Imber

by Tyffany Hackett

  “What would you like to see, Prince?” I asked over my shoulder.

  “Well, the last time I was here for an extended time I was . . . I don’t even remember. Ten maybe? We've only visited a handful of times since then. I don’t really remember much of anything. I’ll be honest—” He paused and his eyes didn’t quite meet mine as he fell into step beside me. “—I’ve been bored out of my mind all morning.”

  “Bored? Here? Impossible.”

  Lucian’s smile grew, and he trailed behind me contentedly as we climbed to the second level of the palace. The guest rooms were here so he was somewhat familiar with the layout, but I showed him the infirmary and library, as well as the small altar to Nahara that was tucked into an alcove off the guest chambers.

  I didn’t bother showing him the third floor, since those were the family’s private chambers, but I did take him to the Council room on the first floor. The small chamber was laid out almost exactly like the dining hall in smaller scale, but the walls were lined with bookcases packed to capacity with books and scrolls that detailed all aspects of Thraisian and worldly politics. The room was rarely used, as the Council generally sent couriers rather than actually visiting.

  “There’s not really much else to the main palace,” I said. My eyes fell to the prince. “Not very exciting, and I can’t imagine our palace is all that different from your own.”

  “Your mother has a taste for art, and the architecture is different. Your palace favors smoothed stone and cherry wood. Ours has more ash wood and marble.” He smiled but his eyes scanned my face in a way that made me squirm.

  I cleared my throat. “Well, would you like to see the grounds then?”

  “Sure.”

  I led him to the stables first. Messy, perhaps, but I’d always enjoyed the scent of fresh hay and the nickers of the horses. When I was younger and Mother couldn’t find a suitable punishment for me, I had volunteered to clean out the stalls. The stables were always quiet, and the stable-hands were friendly.

  In front of the stable-yard was the training ring for the guards. It wasn’t much of anything—a ring of dirt with a fence of rope and stakes—but the men used the space rigorously. Devlyn insisted on at least an hour a day to keep everyone in shape.

  The guard barracks were along this segment of wall as well, next to their housing and communal bath. We passed these quickly, not wanting to worry anyone that something was amiss since I almost never simply visited the guards. Devlyn spotted us from where he leaned at the barracks window, his salt-and-pepper tinged black hair shifting against the wind. He was trim and fit and could rival Jyn for muscle. Plus, he was clever and a master strategist. We were fortunate to have him in our employ.

  I waved at him nonchalantly, and he returned the gesture. Lucian followed our examples in greeting before he and I moved to the armory behind the palace.

  “We’re not to go in there.” Lucian cocked his head to the side and I added, “Two reasons. The smithy is in there, and I’m not to bother the blacksmith. Though I’ve heard rumor he found some family in Dalbran and might be leaving us soon. And also, I’m not allowed in the armory unless on business. Devlyn keeps strict stock of the weapons and armor and if anything is even a smidgen out of place, he’ll be off his rocker.”

  Lucian laughed, waving toward Meryn’s cottage. “What’s this then?”

  “Our Court Enchantress Meryn lives here. I’d introduce you, but I’m fairly certain she’s in town today. She runs an herbalist shop.”

  “Why have I never met her before?”

  “I'm not sure, honestly. If I recall, her father and your father had dealings in the past, and they didn't always get along? I don't know the entire story.”

  “That’s alright,” he said vaguely.

  His attention had fallen to the door that sat in the wall not far from Meryn’s home. I had been expressly forbidden to touch this door, with no real explanation as to why. The forest was dangerous, or some nonsense. I mentioned as much to Lucian, and he pulled at the handle. Unsurprisingly, the door didn’t budge.

  “Sealed or locked?” His tone was curious, and he tugged at the door again.

  “Sealed. By my mother, I think.”

  Lucian’s eyebrow rose. “Your mother has magic?”

  “Hers was gifted to her.” I shifted uncomfortably. “Many many years ago, before Annalea or I were born. Your parents know. Not many do, but I know they were told.”

