Stories from a clever mercenary in a wild world.
The more I write in the River Rebellion, the more of this story I learn. You might get it someday. I know I post about it often, but that’s because there is an absolutely outrageous dress and a massive headdress and veil. Such things are fantastic fun to imagine.
I was next to the King now, and stopped as if I’d been struck. “All of them?”
“She hasn’t done anything like this since she hunted down the most loyal and the seers. It’s been taxes, monuments, rules and favors…people died undeserved deaths but they weren’t hunted like rabbits.”
“There must be hundreds of nymphs in Dalyn,” I said, still disbelieving.
“For generations, the River Folk have been part of the kingdom and commerce of Dalyn. A few hundred souls out of ten thousand…but a few hundred innocent souls in cold blood. A few hundred souls I should protect.” He kicked the grate in front of the fire, I flinched, then he continued, his voice hollow, “I was never going to be the figurehead of this rebellion, but I would have liked to have been a good king. Not remembered as Narya’s pawn.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. Not the figurehead? He was King. Who else would be the figurehead?
“I have to give the order, Zare,” Tarr finally looked at me, pleading, “If I do not, Khattmali will. They will all die brutally, and many in my household will die with them for my insurrection. I do not have the men to resist her, not yet.” His blue eyes were unguarded and radiating pain
I saw another fear in his eyes and whispered it, “And how will they trust you after you have done this?”
Tarr turned back the fire and looked at it as if he might crawl into it. “It’s alright, they don’t have to.” His voice was quiet and I realized suddenly that the Galhirim—that the ghostly girl claiming to be Nelia of legend—was the figurehead for this rebellion.
The thundering in my blood quieted into a smooth and deadly current. I reached out and peeled one of the King’s hands off the mantel then tugged him toward the couch. I perched on the edge and pulled him down next to me, still holding his hand. An idea was forming. It was probably an awful idea. I looked to Quill, he was already watching me as if he could sense what I was thinking.
Before I could say anything, however, a knocking pattern sounded on the secret door. The panel of the wall slipped aside and a man stepped in, followed by a palace guard. Quill and Jemin both bowed, and Tarr turned his head. I stared at the newcomer in shock: He was dressed in dark clothes of fine make, and was wearing a sword. He had blue eyes, light brown hair tipped with copper, and his face…was just like Tarr’s. He stopped short when he noticed me sitting with the King.
“Your Highness,” said Tarr, squeezing my hand. “I would like you to meet my brother, Trinh Kegan, King of Dalyn.”
I should’ve stood up and curtsied, but I sat and stared. Trinh looked a little taken aback himself, but he bowed slightly, “Princess Zare, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I wasn’t expecting you to be here tonight.” He gave his brother a sharp glance.
“Your army disappeared,” I said. “You disappeared.”
Trinh grimaced.
“You rode away and never returned.” I cast a sharp look of my own at Tarr, letting go of his hand, “My father was the only conquered king not personally killed by the Nether Queen.”
“That’s still true,” said Tarr, “It’s a long story.”
“I’m listening,” I growled.
Trinh came around to the front of the couch and Quill brought the chair from the desk for him. “It’s not a story I intended to be telling tonight,” Trinh gave his brother another hard look as he sat down. “We have more pressing matters.”
I was astonished at the sight of a long dead prince, and I was angry at him for being alive while Dalyn fell. He also looked so much like Tarr they could have been twins, though I knew that Trinh was several years older. “Give me the short version,” my tone was tart.
The brothers looked at one another, Trinh was irritated and Tarr was not sorry. My hearted warmed toward him a little. “The Galhirim deserve to know,” stated Tarr, coolly.
Trinh tipped his head and turned to me. “The short version is that I rode out at the head of the army to succor Shyr Valla, which was again under siege by the armies of Hirhel. When we arrived, the armies had withdrawn, leaving an empty camp before the city walls. Fearing something was afoot, I sent scouts into the hills, and myself turned back toward Dalyn with eight of my knights. We were thrown to the ground by wave of power that swept through the forest like a mighty wind. When we got up, we rode hard for Shyr Valla—for that’s whence the power flowed—we found no trace of our army, the camp, or the city. In dismay we turned back to Dalyn. By the mercy of Eloi we met a peddler on the road who told us that Narya had conquered Dalyn and Tarr had been her vassal king for six years.” Here Trinh paused and shook his head, while I tried to grasp what he’d just said. “So I did not ride through the city gates in my golden armor, but snuck in by ways known only to my family and sought to learn where my brother’s loyalties truly lay.”
“Wait a minute,” I interrupted, “You were knocked down…and six years passed?”
“Essentially,” replied Trinh.
“But how?”
“I don’t know, it wasn’t my doing.”
