start materializing in places you’ve never been.” He picked up the pillow and lightly hefted it back to me.
“Three?” I asked, weakly, catching the pillow.
“Rumors credit me for ten, last I heard. But fourteen.” He laughed again, “That’s a new number. I wonder if Khattmali made it up just to frighten you or the rumor has grown.” Tarr resumed unbuttoning his shirt. “It’s really just Hess’s two, and I have a daughter who lives at Sinensis. She’s three years old, and doesn’t belong to Hess.”
“But…” I was trying to readjust my picture. Jemin had told me of the King’s reputation, but I’d somehow replaced it with a completely different perception—hard to imagine my nursemaid as a philanderer—and now I was trying to reconcile the two images. The truth was somewhere in the middle. “What about Hesperide?”
Tarr stopped, his shirt hanging loose now, and turned to look at me. As if finally realizing how serious I was. He pursed his lips, weighing, then stepping forward he took the pillow out of my hands. “Zare, you might not believe me when I say that Hestria,” here he looked over my shoulder at Quill, “is my heart and soul. Nothing terrifies me more than the thought of losing her the way I lost everyone else. If Narya knew I loved her–knew who she really was…” Tarr trailed off and looked away. His jaw worked. Silence stretched between us for a long, thick moment, then he continued, “So I hide her among many others and hope no one will learn the truth. Though I would be lying if I said I have not enjoyed the other women I’ve been with.”
Hestria? I took the pillow back and shook it at him, “I don’t regret throwing this.” But there was no venom in my words.
He inclined his head as I turned and walked out of the closet. Quill was still by the door, watching the whole exchange with his arms crossed. I tossed the pillow back onto the bed. “Weren’t you going to save him?”
“Only if you’d grabbed your knives instead of the pillow,” he replied, a smile in his eyes.
I moved to the couch and sat down, then fixed him with a look. “Hestria?”
“You’re not the only one with secrets.” Quill walked to one of the chairs perched on the arm, again crossing his arms over his chest and looking incredibly comfortable.
“Is she your sister?” I’d seen the way Tarr looked to him.
Quill shook his head, his expression said he’d been expecting the question. “First cousin.”
“Ahhh.” That certainly explained a number of things about Hess’s humor and manner. We were quiet another moment while I re-processed tea with Khattmali. “Dear heaven,” I breathed, “She’s a witch.”
Tarr emerged from the closet, half dressed in a fine shirt and pants, instead of half un-dressed in his riding clothes. A black coat hung over his arm as he buttoned his clean white shirt. “I haven’t got a lot of time, but are you going to tell me about tea?” he asked.
I drew a deep breath and explained, “The ambassador was very chummy, wants to throw a little soiree so Analie can meet people. Warned me about your…reputation…assured me you would be bored soon because you’re a cad who somehow had fourteen children in only six years—and resolved to help me find a way to stay—rich? At court? Like this.” I waved a hand at my dress and jewels. “She was very persuasive.”
Tarr paused beside Quill and put on his jacket. “Impressive for one little tea. What did Analie do?”
“She was mostly quiet and didn’t say no to much,” a wry smile tweaked my lips. “She’s obviously not sure what to think anymore, though she’s devoted to you. I think my eyes dried out from being wide with innocence so long.”
Quill coughed out a laugh.
“Well,” Tarr winked, “Her loyalty is admirable. Even if yours was a bit more fragile”
I rolled my eyes. “I only threw a pillow, you should feel quite loved.”
Nightrage Rising
A friend of mine just released book two in his series, The Unseen Chronicles. It’s another delightful fantasy adventure, aimed at younger readers than Zare, but the quality of story the whole family will enjoy.
Zare is 17 in her current story, and Essie’s more like 13 in hers, but I imagine they’d get along handsomely.
Alright, here are the details:
Nightrage Rising will release this next Saturday, on December 9th. During this Christmas season the Amazon Kindle e-book will be available for .99 and will be free for Kindle Unlimited subscribers. The paperback should be available that same day. Here’s the direct link: http://amzn.to/2AsFwIa
Nightrage Rising is a street-level fantasy-adventure novel with a healthy splash of Nancy Drewish mystery—mixed with a dollop of wit and snark. It is a fast paced, first-person, present-tense story of a girl discovering self-worth, courage and friendship in the face of an unstable kingdom, magical inequality, and a dangerous, seductive cult. If you grab a copy off the shelf and flip to the back cover, here’s what you’ll find:
“Essie Brightsday is blind. But that hasn’t kept her from curses, dragons, or rock basilisks in the past. Now her family lives in the bustling capital of Plen, a far cry from their small farm tucked against the Valley of Fire. Little does she know that a secretive cult is growing in the city, guaranteeing this adventure will be just as eventful as the last…”
While Nightrage Rising is the sequel to A Hero’s Curse, it was written to stand on its own. If you missed the first book, don’t worry, you can still jump in, right now. (You can find out more about a A Hero’s Curse here www.psbroaddus.com/a-heros-curse/).
Also, head over to Facebook on Saturday, December 9th, for the launch party. There are always cool guests and giveways. I’ll be on at 4pm, come by!
66-SOULS
His deep brown eyes opened straight to his soul. How had I forgotten that? I had meant to sound confident, but now as our souls met, I knew he could see the fear deep inside me. Because I could see his. I looked away, brushing at the dried dirt on my dress. “I’ve never seen this side of you before.”
“What side?”
“The dark side.”
“This is not my dark side,” Quill scoffed. “Trust me.”
“Alright,” I conceded, “the side that feels.” He didn’t contradict me as I brushed the last of the dirt off and started picking at another spot. I stole a glance at him and continued, “I’ve been meaning to ask you how you’ve managed to not be bitter about everything that has happened. This is the closest I’ve ever heard you come to being angry.”
