by Pamita Rao
“We must hurry. Freddic is waiting outside for us. We cannot let him wait too long, or the guards will be suspicious.”
A slave maid brought over the tray to Alaira, assuming she was one of them. “Be careful, the gravy pot is full,” she said, handing over the tray to Alaira. “Place the tray in the center of the table, near the flower arrangement.” Alaira nodded as if she understood everything. The silver glint of a knife caught her attention, and Alaira sneaked it from the table and hid it inside her clothes before turning to Horace.
“Wait for a while before following me.”
A guard standing in the corner was observing her exchange with the slave maid and stared after Alaira as she made her way in his direction. She averted her eyes as she passed him, heading towards the exit of the kitchen, but she did not make it far. The guard approached her just as she was about to leave and grasped her with his rough hands. The pot of gravy wavered, forcing Alaira to balance the platter. She wrinkled her forehead.
“You could have spilled the gravy!” she shouted, getting the other slaves’ attention.
He dug his fingernails into her sensitive flesh. “Who are you?”
Alaira tried to wring free of his grasp, but it was too strong. “I am a slave, sire. I work here along with the rest.”
His gaze dipped from her eyes to her chest and stayed there. “I haven’t seen you around, sweetpea. I usually have a keen eye for fine women.” His gaze finally lifted to her eyes, and a smile tugged at his lips. The metal of the knife felt cold against her skin and Alaira clutched it with her free hand, ready to strike if he moved towards her.
“I am new,” she said, hoping that he would release her.
A few slave maids were now looking towards her, fear etched in their eyes. The guard turned to them with a warning in his eyes, and they went back to cooking. The guard smiled. “Where do you live, sweetpea? Tell me so I will come looking for you tonight.”
“I will, handsome, but you have to let me go for now, or the king will be angered that his guests were not served tonight. You know what the king does when he gets angry, don’t you?” A flicker of fear passed on his face, and Alaira took the opportunity to release herself from his grasp, turned, and walked out of the exit.
The long hall in front of her had plain walls. The kitchen exit was not meant to have ornate paintings of nobles and their wives in elaborate dressing. Instead, there were a few paintings of trees, birds, and other things of lesser significance scattered along the hallway. These painters must have worked during the reign of Balthasar, she thought to herself as she hurried down the hall. She could not imagine Creed caring for delicate works such as paintings and art.
A hand grasped her shoulder. “What was that about?” asked Horace, his voice strained. He heaved and huffed as he walked beside her.
“Where were you?” she asked.
“I found Afi amongst the guards.”
“Your friend from Nimah?”
“Yes, Creed recruited him a few years ago to serve as a soldier in his army.”
“Why were you afraid of him? You could have simply said you worked here as a guard.” She pointed at the guard’s uniform Horace had worn as a disguise.
Horace averted his eyes. “I owed him some coins on a bet.” He lifted his hands when Alaira tried to speak. “I intend to return the coins to him soon.”
“Did he recognize you?”
“No, I hid behind the kitchen doors until he left and slipped into one of the slave’s chambers. But I couldn’t find a way outside as the guard came back, and when he left again, I slipped away.” He then turned to Alaira. “I saw everything that happened with the guard. What did that guard ask you?”
“He was a lecher. He is none of our concern,” said Alaira. She did not want to dwell on things of lesser importance. They had a bigger problem—to find the east wing—and Klink was missing. “Where is Klink?” she asked.
“I am here,” said Klink, running towards them with his hands inside his shirt that bulged at his stomach. “I brought food.” He lifted his shirt, and sure enough, there were a few fruits in them. Horace picked a few and bit into them. Alaira’s mouth hung open as she watched the two drip fruit nectar on the floor. They stood in the middle of the hall where passers-by could see them, and all those two could think of was food. Alaira moved ahead with her tray, leaving the two behind. When all this was over, she would speak of this with father and ask him to make Horace and Klink herd sheep in Freddic’s farm and be useful to people of Nimah for once.
The hall turned a sharp left towards a doorway to the staircase that led to the east tower. There were a few guards standing below as she approached it. Horace and Klink looked like they were ready to pounce on the guards but Alaira motioned for them to stop.
“Let me go inside first,” she whispered. They took a step back from Alaira and moved into a corner away from the guard’s sight while she proceeded towards the staircase. The guards raised their swords as she approached them.
“Where do you think you are going?”
“I am here on the queen’s request.”
“And is that food meant to bribe us, woman?” The guards laughed. Alaria had almost forgotten that she had brought food with her. She had not intended to; the slave maid had just placed the tray in her hand as she had exited the kitchen.
“It’s for the queen.”
“Do you take us for fools, woman?” said a guard. “The queen is preparing herself for the ceremony. Why would she ask a slave to bring her food?”
Alaira had not thought that far, and she did not want to think anymore. She did not intend to banter with guards tonight, as there were things of far more urgency. Therefore, she placed the tray on the floor, and before the guard knew what was happening, she swung the knife she had hidden inside her clothes and put it through him. The man fell to the floor, his eyes wide in shock.
