Imber

by Tyffany Hackett

There was a stillness to the air as I measured my words. No one moved, and I certainly couldn’t tell if they breathed. I licked my lips and stared hard at the reins between my fingers.

  “My mother, the former Queen Palina of Thrais . . . was murdered in her sleep, the night before last.”

  I knew the servants had spread word of her death, but I wasn’t prepared for the lack of knowledge when the truth of her death was exposed. The ripple of gasps and wide eyes—no one had known she’d been murdered. Perhaps I should have chosen a better time to reveal such information. I hesitated to continue.

  “This comes as a shock to all of us, and I assure you the matter is being looked into. For now, I would like to formally invite you to pay respects at her funeral in seven days’ time.”

  The words felt surreal as they left my lips. My stomach churned when the crowd before me dropped to a knee to pay their respects. I wasn’t really surprised that so many mourned the loss—Mother was a beloved queen. I doubted highly that I would ever live up to her expectations, or even theirs, as I scanned each head. I pressed my palms together in a sign of reverence and bowed my head as the crowd stood. I had learned the gesture when my father passed—the motion was a sign of respect and of loss.

  Mother would remain at the Temple of Nahara, in the care of the priestesses, until her burial. Final rites and wraps would be done beforehand, an internal ceremony that of itself took five days, before she was considered prepared for reincarnation.

  I shook my head. My eyes stung and I blinked. Meryn’s curls caught my eye from the far side of the crowd, glistening copper in the sea of black. Her cheeks were tear-streaked and puffy, and I noted the confused way she searched my face. I knew what she sought, the answer to a question I hadn’t even figured out yet. I wanted to hug her but the urge was quashed by my guilt at having not told her about Mother myself. She gave me the smallest wave. I knew that she likely didn’t care where she’d acquired the news, but the thought lingered.

  Camion wasn’t far from her, several people behind. His face was dry but there was sadness in his eyes. He met my gaze without hesitation. The lack of pity gave me pause, but I didn’t pull my eyes away until Jyn touched my arm lightly. He moved to the side momentarily when Camion beckoned, and I couldn’t make out the soft words exchanged between the two before Camion nodded and walked away. I got the impression the two had disagreed, but when I gave Jyn a sharp look he shook his head.

  “We should return to the palace, Your Majesty,” he said quietly.

  I turned my horse slightly before I addressed the crowd again. “Thank you for your patience and understanding in this trying time.”

  The sound of quiet chatter broke across the crowd. That familiar feeling surged up in my gut, the watchful eyes and condescending whispers. Some of the voices were edged in disdain, some in anger, some in pure sadness. A man near the front stepped forward, and I immediately flinched. I guess some part of me was still worried about what had happened at the coronation ball.

  “Did you have her killed to take her throne?”

  I froze. Jyn dropped from his horse and passed the reins off to me. “Do you think this is the appropriate time?”

  The man crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t scare me, Sahrian. I asked a fair question.”

  Devlyn tugged at my arm from his horse, shifting himself in front of me. The other guards pressed in, a wall on all sides that I couldn’t really see around.

  “I think that’s a highly inappropriate question,” Jyn growled.

  I could hear the emotions that split the crowd. Anger, approval. Mother had been murdered, and there were people who genuinely thought I would have something to do with it? They thought so little of me?

  “Can the queen not speak for herself?” the man snarled.

  “This is a time of mourning for the royal family. I will kindly ask you to back away from Her Majesty and respect her grief.” I could hear the thin line of Jyn’s patience breaking. Then . . .

  “Make me.”

  “Jyn, don’t. I’ll handle him.”

  I recognized the new voice—Camion. I leaned in my saddle to peer between the gap under Devlyn’s arm. Camion shoved the man and grabbed his arm, pulling him away in a firm grasp, even when he started to throw punches. He landed blows on Camion’s arms, neck, head, back—Camion didn’t even flinch. He walked and dragged the man away with him. I could see Jyn now, as he slid his daggers back into his boots. He came to retrieve his horse, and I could see my questions reflected in his eyes. I didn’t vocalize them though, not here. Instead, I clicked my tongue and directed my horse to the palace.