“My brother gave me quite a scare when he showed up,” cut in Tarr, picking up my hand again, a gesture of comfort. “I naturally assumed he was a ghost—not only did he look just as I remembered him, but he got past my guards.”
Quill cleared his throat, “He did not sneak past your guards, your Majesty, he convinced them.”
“She stopped time,” I whispered, remembering my first audience with Tarr Kegan.
“She is a petty and jealous human being,” there was a snarl of derision in Trinh’s voice that reminded me that he was perhaps the only living general who had defeated the Nether Queen in battle. I thought of my brothers’ skepticism and looked at Trinh and Tarr closely. Now that I studied, Trinh did look a touch older than Tarr, but certainly not by the ten-year margin he should have been. Either Trinh’s fantastic story was true, or the Tarr had gone through a great deal of trouble to find a look alike. But to what end? What could he possibly gain from such a bizarre story?
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.”
You don’t know him yet, but he’s the bomb. I also apparently have a thing for red plumes/red mohawks.
This piece was watercolor practice based of this really epic piece which you can find here.
The King? Here? Now? I could have throttled Quill. But instead, I put down the statuette, lifted the skirts of my nightie and curtsied as the handsome King emerged from my closet also in his night clothes. Dear heaven.
“Your Majesty,” I said, willing the flames off my cheeks.
“Your Highness.” He had a long blue robe—which he let hang open over his loose pants and half-open tunic as he bowed slightly in return. When he straightened, he gestured to the settee. “Please, sit with me.”
“Of course.”
He sat, or lolled, into the settee as if this was his sitting room—which, I suppose it was—and indicated for me to sit beside him. Dear heaven. I could play his game. I tucked one leg under me and lounged across the other half of the settee as if it belonged just as much to me as it did to him. I lazily combed my fingers through my hair and pretended I was wearing a fine silk gown rather than a nightie. I was going to slug Quill first chance I got.
“I must apologize for dinner last night,” said the King.
The sincerity in his voice surprised me into meeting his graze. I was doubly surprised to find nothing of the flirting idiot from the night before.
“And also,” he continued, his blue eyes grave, “for sneaking up on you like this. It is not the way I would have preferred to meet either daughter of King Zam the Great of Galhara.”
There was more unsaid—much more. He was every bit as aware as I was that without Narya the Nether Queen, Tarr would not be King, and he and I probably would have met at a state dinner. Perhaps courting me, perhaps Nadine. Though, she was older than him, so it might have been me. What a strange thought: We might have hit it off, gotten married, and then I’d be living in some villa like Sinensis—a living bond between two states. Our greatest danger: Boredom.
We stared at one another for a long second before Tarr continued. “The Captain has seen to it that we will not be disturbed,” Tarr nodded to Quill, who was still standing by the dressing room door, “But I’m certain that the entire palace will know I have been here before tomorrow ends. People may even speak to you if you go out exploring again.” His tone was dry.
“What a pity, your majesty,” I smiled ruefully, “I so enjoyed the quiet.” I wasn’t surprised he knew about our movements, though I hadn’t noticed anyone in particular monitoring us.
Tarr smiled back, it was like pulling a blanket off a lantern, the change in his face was so encompassing. “My Captain speaks highly of you, and he is never impressed by anyone, so naturally I had to meet you for myself. Anyone valiant enough to defy the Nether Queen with such cheek is well worth the risk.”
I felt a blush spread up my neck and cheeks. “The captain is doubtless downplaying his role.”
“That is likely,” agreed the young King, “but even so. It may be that the rumor of your deeds will spread hope. Rumor is already spreading freely among soldier and servant, and I know that some among the nobility are whispering.” Here a wicked light gleamed in his eyes and I wondered if he were spreading the rumors himself. “Khattmali was furious when the caravan arrived without its carriage or prisoners, and with stories of a ghostly girl claiming to be Nelia of legend…I ordered the men flogged and confined for a time so she wouldn’t have them killed. I don’t envy her having to tell the Queen that her prisoners were lost.”
“No, indeed,” I replied, containing a shudder.
“Some recent discoveries have caused me to believe the Nether Queen can be stopped.” Tarr rolled his head back and looked at Quill before looking back to me. “Not the least of which being the discovery that Zam the Great somehow escaped her clutches. Do you realize, Princess, that your father is the only conquered King not to be personally killed by the Nether Queen?”
I swallowed. “I didn’t know that.” We’d seen the queen’s banner among her troops during the last days, the banner that said their queen was among them. Perhaps the only thing that had saved Namal or Ayglos from Tarr’s fate had been the unlucky explosion of the nymph’s fire. “Is she really a sorceress?” the question popped out before I could stop it.