The other guard raised his sword and charged at her, but she twirled, kicked his legs, catching him off balance, and sliced his throat as he fell to the floor. Surprisingly, no one fell on the gravy boat, and the food on her plate remained intact. Two more guards ran towards her, but before she could think of what to do, she heard a thump and they tumbled down at her feet. Horace and Klink lowered the heavy vases they held in their hands and smiled victoriously.
“You were right,” said Klink to Horace. “That was fun!”
Alaira watched the men sprawled awkwardly on the floor and thought for a moment. If anyone saw these guards, they would suspect an attack. They would inform Creed, the entire palace would be surrounded, and they would have no way of leaving.
“Can you hide the bodies?” she asked Horace.
He nodded. “You go ahead, and we will take care of the rest.”
As Horace and Klink dragged the bodies away from the sight of others, hid them in the dark corners where they had stood a while ago, and took their positions as guards, Alaira left the tray of food on the floor and ran up the stairs. The magnificent bronze stairs, embedded with intricate pattern of flowers, oak, and leaves, spiraled up towards the tower. Small windows shed light on each of her steps as she ran with her heart thumping in her chest.
Tonight, they would change the future of the kingdom, and no one would know it was them. Could she pull off this trick? The stairs twisted and turned at various joints, moving up towards the tower. Paintings of the king Creed hung at every turn, and every painting was the same—Creed perched on his horse, ready to strike, in his various ornate uniforms, which he adored so much. His eyes burned in one of the paintings, and Alaira paused for a minute to stare at it. Her father was right; a man could hide his true self from all but two people in his life—his wife and a painter. This painting was a true depiction of how everyone saw Creed in the kingdom, a ruthless, cruel king.
When she reached the final steps, the corridor expanded into a large hallway, lit up with glasses of various colors that reflected light onto the walls as if it were the entrance to heaven. Alaira s
tood stunned for a minute, caressing with her eyes the intricate folds of flowers and leaves on the doorway. For a moment, she was distracted from murmurs coming from the chamber. She knew it was time. She had to do this, now.
The gentle voice of a woman cooed from within the chamber. “What a handsome boy our prince is. You are the light of your mother’s eyes and the heart of thousands in this kingdom. We will await the day when you take the throne.” The shadow of the woman moved from one end of the chamber to the other. Alaira waited until the shadow moved away and slipped inside the chamber.
The first thing that caught her eye was the wide room and ceiling painted with many figures of children and gods. Aligned on either side of the room were windows with patterns of birds and animal decor on the aisles. In the center of the decor moved a cradle, pristine, white, laces flowing down the soft upholstery.
A new-born prince lay on a soft-cushioned cloth, curled up, his feet in his mouth for comfort, his eyes closed, and his chest rising and following with each breath. She reached for the baby and stroked his cheeks with the back of her finger.
A movement sounded behind her, and she jerked away to see the same woman come back. Her eyes fell on Alaira, and she went still. Then she smiled. “Alaira, you are here at last!”
Alaira smiled back. “You must be Biliyam. You are the one who sends us information about Elora. We would never be in touch with my older sister had it not been for you.”
Biliyam’s eyes softened. “I only fulfil my duty to the queen. Tonight I promised to stay with the prince until he was in safe hands.”
“You have done far more than a chambermaid is meant to do,” said Alaira, her hand reaching out to touch Biliyam’s hand. “Our family will be grateful to you forever. I relieve you of your duty tonight.”
Biliyam nodded and moved away, allowing Alaira to be alone with Neelahaim. “You do not know me now, but I am your family, your aunt, Alaira, and there is no place on Myrth safer than our home,” she said in his ear. “We will protect you with our lives, my dear nephew.”
She picked him up carefully, not disturbing his sleeping form, and placed him into the basket. She covered him with the sheets from his cot, closed the lid on her basket, and gently lifted him from the ground. Now, all she had to do was escape from the castle and reach Nimah safely. What would happen then, she did not know, but she was doing this for the greater good. She had been chosen for the task, and she would perform her duties like a true warrior, even if it meant her own death.
CHAPTER FIVE
Creed - The Ritual
A rustle filled the court as men and women stood up from their seats to greet the royal couple, who made their entrance into the grand hall. The metallic door etched with carvings of intertwined snakes dragged itself open as Elora, their queen, stepped inside. They gasped and watched in awe as Elora entered with an array of servants holding her silk trail behind her. The gold-plated spheres that hung from the ceiling matched the gold stone that shined on Elora’s ear. Her gown swung in tandem to her steps, exposing the glittering diamonds encrusted on her shoes.
The women of the court touched their bare necks where the queen’s necklace was adorned with jewels and watched the emeralds, rubies, and pearls glimmer under the brightly lit hall. With every step the queen took, they wondered if they would ever get a chance to hold one of those in their entire lifetime. Only the aristocrats of the kingdom were invited for such celebrations and allowed to sit on the seats encircling the throne. The slaves who accompanied these aristocrats had to stand in whatever space they could find in the farthest corners of the hall.
Beads of sweat formed on her forehead as Elora took steps towards her throne. She clutched her silk dress to keep her hands from shaking and hoped she would not give away the fear building inside her. Her stomach constricted as she took the seat beside the king and gripped the hand rest of the throne. Many dark sages had travelled to the kingdom on the orders of the king. Creed stood to address the crowd.
