Category: Uncategorized

Posted on

48-Tarr Kegan

48- Tarr Kegan

 

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.

Posted on

47-Dinner with the King

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.”

Posted on

Portals

img_20170124_135514

I’m quite pleased with how this one turned out. Planning to add it to my shops as soon as I can. Question is: Do I remove the lingering pencil lines or not?

Posted on

46-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.

Posted on

45-Preparation

 

Jemin approached the gate without hesitation. After a quick exchange of salutes, he explained he had orders to settle the king’s guests here and then produced a letter to prove it. I raised a brow. Apparently, he’d come quite prepared for my father’s verdict. The guards opened the gates and we entered the king’s orchard estate.

As we approached the massive front door to the house, a servant boy ran down the steps to take the horses. Behind him a short man dressed in the deep blue of Dalyn, stepped forward and bowed. “Welcome to Sinensis, the King’s orchard,” he said. “I am Tangel, I am the caretaker here.”

Jemin showed the caretaker the letter, “The Guard rescued these merchants from brigands on the road, the king desires they stay here until they recover from their wounds.”

Tangel looked at the letter and then turned to us. “You are welcome in the King’s house.” He was middle aged, with thinning hair that had once been darker. His face was more weather beaten than was typical for house staff, I wondered if he had started in the orchards, or worked there still in off season. “Follow me, I will show you to your rooms.”

My brothers and Jemin helped my parents off the horses, then we all followed Tangel through the enormous double doors. The entryway was vaulted and paved with beautiful mosaic patterns. Just beyond was a huge room with an even higher ceiling and twin sweeping grand staircases. Tangel led us up the left-hand staircase and down a long hall. He installed our parents in a spacious room, and the doctor stayed behind with them to make sure our father was recovering from our journey. Nadine was next, which prompted Jemin to tell Tangel that Namal and I would not be staying the night here, but needed fresh clothes and a carriage as the king desired our company. Tangel inclined his head and showed me to the adjoining suite’s washroom with a promise that a maid would be along shortly to draw a bath.

The men proceeded down the hall, and I wandered around the suite. Thick rugs covered wood floors and a huge bed dominated one wall. There were a few other pieces of furniture around to make the room quite comfortable. The washroom was modest compared to the rest of the house, but there was a fireplace mere feet from the tub and my heart leapt in anticipation of a real, warm bath. A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened and a middle-aged woman entered carrying an armload of towels. “Good afternoon, miss,” she proceeded directly to the washroom, deposited her load of towels on a little table then turned to me. “My name is Caraca, I’ll have a bath all ready for you in just a few moments.” Her voice trailed off a little as she took in my rags and dirt. Her face filled with compassion. “Here’s a basket for you to put your clothes in.” She pulled a round basket out from under the table. “You’ll have to forgive us, we weren’t expecting anyone today.  But we’ll have you all ready to meet the king, don’t you worry.” She produced a long white dressing gown and laid it out on top of the towels. “There you go, you sweet thing.”

I nodded, “Thank you,” and was suddenly aware that meeting the king would be a much bigger deal to a merchant’s daughter than it was to me. I should probably act nervous.

“You go ahead and get ready, we’ll have the water all set in just a few minutes.” Caraca gave a little curtsey and left again.

I began to peel off my layers. It was just as well do this without Caraca to watch—or help. What would she think of my leather layers from Ironsides, or my knives? I shed my ragged vest and dress, and wiggled out of the leather jerkin and breeches hidden beneath. I slipped into the white dressing gown and reveled in its softness. I would like staying in Dalyn. Rolling Shiharr and Azzad into the jerkin and breeches, I shoved the bundle down into my pack. My bracers were already in there, with some underclothes and food stuffs, but that was all. The rest of my spare clothing had gone to dressing Mother and Nadine for the past few days.

When I returned to the washroom the tub was nearly full and steam curled off the surface of the water. I trailed my fingers in the water and found it delightfully warm. I heard the bedroom door open and Caraca appeared, this time carrying a tray of little bottles.