  When we were out of earshot of the town, Jyn said, “You should try to eat. When we get back.” I shook my head. The thought of food made my stomach twist. “Princess, please. You haven’t eaten in two days.”

  “I can’t,” I said, so quietly I wondered if he’d heard me. He didn’t press the matter so I assumed he had.

  The palace gates were closed now—before Mother passed, we’d simply left them open under heavy guard. Now Devlyn had ordered them closed, with more guards still. When everyone cleared the security check, I passed my horse to one of the men and fled for my chambers. The solitude and quiet sounded intoxicating. I knew my mind wouldn’t leave me to rest, especially with this new information, but at least I didn’t have to pretend to be a queen while I tried to process everything. And the guards found nothing off about a grieving woman running to her rooms.

  I changed into my night clothes and pulled a chair to the window, scanning the treetops absently. My body was exhausted, my thoughts never ending, and my eyes were painful with the tears I couldn’t shed. If I cried, would that be the end? If I broke, would I pick myself back up again?

  When I couldn’t handle the strain anymore I climbed into bed and wrapped myself around one of my pillows. I tugged my blankets around my neck. Jyn had been perched by the fire all evening, flipping halfheartedly through the pages of a book, but when I moved to the bed he climbed up beside me. A warm weight against my back and a comfort and reminder that he was there. The soft shuffle of pages almost lulled me to sleep, but I knew when he went to bed—the sun had been gone for a while at that point and he squeezed my shoulder softly before he vanished.

  Eventually sleep took me. I wasn’t sure how long I’d laid there when the screams started. Screams that echoed all around my dreams and chamber. I couldn’t close my eyes, the images were all there. My sister, soaked in blood, Mother . . .

  Mother . . .

  I woke to the gentle shake of hands and a voice that murmured my name. I was horrified when I realized that the screams I had thought were in my dreams actually tore from my throat. Jyn started to speak when I snapped my mouth shut, darting to the window to violently expel the bile in my empty stomach. I shivered at the cold sweat that coated my skin and shot half a glance at the guards who were backing slowly out of my room. They’d come in with the screams. I hadn’t noticed.

  Jyn had a glass of water ready before I finished. I almost broke when he pulled me against his chest, tightening his hold when I buried my face in his shoulder. Almost.

  Chapter 14

  The Council demanded my attention immediately the following morning. One of the men, Wulfric, waited in the council room to go over the restrictions on my position until my training was complete.

  I slipped into a plain black gown and made my way downstairs, Jyn at my heels. The room smelled of the pipe that Wulfric quickly extinguished when I opened the door. He stood and dipped at the waist. “My apologies, Your Majesty. Old habit.”

  “No need to apologize, Sir Wulfric, make yourself comfortable.”

  Wulfric was known for his expensive taste in clothing and his outfit today reflected no less. Tiny emerald threads were embroidered around the cuffs and hems of his satiny suit and they held flecks of diamond in place. His boots had been polished to gleaming. Even the pipe he held in his hand looked to be expertly carved and made of some shimmering wood I di
dn’t care to ask the cost of. As per Council norm, he was trailed by two large, heavily armed Numyra guards who stood stern and silent behind him. Wulfric clapped his hands together.

  “To business! But first”—he pressed his palms together gently—“I’m sorry for your loss, Majesty. Your mother will be missed.”

  “Thank you.” I motioned that he should get comfortable and pulled a chair out for myself. Jyn dropped into the seat next to me. I noted the small glance he and the Numyra exchanged and was grateful that Jyn ignored them.

  “So, in your capacity as ruling leader, you have almost all the rights granted as of your coronation. The Council needs to make sure you have a proper understanding of the laws and bylaws that affect Thrais most commonly, to ensure you’re properly educated before making large decisions.” Wulfric ran his hands through his black hair, dragging them up over the salt and pepper streaks that lined his temples. “I understand that your training wasn’t completed at the time of your mother’s passing, is that correct?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ve sent word to Prince Lucian in hopes that he will be able to assist her with the information she’s missing. If you approve, Sir,” Jyn added.