“You are here tonight to witness a miracle. Tonight, the dark sages will perform a ritual led by Drahim.” He pointed towards the velvet couch, where Drahim sat as if he owned the court; a pendant dangled from his neck and glowed against his chest. Everyone except Elora bowed to him. Creed raised his hands in the air, and everyone took their seats. A hushed silence fell in the hall, all eyes on the throne.
“Bring the child,” Creed’s voice echoed in the hall. Drahim stood up as Biliyam entered, cradling a child wrapped in silk velvet sheets. She placed the child in Drahim’s arms and turned towards Elora before bowing and moving towards the other chambermaids who stood in the corner of the hall.
Three dark sages followed Drahim as he walked towards the pit in the center of the hall. A few men entered with sand in a sack and poured until it heaped in the pit in the center, while the other dark sages placed crystals around it. A maiden approached the pit, holding a candle. She shielded the flickering flame from the gust of wind that blew in from the open dome above and placed it in the center of the pit. One sage picked a fist full of sand and drew an outer circle. All the sages moved behind it; only Drahim proceeded to the center.
“This is where you sit, holding your child,” he said, motioning for Creed to leave his throne and sit on the sand in the center of the pit. He placed the child in Creed’s lap and left them to join the other dark sages in the outer circle. They held each other’s hands and closed their eyes as a hush fell over the room.
A low hum filled the silence as the sages began their chants. Their chants grew louder and louder, and so did the wind. The skies above turned a deep shade of purple; smoke swirled towards the dome and descended back down into the pit. It struck the ground, lifting the sand with it while the crystals glowed brilliantly, forcing others to shield their eyes from the blinding light. The dark sages held onto each other’s hands while the wind and swirling sand tried to push them apart, and their chants grew louder and more forceful.
Everyone in the court waited in anticipation of what would happen next. Aristocrats shifted forward on their seats, watching with intent as Creed held the prince above his head, pointing to the dome above. His eyes glowed in excitement. Elora’s heart thudded in her chest as she watched the spectacle in front of her. Her eyes found Biliyam’s, who gave her a subtle nod, lessening Elora’s pain.
A peal of thunder boomed through the air, and a thick cloud of smoke engulfed the dark sages, covering the pit and Creed. The child in Creed’s arms cried and screeched, the wail tearing into Elora’s heart. What will happen to the child? she thought in panic.
After a while, the cloud dissipated and the fog lifted around them. The dark sages released their tied hands and looked in confusion towards the child. It gurgled on Creed’s lap.
“No!” shouted Creed. “This cannot be!”
Drahim roared in anger. “This child is an imposter! Someone switched the prince with a commoner!”
Everyone gasped in shock, and murmurs filled the court. Black smoke emitted from Creed as he stood up, leaving the child on the sand.
“Who is responsible for such trickery?” His voice resonated in the hall. Everyone looked to one another, and all eyes rested on Biliyam. Biliyam took a step back when the guards ran towards her. They tied her wrists and dragged her towards Creed.
“Where is the boy?” shouted Creed.
Biliyam shook her head. “I do not know, my lord,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. Creed’s eyes blazed in anger, and a fireball appeared in his hand.
“Stop!”
Creed stopped his hands in mid-air and slowly turned towards the voice. Elora stood behind him, her eyes etched with fear, her outstretched hands trying to stop him.
“You! You took the boy, did you not?”
Elora shook her head, and her voice filled with spite. “You cannot even say his name, Creed. He has a name—it’s Neelahaim and he is the heir to this throne!” Her eyes blazed with anger. For the first time during her reign as the queen, she had act
ually raised her voice at the king. “I knew the moment Drahim stepped into my chamber to hold my son that something sinister would happen to him at this ceremony. I knew you were going to kill my son!”
Creed approached her, took her chin in his hand, and squeezed. “What have you done with the boy?” he growled in her ear. His fingers pushed her cheek further into her skin to the point that it should have hurt, but Elora stared back.
“You will never know.”
He raised his hands and slapped her across the face. Elora lost her balance and fell across the floor. Everyone gasped, and a few slaves tried to rush towards her but guards surrounded them. Biliyam struggled against the chains that held her hands together.
“Please, my lord. She is your wife and mother to your child. Please spare her life,” she begged.
“Why did you defy me?” roared Creed at Elora as he stepped towards her, pulled her up from the floor and slapped her again.
She staggered and held onto the chairs. “I did it to protect him. You would have used his powers even if it killed him. You are not a father but a monster. You do not deserve to rule this throne; you do not even deserve to live!”
Creed shook his head. “I am being too lenient with people if they are aiding my queen behind my back to defy me. I did not think you had it in you to defy me, but you fooled me, my queen. Bravo.” She could smell his breath on her. Whenever he unleashed the monster within him, his breath changed. It smelt of death, of blood and of the thousands of innocent lives he had taken. The others watched helplessly. “Tell me, how did you do it? Who would be so brave to assist you behind my back?” She covered her nose as the stench grew but did not respond.