Anger kindled in the King’s eyes, “Oh, yes. She is. Most of the stories are true.” All languor vanished from his body as he sat up, “My brother, the crown prince and general of our armies, was in the mountains with the bulk of our forces to protect our ally Shyr Valla from the jealous Queen of Hirhel. They’d been fighting off and on for four years. The only thing different about this battle is it came on the heels of a treaty we all thought would end the conflict.” He scoffed. “We all thought she was just a jealous queen. Until she swallowed our armies in darkness, then took our city as easily as buying a box of sweets. She doesn’t waste energy on small magic—no parlor tricks from Narya Magnifique. No,” He was talking quickly now, “She saves her magic for things like destroying cities without a trace, and stopping time. Shyr Valla is gone as if it has never been. We are lucky, I suppose, she didn’t do the same to Dalyn. But she needs us, needs our trade, needs our command of the river. Why rebuild what’s already here? It doesn’t take magic to terrorize a city—she threw a few things in, fire that burns on water—soldiers who materialize out of thin air.” the King leaned into me, eyes narrow with intensity, I stood my ground waiting for him to notice how close he was. “But she has secrets, things the seers could tell us. I know because she hunted them down and slaughtered them in the city square, just as she slaughtered my father and his advisors.”
A shiver ran down my spine. I wasn’t sure how much was terror at the reality of Narya’s power and how much was due to having the King’s face inches from mine, his eyes blazing. “Your Majesty,” I lifted a hand and dared to press it against his shoulder, “Please.”
Tarr blinked, his eyes cleared and he seemed to notice for the first time that he was practically in my lap. He slumped back, suddenly drained, and turned his face to the fire. “She crowned me the same day.” His voice was hoarse now. “I was fourteen.”
Fourteen. “I’m sorry.”
“She promised to take care of me, but also to kill everyone I loved if I ever turned against her.” He said the words mundanely, as if mentioning an errand completed.
I shivered again, and then Quill was draping a thick robe around my shoulders. Our eyes met, he dipped his chin ever so slightly. His assuring look made tangible by the weight and warmth of the robe. I took a deep breath and turned to the King. “My brother, Namal, is supposed to meet with you to discuss an alliance.”
“Yes,” Tarr waved a hand, “I will meet with your brother next.”
“You know Galhara burned,” I said. “Our entire palace, and a fair portion of the city is nothing but cinders now. We do not know what remains of our surrounding lands, or most of our court. We may not bring much to your rebellion.”
“Anything is not nothing,” replied Tarr Kegan. “A rebellion has to start somewhere. Since the Queen lost the entire royal family and most of the nobility in that fire, Galhara is ruled by a sniveling weasel she dug out of the merchant’s guild.”
I hadn’t heard that. We hadn’t exactly mingled outside the circus, and never asked after our city for fear of being discovered.
“Once word spreads that the rightful heirs of Galhara live, that Zam the Great lives, then your surviving court will gather.” He tore his gaze from the fire and looked at me again. “Thirty years ago, your father defeated Caedes the Pirate King and his armada, thereby freeing the coastal regions from the terrors of Caedes brutality.”
I was well familiar with the story.
“He became the first king to also hold lands under the sea,” continued Tarr, “I loved his history when I was a child. And now he is also the first king to escape the clutches of Narya Magnific.”
I shifted uncomfortably. The province that came with my mother’s hand in marriage had been no secret–which made our escape that much more incredible because the Nether Queen’s forces should have known to look for a waterway under Galhara; should have known to hunt us in the waves under the cliff. They hadn’t known, somehow, and neither had Quill’s men. Now it felt like a secret, and hearing it so freely referenced made me feel exposed.
Tarr’s voice grew soft, “People would rally, if they knew…” He opened his mouth again as if to say more, then closed it.
We were silent for a few minutes. I fingered the thick robe—blue, like the King’s, I noticed—and wondered how Namal would react to the King’s story about Narya’s power. If he would brush it off like Ayglos had. If it would push our father into alliance or away from it. Tarr Kegan stared into the fire, his face brooding. He just a year older than Ayglos, and he’d spent the last six serving the ruler who had destroyed his brother and murdered his father. I could imagine myself in his place all too easily, and I pulled the robe closer to ward off the thoughts. “Why now, your majesty?” I asked. “Why rebel now?”
Tarr glanced at me, “I have been rebelling every day since she murdered my parents.”
“What did you mean when you said she stopped time?”
The King didn’t react to my question and I began to wonder if he’d heard me.
“Captain? What time is it?” he said at last.
“It is eleven, your Majesty,” replied Quill, he was still standing close to me.
The King stood and stretched, “I should go meet with your brother, before it gets too much later. My men will stay guarding your rooms so it appears I am still here, with you.”
I stood also, irritated that he hadn’t answered my question and not certain whether or not I should show it.