  He nodded, considering, and waved a hand at the door. “Did they tell you where this leads?”

  “Emberlyn Forest.” I gestured to the shadows of trees that danced beyond the wall. The forest started to the North East and almost entirely wrapped Thrais. Most people considered the woods entirely impassable because of the mountains to the north.

  “I remember playing in those trees.” Lucian looked up at the branches that dipped over the edge of the wall. “Do your people still tell stories about what lives in there?”

  “About creatures that will shred your skin into ribbons, and others that will sing you into a blissful sleep before they finish you off? Of course, the stories keep everyone afraid of the big bad forest,” I scoffed teasingly. “I think Jyn would gladly avoid that forest for the rest of his life.”

  Lucian snickered. “Does he ever mention the time we ran him around for an afternoon?”

  “Now and again.” I paused. “Did you ever hear from Andimir again?”

  The smile dropped from Lucian’s face for a moment, and he shifted his weight. “No. I haven’t heard from him in years.”

  “Me either,” I said softly. He caught my eye. Emotions tore across his face, anger and pity at the forefront.

  “I heard mention of an Andimir when I was in Dalbran,” he said, “but the man the rumors were referring to was one of the pirates that haunt the Borean Sea and the Corothean Bay. If that’s the boy we remember, we might be better off forgetting.”

  “Maybe.”

  Lucian reached out and gently squeezed my arm. I looked up at him. “We should probably get back to the castle. I’m sure poor Jyn will need to be saved from the serving staff. He offered his help, I don’t know that he’ll escape on his own.”

  Lucian looped his thumbs into his waistband again as he trailed behind me. I could feel him watching me and could hear the small breaths he took as he contemplated speaking.

  “Do you miss him?” he asked finally.

  “Who?”

  “Andimir.”

  I hesitated. “How could I not?”

  “Fair. What would you do if he came back?”

  “Nothing, I guess,” I said sadly. “That’s an old chapter, Lucian. I don’t know him anymore.”

  “Do you know me?” Lucian’s eyes sought the answers on my face.

  “Not really, no.”

  “We can change that.” His lips curved gently. He cast a look at the archery targets as we passed. “Do you shoot?”

  I shook my head. “Mother hates that Jyn hired someone to train me with swords, and she’s known Camion since he was young, I guess. If Father hadn’t asked, she’d have never given in. She’ll never let me learn archery.”

  Lucian considered and ran his hand through his hair. The strands glittered mahogany in the faded sunlight. “What if I could convince her? I’m here a bit longer, I could teach you.”

  “You’d have to convince Jyn, too.”

  He smiled mischievously. “Done.”

  ***

  Jyn was pacing the length of the main foyer when we returned. His eyes shot immediately to the dagger in Lucian’s boot. A flash of suspicion flickered across his eyes before they swept from my head to my feet. I tried to catch his eye, attempted to reassure him, but he said nothing as he crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Your mother wants you upstairs, bathed, and changed for dinner.” He stared down his nose at me.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. Jyn’s focus had already fallen back to the prince, his eyes narrowed. Lucian shifted uneasily and thank
ed me for showing him around, bowing politely before he excused himself.

  Jyn climbed the stairs at my heels. As though his visual inspection wasn’t enough, the moment we reached the upper floor he was off.

  “Where did you go?”

  “Most of the palace and grounds.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Walked. And talked.” I gave him a side-eyed glance. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s the truth.”

  “Well, what did you show him? What did he want to see?”

  “Nothing of note, Jyn, I promise. What’s this really about?”

  Jyn blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “What’s this really about? You never question me like this.”

  “After you left, your mother pulled me aside to . . . insist . . . that I let you two have as much free reign as possible. To include not escorting you.” He scowled. “She is certain that the guard presence and the prince are enough to keep you safe.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t know what to say, and the muscle in his jaw flexed in agitation.

  “Go change,” Jyn said curtly. He dropped his back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest again. “I’ll wait.”