“Isn’t it a lovely invention?” she smiled, her cheeks round as biscuits.

Oh, right. If we were poor merchants—as our clothes certainly suggested—then I might not have seen plumbing before.

“One of the old king’s architects came up with it—the king was skeptical so he had it installed in a country home first, to see if it really worked.”

“It’s brilliant,” I replied. The king’s architect was a fantastic liar: The nymphs had had plumbing for centuries under Daisen Bay.

Caraca tossed salts and oils into the bath, “This is the only kingdom that has them, so far as I know. Get in, now, child.”

I balked as fear shot through me like a nightmare. If she helped me bathe, she would know what I was. Some of our feats these last days could only have been achieved by nymphs. “Please,” I stammered, “I am accustomed to bathing alone.”

“No need for that, dear,” said Caraca kindly.

“Please,” I said again, eyes wide in desperation. “I would be so much more comfortable.”

Caraca relented, sympathy oozed from her like an overfull jar of honey as she stepped out of the washroom and closed the door behind her.

I waited a moment as the room filled with sweet smelling steam, then shed the robe and slipped into the divine water. I hadn’t had a bath like this since leaving my grandfather’s palace. I retrieved soap from the tray Caraca had left behind and began to scrub. Heavens, I had missed warm baths. The blue patterning on my body came vivid in the water. Graceful stripes trailed down my arms and legs and swirled over my shoulders and hips in interlocking arcs, and reached sweeping tendrils up and down my torso. My beautiful camouflage. I could have lingered in the bath tub forever, but didn’t want Caraca to come check on me. So I rushed through my scrubbing and rinsing and climbed out to towel myself dry and don at least the underclothes before calling Caraca. I used every single towel Caraca had brought in an effort to fade my stripes faster. Finally, I judged they were faint enough to only be noticed by someone looking very closely, and opened the washroom door.

Caraca was waiting, and soon I was standing in front of a mirror while she fussed with the dark green travel dress she’d picked for me. “The palace staff will have a proper ball gown for when you’ll be presented to the king, we haven’t got time to pull one together for you here. Jemin is insistent that you be back for the evening festivities.” She gave the bodice a final brush and stepped back admiringly. “Lovely,” she announced.

I had been watching in the full-length mirror, and I smiled. Caraca had braided my hair into a crown. The travelling dress, with its long and split skirt and trim bodice and matching coat, was beautiful. There was black embroidery covering the bodice and dripping down the skirt in flattering lines. I liked the newer fashion of frothy cuffs peeking out from slim cut sleeves. I admired the dress, truly, but it was also downright novel to have a full mirror again. Mother was right, I had gotten almost frighteningly lean. Perhaps my thin cheeks had given authenticity to all my ghostly antics. I hoped we’d be in Dalyn long enough to eat some real food.

“Now, you sweet thing, it’s time to be off, Jemin will be wearing a path in the floor downstairs if I know him.”

Goodbyes were short, and full of meaningful looks because we dare not speak in front of the servants. My throat grew tight. It wasn’t easy to say goodbye so soon, and knowing that even here, they weren’t really safe. Jemin had a carriage waiting for us, his and the doctor’s horses tethered behind. In a moment, we were all seated inside, the curtains were drawn, and we trundled down the road toward Dalyn. Immediately, the doctor pulled a wad of cotton out of his pocket and stuffed it in his ears, he smiled at us, then leaned against the wall of the carriage and closed his eyes as if he were going to sleep.

Jemin turned to Namal and I, “We are going to the palace, you will be given rooms there. The story is the same, you are the children of a merchant who was set upon by brigands. The king’s guardsmen rescued you and the king has taken an interest in you. This is your excuse for being here, and being at any function the king desires you to attend.”

Namal and I nodded. Then Namal asked, “What kind of merchant, and from where?”

“Pick something you know about, and be from Dalyn’s lands closer to the Bay. Your accent is very slight, but sounds like the Bay.”