Tarr Kegan took my hand and kissed it. “I will come tomorrow night if I can, or send for you if possible. I enjoyed our visit. Good night.” He turned and strode to my dressing room and vanished with a swish of his blue robe.
Ambassador Khattmali from Hirhel was not the man who had been ambassador to Galhara. For starters, she was a woman. She was perhaps in her thirties, raven haired and breathtakingly beautiful in her evening gown of gold silk. Her long fingers flashed and glittered with rings in the candlelight. She moved like honey, smooth and without waste. Her eyes, which raked over me sharply when we were introduced, were dark and cunning. I didn’t like when she looked at me, as if she were peeling back each layer of my skin to learn everything about me. She was seated on the king’s left and often touched him possessively. Her presence motivated me to keep quiet unless spoken to.
King Tarr Kegan of Dalyn, however, lounged in his gilded chair and threw smiles around like rose petals at a wedding. His hair was light brown, and looked reddish in this light. He was handsome, of slighter build than Quill, or even my brothers, and left the throat of his very fine shirt unbuttoned for a rakish look. After we’d been presented—and he’d gushed about the bravery of his men who’d happened upon our trouble—Tarr didn’t say much to us. He also didn’t seem to mind the petting from Khattmali—even once picking up her hand and kissing it. But he kept catching my eye and winking, and I had no difficulty at all blushing like a merchant’s daughter. Which I hated.
The general and chief advisor were there, also. The advisor was a gray-haired man, but the general was baby faced and looked about the same age as the king. Neither man was eager to talk with Namal and I present. It was a mercy when the king called for musicians, and their music filled the many voids in conversation. The food was excellent, but it was difficult to enjoy it in this strained company. It was also so much more food than I was accustomed to, especially of late, that I was dangerously full and feeling awful far before we reached the end.
I wished I dared examine the royal guards who were tucked unobtrusively in the shadows. I would dearly love to see a friendly face, and wondered if I knew any of the men present.
Finally, dinner ended, the king and his courtiers left, then Namal and I were guided back to our chambers by a servant dressed in gray. I walked into my rooms, glad of the fire, and glad of the open door leading to a welcoming canopy bed. I didn’t bother undressing, just kicked off my shoes and crawled under the covers. Wrapping my arms around my poor stomach I wished I felt well enough to truly appreciate my first night back in a good bed.
When I woke up, Amantha was tending the fireplace at the end of the bed and sun was streaming through a window that had been covered yesterday. I was hungry.
“Good morning, Miss Meredithe.” Amantha walked to the bed. “May I help you out of that gown?”
I pushed back the covers and sat up slowly. The dress would recover, I supposed, looking at the horrible wrinkles. I’d slept quite well and had no regrets. “Good morning.” I slid my feet to the floor and stood blearily.
“I came to help you change last night, but you were already asleep.” Amantha began unbuttoning the dress. “I did not wish to disturb you.”
“I was very tired,” I replied, stepping out of the dress and into the robe she had ready.
She draped the dress over her arm, and I caught curiosity in her eyes before she said, “The bath is ready for you.”
“I bathe alone,” I announced. Then, wondering if I’d been to assertive, added, “If that’s alright,” and dropped my eyes shyly.
“As you wish,” Amantha turned away. “I will get your clothes ready.”
We parted ways in the sitting room; she to the dressing room and I to the steam filled washroom and closed the door. Someday, I promised myself, I would have a slow bath. Today, however, I rushed through the washing and got to the drying quickly enough that my stripes barely had a chance to bloom before fading. Then I presented myself to Amantha who quietly slipped a chemise over my head and then helped me into a sumptuous dark green overdress. This one had gold embroidery about the cuffs and throat instead of black, and was as flattering as it was comfortable. I had missed clothes like this. Amantha fussed with the frothy cuffs and part of me wanted to tell her about the wildly uncomfortable dinner the night before. Part of her obviously wanted to know. Instead, I asked, “What is happening today?”
Amantha shrugged and walked me to the stool so she could start fixing my hair. “Breakfast is ready for you in the sitting room. After that you are welcome to explore the palace and gardens as much as you like.”
“That’s all?” I asked.
“You are here at the king’s disposal,” replied Amantha, “You are free to entertain yourself until he sends for you or releases you.”
I squelched the offense rising inside me. I am a merchant’s daughter. Not a girl who, under different circumstances, would have been presented with pomp and ceremony and courted as a potential queen. It’s an honor to be here at all. That thought reminded me of the real cover for any meetings I had with Tarr. “I didn’t know the king was so handsome.”
Amantha smiled faintly. “That he is, Miss Meredithe.”
So ended our conversation for the time being. She finished with my hair—a loose but complex braid—and left me to eat alone.