  “Jyn—”

  “After dinner. You’re already late.”

  Chapter 7

  Raye had laid out a beautiful gown for the evening. I made a mental note to thank her in the morning. The green silk would hug my sides before trailing into the long skirt below, the neckline simple and squared off right below the short, slightly puffed, sleeves.

  The dress rested on the pile of soft blankets I horded on my bed. I flopped down beside them and relished the feeling as I sank into the mattress. My room was fairly simple. A bed, a vanity, a pair of plush armchairs, and a wardrobe. All the furniture had been carved from cherry wood, and where applicable the fabrics were light purple. Jyn’s room was nestled somewhat inside of mine and halfway down the wall was the door. Across the room from my bed the large fireplace crackled away merrily. An armchair and a chaise lounge sat before the hearth, both littered with the books Jyn and I had been reading before the madness of my coronation took over.

  Simple, but the room was all mine. I ran my fingers over the sheer white curtains that hung around my bed and sighed. I was tempting fate—and Mother—by delaying like this. Part of me wanted to openly defy her and simply not attend the meal. If not for the loud protests of my aching stomach, I might have.

  I slipped on the gown. For once I had been left to attend my own hair, thank Nahara. I loosened the braid the locks had been looped in and let the long strands cascade down the length of my back. Tendrils fell loose around my temples, and I scooped them up into a clasp of polished shell. Traditionally, we wore headpieces in the presence of company, no matter how informal. Another custom I would gladly do away with. Even so, I selected the simplest coronet that I owned and let the piece fall above my brow. No gems, no adornment, merely a twisted band of silver.

  Jyn huffed when I opened the door. His toe tapped impatiently.

  “I had to tie up my hair.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “In a clip.”

  “They’re harder to use than you think.”

  Jyn tugged the leather band out of his hair and disappeared into my room. When he stepped out again he spun and pointed at the jeweled clip at the nape of his neck.

  “Two seconds. Nice try, Princess.” He disappeared again.

  “I’m sorry!” I called after him. When he stepped out again he offered me his arm.

  “You’re impossible.” He grinned. “But forgiven.”

  ***

  The servants had obviously rearranged the hall at least once more. Most of our guests were already seated, but I was slightly surprised to see that Mother and Annalea were nowhere to be seen. Not as late as I’d thought, then.

  A towering figure leaned on the wall behind Queen Kathryn. While Thrais employed personal guards for each member of the royal family, the men of Wydus were heavily trained in combat from a very early age. Generally only the women were assigned private guards. Kathryn’s guard was a Numyra, a humanoid species with grey-green skin. He could easily have passed for a different race of human if not for his hulking size, or the pointed, razor sharp teeth he rubbed his tongue along. The cinnamon-orange hair that draped his shoulders did nothing to improve his appearance.

  Jyn scoffed under his breath, and I shot him a long warning look.

  “They’re so unnecessary!” His words were almost inaudible.

  Jyn thought that hiring Numyra as personal guards was an obnoxious show of wealth; to him, most standard guards could do the same jobs and cost a quarter of the gold. Likely Kathryn was paying her guard three times what the Thraisian personal guards made. Possibly combined.

  Across the table from Kathryn were Helyna and Wyatt. I wasn’t completely surprised to see them—usually they visited at least once a moon cycle and had ever since Annalea and I were small. We’d never really had grandparents, but Helyna and Wyatt came close.

  Another pair of nobles sat at the table that I was less familiar with, friends of Mother’s, but I nodded politely to each person in turn.

  I blinked when Jyn coughed. Heat flushed to my cheeks as I realized I had frozen in the doorway, eyes locked back on the Numyra. Lucian stood when I approached and pulled out my chair. Jyn’s eyebrow raised.

  “Thank you,” I said quietly.

  “Anytime.”

  As I sat and straightened my silverware, Jyn settled himself into a chair along the wall. He could dine with us. Any of our personal guards were welcome to, but generally they passed on the invitation and slipped into the kitchens. Occasionally, I caught Jyn stashing food in his room too. He claimed two flights of stairs were too much effort for late-night snacks.