  Wulfric seemed surprised at being addressed by my guard but, when I didn’t chastise him, Wulfric said, “Yes, I’m sure that will be fine. When can we expect your training to be completed?”

  I glanced at Jyn. “I’m not sure, to be completely honest. We haven’t heard back from Prince Lucian yet. I can send a courier when he returns, if you’d like.”

  “Please do. I’ll need to get word to Claryn so she can make plans to attend you, and if Prince Lucian is unavailable we will arrange for a tutor.”

  The Council didn’t have a set leader, but as the most maternal of the group, Claryn was the one who usually attended official Council business. Wulfric lived farther south, however, so generally he was the one to visit for small business like this.

  “Of course, Sir.”

  Wulfric tapped the lip of his pipe against his palm. “More importantly, before I leave, I need to have a word with Devlyn. I want the raised security to remain in place. I understand if he’s hesitant to hire more guards at the moment, but I’m sure if he’s thinned his men out too much the Council could arrange to have trusted bodies brought in. As for you—I’d like you to remain close to the palace, close to your guard.” He lifted his pipe to point at Jyn. “And don’t venture into town more than necessary. I received word from one of my men about the confrontation in town yesterday, and I don’t wish to risk your life unnecessarily. The Council is launching a full investigation into your mother’s murder. I do need to ask, however . . . can you think of anyone who might have done this?”

  “No,” I said quietly. “Mother didn’t have any enemies that I’m aware of. Even the animosity with Kalum has been fairly minimal.”

  “Alright. If you think of anything that might give us some direction, we’d be glad for your help. We’re going to close off her chambers to search for clues, but in the meantime, please, be safe, Your Majesty.” Wulfric stood. “I should be going. I don’t want to take up too much of your time. After all, this is a period of grieving for your family. Thank you for hosting me today.”

  I rose to my feet and curtsied. “Thank you for the visit, Sir Wulfric. I will contact you if I think of anything.”

  Wulfric motioned to his guards. When they’d left, I breathed out heavily, slumping into the chair again.

  “You alright, Princess?” Jyn rested a hand on my shoulder.

  “I’m weary. I want to visit Annalea before my lesson. See how she’s doing.”

  Jyn didn’t say anything. He offered a hand to help me to my feet again. Annalea had remained holed up in her room for three days, and I was fairly certain she hadn’t eaten either. I had tried to see her, once, but she’d turned me away.

  I tapped on her door and was gratified when she called me in.

  Her room was far neater than mine. The walls were covered in frames filled with pressed flowers and there were accents of light pinks and golds everywhere. Where my bookshelf was half organized and half a haphazard mess, her books all sat neatly alphabetized. Most of her books bore titles referring to botany or embroidery. Her bed was similar to mine, though hers had curtains of pale peachy pink. Usually hers was neatly made, but now there was a mess of blankets with a wadded mass in the center that I assumed was my sister.

  “Anna?” My voice came out harsh so I cleared my throat and tried again. “Anna, do you want to talk?”

  A small squeak sounded from beneath the blankets. I motioned Jyn outside and moved to sit beside her. Her eyes were dry but her cheeks were red and puffy.

  “How are you holding up?”

  She stared at me for a moment. “I . . . I can’t wrap my mind around anything. I can’t accept that she’s gone.”

  “I know.”

  “I keep waiting for her to walk in. To tell me to tighten my corset more, or that my earrings don’t match. I don’t know . . . ” I pulled her onto my lap and stroked her hair. She absently chewed at a nail before she said quietly, “Who did this? Who would have her . . . I don't understand why.”

  “We don’t know.” I hated that I didn’t have an answer for her as much as the heartbroken look she gave me. “We increased the guard. They’re wearing themselves thin.”

  Annalea nodded. I wanted to reassure her, but I was at a loss. How could I make her feel better about losing the person she’d loved most in the world? There was no bandage for this kind of hurt. Time would heal her a bit. Occasionally something would rake at the wound but the heartache wouldn’t hurt like this. For now, there was nothing I could do to speed the process. I was helpless. The first emotion I’d felt in days.