A knock sounded at the door, and Namal entered. He had also been dressed in green, with black pants and boots. He pulled up a chair across from my little table. “Good morning,”
“Good morning,” I replied, “Did you sleep well.”
My brother grunted. “May I have a biscuit?”
I nodded and he began to spread butter on a still-warm biscuit. Despite my hunger, I hadn’t gotten far in the breakfast Amantha had left. “So…”
Namal looked at me, arched brow.
“So…now we wait?” I asked.
“We are permitted to explore, it would behoove us to do so.” He bit into the biscuit and rolled his eyes up in pleasure. “I think your handmaid likes you more than mine likes me.”
“You have a handmaid?” I was surprised. In Galhara, the men had manservants, the women had maidservants—at least in the palace and among most of the nobility. An older tradition aimed at keeping the peace.
He nodded. “I do. It’s very awkward.” Namal leaned back and looked out the window. His hair was darker than mine, almost black, and he had our mother’s blue eyes. Like our father, he had a natural presence and authority to go with his extensive education and skills. “What did you think of the ambassador?”
I wrinkled my nose. “She’s stunning, smart, and dangerous. And she didn’t like me.”
Namal nodded. “I would wager that she was chosen as ambassador to Dalyn because she is beautiful, and Tarr Kegan is known to like women.”
“Do you think she is angling to be queen?”
“Probably. Though if it is her own ambition or her queen’s, I can’t say.”
“A merchant’s daughter is hardly a threat to that ambition.”
“Zare, what woman wants to share?”
I inclined my head. “Point.”
“Be careful, is all,” said my brother.
“You’d better get used to calling me Analie. Who were you again?”
Namal smirked. “Alban.”
“Alban,” I repeated. Then I leaned forward and grabbed his hand excitedly. “Alban, dearest, I should dearly love to see every inch of this palace. It’s so exciting to be here!”
He huffed, “It’s disgusting how good you are at this.”
“Civilization is all playacting,” I retorted.
“To you, maybe,” Namal rolled his eyes and offered me a hand up.
We spent the entire morning exploring the palace. No one spoke to us, though we saw many courtiers and many more servants. The servants paid us no mind, though some of the courtiers looked at us with varying degrees of interest and archness. It didn’t take long to find the limits of our movement indoors, the parts of the palace where the real governing happened were barred by grim looking royal guards with spears. After lunching in our rooms, we took winter cloaks and spent the afternoon exploring the gardens behind the palace. Since it was winter, there weren’t many people in the gardens, and we both breathed easier. We saw some servants running errands, and met a few of the king’s young hounds and their keeper—a boy of about seven with reddish brown hair.
The day’s exploring was perhaps the most time I had ever spent with Namal. He told me little things about the spice industry while we wandered around learning the layout of the grounds, and I was sort of surprised how pleasant his company was. Namal was eight years my senior, the crown prince—always away or busy with work or study. I was the baby—my world had been entirely different from his. Nadine was almost as old, but we shared the bond of sisters—and all the unique travails of both women and princesses. Ayglos and I were alike enough in temper and age that we were natural conspirators. I blamed Ayglos. None of this had really changed during the siege, or at the circus.
Namal and I shared a quiet dinner in my rooms, served by the silent Amantha. I was not the least bit surprised or disappointed that we hadn’t received an invitation from the king. Namal didn’t linger after dinner, he looked exhausted, but his blue eyes were softer than I had ever seen them when he bid me goodnight. Impulsively, I hugged him before he left. I stared at the door for a minute, then went to my dressing room and hunted for a nightgown. There were several, I picked the softest—a long white gown that skimmed my body and pooled at my feet deliciously. I grabbed a book off the shelf next to the fireplace and curled up in a wing backed chair to read and watch the flames. I would bask in this luxury as much as I could before it ended.
I wasn’t four stanzas in—some epic poem about something—when a knock sounded. I was on my feet and armed with the dancer statuette the second I realized the knock had been on the dressing room door.
The door opened slowly, and Quill stepped cautiously in to the room. He saw me, didn’t bat an eye at the statuette poised for defense, and bowed, “Your highness.”
“Captain,” I lowered the statuette, relieved and happy to see a friend. “Do come in.”
He stood aside from the door, “Princess Zare Caspian, may I present Tarr Kegan, King of Dalyn.”
The sun was setting when we crossed the bridge to Dalyn and drove through the sprawling city to the king’s palace. Though the palace sat on the riverbank, the streets were arranged so there was no direct way there. Namal and I were silent, listening to the wheels on cobblestones and trying to internalize everything Jemin had told us on the journey. Jemin prodded the doctor, who opened his eyes, and pulled the cotton out of his ears. Rawyn Drayk looked bleary eyed, like he had really fallen asleep in his self-imposed isolation. He nodded to us. We nodded back. In a short while the carriage halted, we heard voices and Jemin leaned forward to open the curtains. A helmeted guard appeared at the door. “Jemin, doctor, we have been expecting you for hours, is all well at the villas?”