“Spices,” said Namal. “An attractive industry with much potential, but most only manage moderate success.” Namal, the heir of Galhara, well-schooled in politics and economics.

“Very well,” Jemin turned to me, “Zare, the king is not married, however, he known to take comfort in women.” His eyes turned apologetic, “Everyone who sees you will assume this is why the king has brought you here. But it will serve as a cover for any meetings.”

My cheeks heated, “Very well.”

“Now, you cannot use your given names. You will go by Alban and Analie Meredithe.”

“Alban Meredithe, spices,” Namal smiled a little and bowed in his seat, “Honored to meet you. Let me introduce my sister, Analie.”

I demurred, and flicked my eyelashes, “I am honored.”

“Less polish,” said Jemin, seriously. “You are only moderately successful, and from the middle class. The court is foreign to you.”

The middle class. How strange to realize we had very little experience in that sphere. We knew the ways of the court and the circus but not the society in between. Our befuddlement must have shown on our faces because Jemin said, “It’s not so different from the court—but people are louder, say more to your face, bow with less precision, spill food occasionally, and talk openly about the wealth of the court.”

Namal and I looked at one another. “You may have to show us how to bow.”

Posted on

44-Wet Trees

The doctor was just finishing when we arrived in the cellar, and Jemin was immediately sent back out to fetch my brothers. My father still looked pale, but now he looked relaxed. His torso was wrapped tightly with cloth and there was an array of little brown bottles sitting on the floor next to him.

“He will be alright with rest and food,” said the doctor, looking up from packing his bags to give me a reassuring smile. “Broken bones don’t mix well with exposure and lack. He should heal respectably with those barriers removed.”

I nodded.

“I am off to observe the horses,” the doctor finished putting away his tools and stood up, slinging his saddle bags over his shoulder. He bowed and headed for the stairs just as Jemin was returning with my brothers.

“An odd excuse,” commented Nadine.

“He doesn’t want to hear what comes next, I expect,” I replied. I wouldn’t miss it for the world

My brothers arrayed themselves to the right of my father, Nadine and I pulled up chairs with our mother on his left. Gravity descended on the cellar and if I closed my eyes I could imagine we were in the golden throne room of Galhara. Jemin stood before the royal semi-circle just as comfortably as he’d played the bumpkin in Gillenwater.

“Tell your news,” said the king, his voice still full of weariness.

“Your Majesties,” Jemin bowed. “Captain Quilleran sends his greetings and hopes you are well. He has spoken with the King of Dalyn on your behalf and the king would like to meet with you to discuss the possibility of Galhara joining the cause. There is a place for you to stay in the city while you are our guests.”

My father nodded gravely. “My family and I are very grateful for the risks Captain Quilleran and his men took on our behalf, we will still honor our original intent to meet with the king. However,” He paused, “I would not have my entire family inside Dalyn’s walls. My son, Namal, will go as my emissary, as before. The rest of us will stay in hiding.”

I felt myself wilt in disappointment.

“Very well, your majesty.” Jemin bowed. “If it pleases you, I will take you and your family to stay at one of the king’s orchards. Comings and goings to this place would be noticed, and this cellar is not a good place to stay in winter.” He’d been prepared for this decision, apparently.

My father dipped his chin in consideration.

“There are but few servants at the orchards this time of year,” continued the burly guardsman, “and they can be told you are a merchant who the king’s men rescued, and at the king’s pleasure you are being nursed back to health.”

“Very well,” agreed my father. “We will go to the king’s orchard.”

Jemin bowed again. “There is one other thing, your majesty. My king especially desires to meet your daughter, Zare, because he has heard rumor of her deeds.”

My family turned to look at me.

“Rumor?” asked my father, his weariness banished.

Jemin’s comfort evaporated and he shifted his feet. “Yes, your majesty. She has been seen fighting the Nether Queen’s soldiers several times in the past fortnight.”

“I wasn’t trying to be seen,” I exclaimed in defense. Except for the drunken act, and the ghost act, and other ghost act…My cheeks burned as every brazen move from the past two weeks jumped up and paraded through my memory. My heavens, I had taken some chances.