  I missed being numb.

  ***

  My feet dragged down the main staircase. My body felt like lead, heavy and hard to manage. Jyn offered again to cancel my swordplay lesson, his gaze on my slumped shoulders, but I passed. I needed something to do. I had thought my visit to Annalea would help her, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d only made things worse. I knew she hadn’t eaten—I could see the effects in her sunken cheeks and dark eyes.

  Then again, Jyn had been eating and even he looked haggard. I had tried to thank him last night, tried to say the words that stuck to my throat. Instead I’d croaked awkwardly before I lay back on my bed to trace the lines of the ceiling. The deepest exhaustion wracked my body, in every corner of my soul.

  The heavy doors to the ballroom were a chore to open. Camion tossed me a sword immediately, and Jyn shot him a sharp look. I didn’t even try to understand the returned glance, simply took the blade and began to parry the attacks being thrown in my direction. After a few minutes, we fell into a rhythm. The tension in my shoulders started to ease. Swordplay was methodical, and I didn’t really have to focus. The clang of metal soothed the chatter in my mind, the steps comforting and familiar, and Camion didn’t seem to expect my best effort today. I wasn’t sure how much he was actually trying, even. I pushed myself harder, and my muscles roared in protest. I threw a blow at his side. Blocked. Spun low and swept for his legs. He blocked again. I thrust toward his stomach. Blocked. Every turn parried with masterful skill. The sunburn that lingered on my shoulders screamed at the tug of my leathers, but I ignored the pull. The pain wasn’t bad. I was fine. I was.

  The moisture fell to my skin before I realized what it was. The tears trailed lightly down my cheeks. I wiped my face on my sleeve, annoyed. Not now. My mantra. They weren’t tears, they were beads of sweat. I kept going. A drop landed on my hand as I parried a blow to the chest and I swung aggressively at any part of Camion that looked free in response. Jyn jumped to his feet, concerned, but Camion shook his head at him. His sword managed every blow I threw at him, each movement carefully offset and returned. I saw Jyn hesitate again and then noted peripherally as he nodded to Camion and slipped from the room. The split-second distraction was all Camion needed, and he
disarmed me swiftly. My sword clattered loudly as he kicked the hilt away.

  “Do you want to talk?” he asked delicately.

  “My problems are none of your business. Do your job.”

  Even I recoiled from the venom in my voice, but the rage boiled up in my chest and I screamed in frustration. I aimed a well-placed kick at his chest. A sweep of hands—and I was firmly on both feet again.

  “I’m sorry she’s gone, Tyli. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  I swung for his face but he simply deflected, hyper-aware of my every move. He didn’t say a word when I continued to swing either, merely pivoted away. A few times he let me land blows—on his hands, arms, chest. I knew he let me get the hits in, that he was far better at this and I was tired. So tired. I dipped low again and swung my leg to sweep his legs out from under him. A calculated shift on his part avoided my attack completely and finally, I gave up. I dropped to my knees, flinching slightly at the bruises on each, and gave up.

  “I’m so sorry,” Camion said softly as he knelt in front of me.

  And then I broke.

  I didn’t know what the catalyst was—the combat, the weight of my guilt over my attacks on Camion, or maybe I finally couldn’t take the weight of all the emotions I was holding in. But I was sobbing. Anguished, ugly cries that echoed through the huge empty room. I hid my face in my hands, too embarrassed to look at Camion. He shifted closer before he tugged me against him and cradled me to his chest. I buried my face in his shoulder. My tears soaked through the cotton of his shirt but he sat still, held me, let me grieve.

  I cried until I was empty. Not numb, for the first time in days. Empty. There was a new hole in my chest, right next to the old, and both ached painfully. I didn’t move until I steadied my breathing. I swallowed hard. Despite all that had happened, I was nervous at the prospect of facing Camion.

  When I finally managed to meet his eyes though, they were patient. Kind. The teases I’d grown used to weren’t there, nor the painful sympathy that everyone else seemed unable to restrain. He brushed a piece of hair from my face and tucked the strand behind my ear. “Better?” His voice was low, gentle.