“Better now that I’ve been there,” said the doctor brightly, “It is good the Clanor family wished me out today, for the king also found work for me through his generosity.” Here the doctor gestured to Namal and I.
The guard peered in at us, “Ah, yes, the captain told us to expect the king’s visitors.” Stepping back, he called to someone else and I heard the clang of a gate’s locking mechanism. “Come ahead,” called the guard, walking back toward his post.
The carriage rolled forward again. Jemin left the curtain ajar. “It will be all over the palace by the end of the evening,” he said, “No point in making it spread faster by keeping the curtains drawn.”
Through the crack I glimpsed ornate sills and glass panes on the many windows, and gargoyles hunched on corners, watching everything. The carriage halted and a footman leapt down to open the door. Jemin climbed out and waited as the doctor and then Namal alighted. Namal turned and offered his hand to me as I exited the carriage. It took conscious effort not to step out with my head high and my back straight with the easy assurance of my rank. I tried to shrink in awe in my green traveling dress—which was difficult as the dress made me feel beautiful. I looked around, widening my eyes as I admired the impressive stonework. The palace was magnificent. It appeared to be carved out of one solid piece of gray stone—though I didn’t understand how that was possible since we weren’t even in the foothills of the Magron Mountains. Scrolling patterns were painstakingly carved around the doors and windows, and I realized with a start that they were portraying the currents of the Bandui River. The patterns were beautiful, and flowed from opening to opening, giving the palace a molded, wind-driven look. A white canopy covered the arching entrance and two servants were waiting. Jemin led the way to the archway. Straight ahead was a courtyard, but there were doors on either side under the archway that must lead into different wings.
Here, the doctor excused himself. “It was a pleasure,” he said, bowing slightly to me and then took the door on the right.
Jemin stopped by the servants, “Here are the king’s guests.” His tone was military: direct and disinterested.
The servants, a man and a woman dressed in the same gray as the palace, bowed. “Follow us.”
We fell into step behind them, leaving Jemin behind at the door as they took us through the left-hand door and into the palace. I didn’t look back for the bearded guard, as much as I dearly wanted to, and I felt very alone even with Namal walking beside me. The hallways were wide, and smooth archways adorned every junction. The windows on this side faced east, and the fading daylight was surrendering to the golden light of lamps. We passed mostly servants, going to and fro, but there were a couple people dressed in fine clothes who looked at us with pointed interest as we passed.
“This is the guest wing,” announced the man, when we had turned down another corridor. We said nothing, and neither servant looked back at us as they led the way down what felt like miles of gray stone, dotted with occasional tapestries depicting scenes of trade and ships. Finally, the servants stopped.
The woman pushed open a sturdy wooden door, “This way, miss.” She stood back, waiting for me to enter. I looked at Namal, and then went inside.
Thick carpet silenced my steps. It was a sitting room with red woven carpets, carved wood furniture scattered with colorful cushions, and a fireplace. After the endless, smooth gray of the palace this room exploded with warmth and color. Gold laced up the lampstands and around the legs of chairs and tables, a gem encrusted statuette of dancers stood on a side table nearby. The finery reminded me of the home I had lost.
Another gray clothed servant girl was tending the cheerful fire. I noticed two doors off to one side—bedroom and washroom perhaps? And a third door on the other side. I walked into the chamber slowly, aware of the other servant closing the door behind me. “This is Amantha,” said the woman who brought me here, motioning to the girl by the fire, “She will be your servant while you are the King’s guest.”
The girl turned to us and curtsied. “Miss.”
I nodded at her. “Hello.”
“The king requests your presence at dinner,” the woman looked at Amantha and I severely, “We haven’t got much time to get you cleaned up.” She walked to the pair of doors and pushed one open, revealing the washroom. It was gray stone, like the rest of the palace, but reed mats covered the floor and the tub was carved out of olive wood. There was a fireplace in here, also, and a long counter down one wall. I noticed incense on the counter, and the toilet just beyond.
“I have just had a bath,” I managed. If she was in a hurry she was not likely to stand for my insistence on bathing alone, or how long it would take me to dry.
She took my elbow and turned me around, appraising me. If I had not spent a year in the circus before coming here, I would have had a very hard time restraining my indignance. “Very well, it appears Sinensis isn’t entirely devoid of civilized manners.” Releasing my arm, she pointed to the pitcher and bowl on the countertop. “Freshen yourself, and then go to dressing room. Amantha will help you dress.”