  On top of that, with the rate that Annalea was replacing guards lately, most were probably afraid to—too worried that an acceptance of the offer would, for whatever reason, set off her temper and end in immediate termination.

  I had never understood her guard situation. Annalea was usually extremely even-tempered, but she was fierce when she chose her guards. Any small quirk seemed to set her off. I knew she’d always been a bit bitter about Jyn—not only with how well we got on, but also the fact that while she was trailed by guards twice her age, mine was only about four years my senior. As of late she’d been even more particular. No guard had lasted more than a month.

  As though summoned by my thoughts, Annalea and Mother burst through the doors with apologetic smiles on their faces. Both had toned down the gowns they’d chosen for the evening, the closest I assumed that either owned to presentable casual wear, but both dresses were still decked in thick frills and expensive fabrics.

  “My sincerest apologies for our tardiness,” Mother said. She fanned her face with her hand. “I had no idea how very far behind our chatter put us.”

  Mother waved an arm to summon the servants as she sat. The rich scents from the kitchen floated closer. Platters began to fill the table in front of me, laden with the most delicious of dishes—bowls of sliced fruits, wooden discs with fresh and steaming bread, cheeses by the brick, and three different types of meat. After the servants wandered out, Mother stood and tapped her glass lightly with a spoon.

  “Before we dine, I’d like to quickly acknowledge a question that’s come to my attention several times in the last day. I know I haven’t addressed the matter formally, and I think that you all, as my dearest friends, deserve an explanation directly.” All eyes were on her, and I saw Helyna nod her encouragement out of the corner of my eye. “I know you’re all wondering why Natylia was crowned yesterday, and not at her twenty-fifth year as is customary.”

  She shifted away when I reached for her hand. I frowned.

  “Recently, one of the palace healers determined that I might be rather ill. There is a chance that I don’t have much time left, and another that I might be here twenty years or more.” She took a breath and added, “Natylia overheard my
discussions with the healers. Sometime around the last moon cycle, she reported my condition to the Council and petitioned them for the throne, to be effective as soon as possible. Apparently, she presented a pretty convincing argument because as you can see, the Council allowed the change.”

  My frown deepened at the disapproval in her voice. So, this was what we’d come to. After denying me the conversation before my coronation, she would mention the matter here, in a place where she knew I wasn’t inclined to publicly berate her. At the same time, hearing her thoughts laid out like this was disheartening. I watched as she rested her hands on either corner of the table and wrapped her long fingers around the edges. She leaned forward ever so slightly to balance her weight. Her eyes seemed tired, and even the snowy locks twisted on top of her head looked to be a heavy burden tonight. The sight challenged the fire that blazed in my gut, that dared me to defy her. When she bowed her head slightly and sighed, her eyes began to glitter.

  The flames sputtered out.

  “I don’t approve of you sneaking around, especially to address the Council. Sometimes I think you’re a wild child who will never grow into the crown on her head.” A tear trailed down her cheek. “But, my wild child made such a selfless gesture, took such a burden onto herself . . . and so much earlier than she had to. All so I might have a measure of peace in the time I have left.”

  She reached for my hand and I gave it to her. Her fingers curled around mine, slender and warm. “Thank you, my darling. For being brave beyond your years. I don’t always understand you or the fanciful way you think, but . . . but I think maybe our kingdom could use a new way of thinking. Our kingdom could use you.”

  Mother squeezed my hand tightly, and I had to swallow the knot that had crept into my throat. Helyna and the brunette noble woman across from her dabbed at their eyes subtly, but tears fell freely down Kathryn’s cheeks. The men sat in stunned silence. Mother glanced around before she laughed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to get quite so emotional, but I needed you all to know the real reason and to know that I am seeing healers about my condition. Let’s eat! The rest can wait for morning.” She smiled broadly. Shaky laughter moved across the table.