Nadine and Ayglos looked amused, Namal looked tired.

“The rumors do not agree on her identity, or even if she is living or ghost,” added Jemin, as if he were trying to help. “She is often accompanied by a host of deadly warriors.”

“That’s us,” Ayglos laughed and gestured to include Namal and Jemin. “Zare’s army.”

“I promise, father, I made sure she was well guarded,” said Namal, turning to Zam the Great.

Guarded? I considered feeling indignant. As if I had not fought in the siege but was some helpless princess to be protected at all times. My mind flicked back to my capture at the Cymerie: I was here because of Quill and Jemin. Indignation could wait for something better.

“I would imagine you did, Namal.” My father shook his head, fixing each of us marauding offspring with a stern look in turn. He wasn’t angry, though. I suppose, with secrecy so entirely lost, desperation forgives risks.

Jemin continued. “The stories are already tavern favorites, though in the court they are only whispered. My king feels this may already be the spark to kindle the heart of the city.”

“Fire is a fickle beast,” my mother spoke and we all turned to her, “the hearts of men even more so.” Her eyes seemed even bluer than usual as she looked at Jemin. “I fear that the hearts of the people are not ready to be stirred. They are like young trees cut down in a violent storm—their wounds are too fresh and still too soaked with the destroying rain to catch flame.”

“There are some who burn already, your majesty,” replied Jemin, “Perhaps they can burn off the rain.”

“Perhaps,” said my mother. One word imbued with hope and weighed down by sadness.

“Zare,” my father turned to me, “You may go to meet King Tarr.  As you argued in Gillenwater, you can help Namal blend in.”

“Thank you, father.”

He gave me a small smile that said he knew how disappointed I’d been when I thought I wasn’t going. I blushed.

“Thank you, your majesty.” Jemin bowed. “If it pleases you, we shall make ready with all speed to take you to the orchard, and then bring Prince Namal and Princess Zare into the city.”

My father agreed and dismissed us to prepare. Just like that the throne room façade fell away and we all scurried about packing our meager bags while Jemin prepared the horses. Soon my brothers were helping my father up the stairs and onto Sinker, and Jemin and the doctor were offering their mounts to Mother and Nadine. I swung aboard Hook, and we were off. Jemin set a brisk pace, and I soon persuaded the doctor to ride. The poor fellow had not spent the past few weeks becoming a hardened runner and he lasted only a few minutes. Our journey, however, lasted for hours as Jemin led the way overland. I didn’t see a single road as we crossed field and forest before finally coming to rows of meticulously cultivated fruit trees. At first I thought this meant we were close, but I was wrong, and starting to wonder if we would ever arrive when Jemin slowed. He motioned for us to hang back while he went ahead. In a moment, he returned and led us out onto a dirt road toward a big stone house. House was probably too small a word for the towering stone edifice before us—it was something between a villa and a castle. The windows were far too large to be defensible, but parapets crowned the building. Tall white columns supported a covered entrance. Between us and the house was an iron gate and two liveried guards.

Posted on

creative process

Looking for Zare? Click here for Episode 44!

I have rewritten the next post in Zare’s story–almost entirely–3 times. I’ve been pecking at it for weeks in between work, holidays, and hours spent studying for my exams.

It got a little better, but still wasn’t what it should be. I thought and thought about it. Once exams were behind me, I tried to give myself time to be quiet (did chores without music or audio books). That helped, but the episode wasn’t fixed yet.

Finally, I gave up and read a book (Crown of Midnight, if you’re curious) and was filled with a deep desire to write. So I wrote. Re-wrote, really.

Finally, finally, I feel like the story has a heading again. The episode is ringing true. It’s not done (I suspect I won’t feel it is until I’ve got at least an entire episode or two after it written) but it’s just a matter of tweaking now. There shouldn’t be thousand word restarts for this baby. Not anymore.

I hope.

sixrulesofwriting

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.