She turned on her heel and left me alone in the washroom. I took a deep breath, quickly washed my face, and returned to the sitting room. The dressing room was next to the washroom, the door was standing open and Amantha was inside laying out a gown. She looked up when I entered. She was younger than me, I guessed. Her hair was blonde and pulled back into a tight bun. The gray clothes made her eyes look gray. There seemed to be no trace of the openness of Caraca in this palace.
“My name is Analie Meredithe,” I said, hoping to thaw the reserve in Amantha’s face.
Amantha stepped forward and began unlacing the traveling dress. “Miss Meredithe.”
“This place is beautiful.”
“That it is, miss,” replied Amantha. She was kinder than my guide had been, but her mask would not budge.
I fell quiet as she helped me into a burgundy evening dress with a high lace collar that then swooped down my back in a graceful cowl. I swiveled in the full-length mirror, admiring. Amantha had brought out high heeled shoes of the same color and I sat down on the dressing room stool to put them on, trying to remember the last time I’d worn high heeled shoes and wondering if I would be able to walk in them.
Amantha watched me for a moment, then said, “You’ll be joining the king in his hall for dinner. It is not a full court dinner, those are once a week, and not for three more days.”
I looked up at her, openly surprised that she was talking to me.
“The general, the ambassador from Hirhel, and the king’s chief advisor are often at the king’s table, along with whatever noble or dignitary who is being courted for one reason or another,” she continued, her eyes very serious, “You are to be seated across from the king with your brother, because he is very interested in your story. Your rescue is a diversion to him, an escape from the pressures of court. But you are not to speak unless spoken to, not to him or any of the others present.”
I nodded and wondered if our servants gave this same talk to middle class visitors to my father’s court. I hadn’t really expected to meet Tarr Kegan in public, actually. Much less at the same dinner where I met the ambassador from Hirhel. I couldn’t even imagine the terrible things that would happen if it was the same man who’d been the ambassador to Galhara before the war.
It’s hardly fair to Thomdal. He was a gentle soul and everyone in the village liked him while he lived. But I was willing to bet good money that the only one listening to the eulogy was Priest Bayer and that was only because he was giving it.
Every eye was fixed on the open casket at the front of the chapel–to look elsewhere would be to cast suspicion. The soldiers lounging at the back of the chapel watched the funeral proceedings casually. They seemed mercifully unaware that the boiling tension in the room was not grief.
Priest Bayer finished and it took the congregation a half beat too long to realize he’d extended the Last Goodbye invitation. Hurriedly, the first row stood and filed up to pay their last respects to Thomdal. I watched the soldiers out of the corner of my eye as the rest of the congregation took their turns as if nothing were amiss. The soldiers were only here because they were told to watch us, and we were all here. They had no reason to suspect what was really going on. At least, that’s what we told ourselves. Each congregant filed past Thomdal’s coffin, their faces carefully masking what else was in the coffin–that tucked against good Thomdal’s corpse was a golden bow the height of man. The Kingmaker of Achen was no ordinary bow–and the youth crouched at the foot of the casket was no ordinary child. If the soldiers found our village hiding either, we would all be ash on the wind by sundown.
Looking for Zare? Click here for Episode 44!
There are a lot of perks to being a sidekick: All the adventure you could want and almost none of the responsibility–it’s the hero’s job to save the day, you just have to help. Plus, you usually survive disasters, which I’ve always found appealing.
No, life as a sidekick wasn’t so bad, but it occasionally led to awkward surprises. Like a strange, freakishly beautiful woman being present when you wake up–in all your ruffled, untucked, possibly drooling glory.
“Who is she??” I demanded hotly, jolting awake and scrambling to my feet.
“Sam, this is Shaya,” explained Declan (the hero, in case you couldn’t tell from his name), “Shaya this is Sam.” Nothing ruffled Declan, so anyone listening to our introduction might have thought we were in a cocktail lounge rather than a lifeboat. Of course, even sunburnt and scruffy, Declan would have made any cocktail lounge proud–even if he would have stood out like a sore, super sexy, thumb.
The lifeboat, I might add, was adrift in the ocean alone when I went to sleep. As it happens, it was still adrift in the ocean alone. Perhaps I had underestimated Declan’s ability to attract women…I stuffed my shirt into my pants and finger-combed my hair in a quick swipe–not that it really mattered. “What a pleasure to meet you,” I pasted on my biggest smile and held out my hand.
She looked at me with a cautious and slightly confused smile of her own.
“A handshake is a gesture of greeting,” piped Declan, seeing her hesitation. He grabbed my hand and pumped it a couple times. “See?” He handed my hand to her, and she imitated his movement with significantly less bone crushing.
“A pleasure to meet you, too, Sam,” she said. She sounded like she was from an Ivy League school. Interesting.