Taking a breath, Quill paused before answering. “It’s a choice. Bitterness only takes the luster off my life, not hers.” He picked up his head, I knew he was looking at me but I wasn’t ready to let him look into my soul again. “Eloi knows some days are easier than others.”
I nodded, admiring his outlook, and carefully scraping at the dried mud instead of meeting his eyes. I thought of life in Galhara, before the siege. The first time I’d smelled battle, the first time I put Remko’s training to use. The sickening sounds of death, a hospital slick with blood, and the reality of rationed food. Then of life in the circus, as we snuck through the Nether Queen’s realm hoping only to reach exile in Magadar. I thought of Balleck’s strong hands over mine, teaching me how to spin poi and dance with fire. Of Balleck hiding me when I panicked in the Market Square of Gillenwater. Then of Remko, thrashing and unconscious as Boitumelo stitched up his side and I tried to hold him down. Of happy, gentle Olena standing over the flaming corpse of her first kill. I remembered crying uncontrollably into Hook’s mane on Ironsides’ farm. The first time I’d cried since leaving my grandfather’s kingdom under the sea. The last time I’d had time to cry at all. I pictured the prison, full of nymphs languishing without water, the Cathedral Square wet with their blood. I hadn’t had time to think about bitterness, to evaluate how much I hated the woman who had caused all the death in my life. I was busy trying not to be crushed by the weight of everything that needed doing, and everything I could not do. How could I fix this? I, with my injured ribs was not Nelia of Legend.
“Stop that.” Quill’s voice interrupted.
“What?” I was surprised into looking up at him.
“I can see you spiraling, don’t do it.” He was stern. “You’re not despairing by nature, don’t wallow because it seems like the thing to do.”
“I’m not despairing,” it came out as a grumble, “I was just telling you not to despair.”
“Yes,” chuckled Quill, “and then you tripped as you tried to shoulder the sole responsibility of fixing everything yourself.”
I stared at him, wondering how he’d gotten all that from me sitting in silence picking at the dirt on my dress and marveling at the fact that he was right. “I do have a fair amount of responsibility, here,” I said, sounding much more pathetic than I had intended.
“But not alone,” he reminded firmly.
I looked at him, at that soul whose strength ran deep. Part of me wanted to argue, to remind him of all the news he’d just given me, but I smothered that thought. We would be the ones to write the history of this war. Which meant we had to win. We. Warmth bloomed inside, and I let it spread, allowing myself to be buoyed.
Quill smiled. “That’s better.”
I shook my head, trying to stifle my own smile so he wouldn’t see just how soundly he’d succeeded. My mind helpfully reminded me of something else I had to worry about. “So,” I hesitated, “I ran into Khattmali today.”
He stiffened. “What?”
“She came down to the kennels…I’m worried she may have come specifically to meet me.”
“Me too.”
“She said she wants to meet with me to get to know me better, and hear a commoner’s perspective on growing up in Dalyn—because she loves the city so much.”
Quill rested his head against the wall again. “That’s a bit of a joke. She just wants to know what the King sees in you, and how she can use that to her advantage.”
“I know, but…I don’t think I can avoid it.”
“Heh, probably not.” He paused. “Have you ever been a spy, your Highness?”
I scrunched up my face. “No, I don’t think so. Not unless you count infiltrating the circus.”
He smirked.
“The secrets of performance are no small matter.” I tipped my chin up and sniffed with affected pride. “No one guards their secrets like the magician—never did learn how he made doves appear.”
“I believe that,” he rubbed his hand across his face again, the smile lingering. “Do you have a plan?”
“Well, I’ve been playing the invisible merchant girl for weeks, now I just have to add words.” I looked over, “Right?”
“Basically.” After a pause he added, “People see what they want. You have to figure out how to work that to your advantage.”
We fell silent. I began to feel sleep tugging at my eyes. It probably wasn’t safe to return to the King’s chambers, and if we stayed here I would probably fall asleep and keel off the bench. As a child, I would have fallen asleep on my guard’s shoulder without a second thought, but that didn’t seem appropriate anymore. I tended to forget Quill was Captain of the Guard, anyway. “I don’t suppose we could go into the queen’s chambers and find a couch for me to nap on?”
Quill eyed the door for a moment. “I…guess we could…it’s probably very dusty in there.” Turning, he evaluated me. I gave him a bleary look. After a moment’s hesitation, he stood up and tried the door. It stuck, then with a tremble and creak it popped open. A rail crossed the doorway, Quill stepped under it and gingerly crept out of my sight into the chambers beyond. He returned a moment later and offered me his hand, his face unreadable.
Stiffly, I followed him through the tiny door, ducking under the rail and stepping onto a pile of torn cloth. The rail was a curtain rod, one side ripped out of the wall, the other still mounted, so it hung haphazardly, the curtain in a shredded heap beneath it. This chamber was round, like the King’s, but it was in ruin. Images of Rydderhall flashed before my eyes as I followed Quill further in. The bed linens had been tossed around the room, the mattress battered and disgorging feathers.
My foot caught on a broken table leg, I kicked it out of the way. A desk with all the drawers ripped out, an overturned chaise, doors hanging akimbo. We stepped out of the bedroom into the sitting room, where the slaughter of furniture had continued with no mercy. By the balcony doors, a couch lay on its back, with its cushions disemboweled. There was a pile of shattered wood and glass against one wall, as if someone had practiced throwing chairs like a game of darts—the target had been a large oval mirror with a gilded frame. The frame remained on the wall, bits of glass rimmed the inside like shark teeth
“I’m afraid we won’t find a place for you to rest here,” said Quill.
53-Messages
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.”
The Legend of Zare Caspian 