“Don’t take this personally,” I said–might as well ask, Declan could get us out of whatever huff I got us into, “but how the heck did you get on this boat? And did you bring food?”
“I came for help,” she answered.
Of course, because that explains it.
“The leviathan that sank our ship has lost its mind and is rampaging on the ocean floor,” said Declan.
“I’m sorry?” I offered, figuring that was close to the right answer.
“Shaya has come to ask for our help putting it out of its misery,” he finished, his blue eyes sparkling at the prospect of an adventure. “And of course saving her homeland.”
Naturally. I nodded. Just when I thought I was used to all the crazy stuff heroes assume is normal, Declan finds something totally new to throw at me. But I’m a sidekick, and I know how to roll with the punches. I got this.
For the rest of the morning no one entered or left the great hall at Ironsides’ manor. It wasn’t until well after lunchtime, when we had finished our plotting and Vaudrin went to check the kitchen that even servants entered the room. They came in with Vaudrin, carrying trays of food for lunch. After serving they quickly bustled away—even though by that point we were quite done talking and more interested in eating.
After our late lunch, I went in search of Balleck and Olena.
I found Balleck in one of the barns, hanging by his legs from a stall wall and doing sit ups. Even the dim light of the barn caught the red in his blond hair and skimmed his muscles with an artist’s grace. I approached quietly and had to clear my throat he was so engrossed in his work. Balleck startled, then flipped himself to the ground. “My lady,” he said, dusting himself off.
I hopped up on a couple bales of straw. He came and leaned next to me, waiting for me to say something. “It’s been a wild two weeks,” I offered.
Balleck grimaced. “I’d say so. Zare,” he began, then hesitated. “Lady Zare.”
I grimaced.
He began again, “Our part in this fight is over—such as it was. Gabe and I need to help the girls get back to the circus. We’ve discussed it with Ironsides and our plan is to rest here for a week and then take the southern road to Magadar.”
I drew a deep breath and let it out; what had I expected him to say? “That is sensible.”
He looked at me, “You could come with us. Your brothers and the soldiers can handle things here.”
I had definitely not expected that. I turned to him in surprise, “What do you mean?”
“You’re hunted in this land, come with us to a place we’re regular folk again,” said Balleck earnestly, “It’s dangerous here, Zare.”
“I’m dangerous,” I retorted.
“I know—I’ve heard the girls talk about what you did to save them. But you shouldn’t have had to—we were all close by waiting to go in and rescue them. You didn’t need to take that kind of risk where we couldn’t protect you.” Balleck leaned closer, “It turned out alright—everyone is safe now. But it might not have—we might easily have lost you—I could have lost you.” He picked up my hand and sought my eyes pleadingly, “You should come with me to Magadar, your family will follow.”
I stared at him. His blue eyes were pale with pain and I was too stunned to know what to say. I was suddenly aware that the danger which permeated my life was as familiar to me as the morning dew…and that the circus was already part of my past. I squeezed Balleck’s hand and said gently, “I have to stay.”
Balleck nodded, his face resigned. “I thought you would say that.”
“Do you understand why?” I asked, desperately wishing he did.
“Maybe.” A sad smile spread tipped his mouth and he lifted his free hand to my face, tracing my cheek with his fingers. “I lost you the day everyone was kidnapped.”
At his touch every single fire spinning memory sprang to mind and exploded with fireworks of desire and regret. In another life, I could have been a fire spinner: I could have traveled all over the world performing riding stunts with the circus. Married Balleck and had little wild haired children running around with flaming batons and impeccably trained dancing ponies.
But that was before I fished a mysterious wounded archer out of the Tryber River. Before I found out about a rebellion and found hope to defeat the sorceress. Before my family was stolen. I dropped my eyes because I couldn’t gaze into Balleck’s soul any longer. He traced my face a moment longer and then let his hand fall, too.
We were quiet, listening to the sound of what wouldn’t be, then Balleck broke the spell, “I had a lovely time dancing with you at the harvest festival. Before…you know…everything fell apart forever.”
I choked out a laugh, “Yes…I enjoyed dancing with you, too. It was a lovely night up until the soldiers came. And even after that it wasn’t so bad since we got out alright.”
Balleck grunted, “It was the beginning of our troubles. Back when I thought you were a former duchess or something.”
“Well,” I scooted off the bale of straw, still holding his hand. “We have a little bit of time before,” I hesitated, “I have to be going again.”
He straightened to follow me, “I won’t ask,” he assured a little tiredly.
“Would you be willing to give one last lesson in fire spinning?” I bit my lip as I looked back at him.
“Of course, my lady,” Balleck bowed, the filtered light catching his smile and pressing it into my memory like a signet ring in wax.
The Legend of Zare Caspian 