by H. L. Burke
She fastened the pendant around her neck. No, ugly or not, she deserved a better fate than to be devoured.
Chapter Four
“Up, child!”
Laidra awoke with a gasp.
Her mother glared down at her.
Realizing her face was exposed, Laidra ducked and fumbled for her hood. Beneath her tunic, the opal pendant brushed against her breasts, reminding her of the previous night’s events.
“The king of Carta received a message this morning and will be departing early.” Perys crossed her arms. “Cover yourself and come with me.”
Laidra’s mind raced. King Gan was supposed to stay for five more days. She’d thought she had more time to plan her escape.
Across the room, a servant girl rifled through Laidra’s possessions, carelessly stuffing articles of clothing into a woven basket.
“Only the basics!” Perys snapped when the servant picked up Laidra's pipes. “King Gan said all would be provided in Carta.” Perys thrust a pair of gloves at Laidra. “If you find a veil, bring it to me,” she continued, addressing the servant rather than her daughter. “It will be her first time outside the palace walls. The less the citizens see of her, the better.”
Laidra flushed. “Where am I going? What does King Gan want with me?” Though she knew, she wished to hear it from her mother’s lips.
Queen Perys turned away in silence.
Hot anger washed through Laidra. A murderer condemned to die would have been informed of his fate, but the queen didn’t even have the decency to explain the situation to her. Her mother’s silence broke the last thread of familial affection Laidra bore her. “Well, Mother?” She raised an eyebrow, staring directly into her mother's cold eyes. Perys didn't flinch, but neither did Laidra.
“Cover yourself.” Her mother presented her with a veil.
Laidra’s insides twisted. “Did you ever love me?”
Perys stiffened, then sniffed. “Were you ever worth loving?”
The words hit the princess like the slap of a hand, and her shoulders slumped. Hands trembling, she instinctively clutched the pendant through the cloth of her tunic. I have a strong heart, she told herself. I have a strong heart, and I will be brave.
“That’s enough.” Her mother motioned the servant towards the door. “Take the basket to the stable master to load on one of the mares.”
Laidra turned the veil over in her hands. Her whole life she'd hidden her face to spare her mother's pride, and in return, her mother wouldn't speak to save her life. She was through hiding in shadows for the sake of others.
The queen turned back to her, eyes glinting. “Well?”
Laidra dropped the veil to the floor.
Her mother inhaled sharply. She opened her mouth, shut it, then nodded. “We should go.”
Laidra pushed her way past her mother, not looking back. This was no longer her home. The queen was no longer her mother. She no longer had a family. No, whatever she faced at Gan’s mercy, she would not regret leaving here, and she would never return.
I will be brave.
In the courtyard, Gan waited beside a chariot drawn by two prancing white stallions. Volen already stood within, grasping the reins. Their servants and guards snapped to attention around them.
Laidra’s cheeks warmed, and part of her regretted spurning the veil. So many strange eyes gazing at her. She focused on the expanse of blue sky above the palace wall, her shoulders back and head up, but her mind longing to flee into the heavens.
“She can ride in the wagon.” Gan pointed to a horse-drawn cart filled with bundles. Their luggage, she assumed.
Laidra glanced around the courtyard. On one side rose the silver-blue pillars of Ethna's temple, on the other, the bronze gates of the towering palace. The flutter of green banners over the gateway was the only sound besides the anxious stamping of the beasts of burden. Her father and sister stood silently on the palace steps on the other side of Gan’s retinue. Both avoided looking in her direction.
Here to take leave of their ally, Gan, not their daughter and sister. I truly leave behind nothing of value.
Clearing her throat, she pulled herself onto the wagon seat next to the driver, a burly man in a brown tunic. He shifted and averted his eyes. Laidra sat straighter in her best imitation of her mother.
The gate swung open. Gan leapt into the chariot beside his son, who snapped the reins. As one, the Cartan caravan moved. In spite of her determination to be strong, Laidra's vision blurred with hot tears. She imagined her parents calling out to stop the wagon to say this was a mistake, that she was their daughter and they couldn't send her away. Only the sound of the wagon rattling beneath her met her ears. Her soul shriveled within her, leaving her small and worthless. Ugly, unwanted, unloved. She clenched her jaw to keep her expression stony and willed her eyes dry.
However, as Laidra passed through the wall of the palace and the view opened before her, she gasped in amazement. Her bedroom window had faced inward towards the palace courtyard, and the open areas of the palace had been forbidden to her. Somehow, she'd imagined the whole world as stone walls and staring faces. The truth was so much more colorful.
The road tumbled down a rocky slope lined with thorny acacia and knotted olive trees, alive with green. Beyond lay the blocky stone buildings of the town. Many homes had colorful awnings or yards with flowers. In the distance sparkled the deep blue of a harbor, filled with wooden ships and crying birds. A great burden lifted from her, and she leaned forward to take in the world. Her soul rose with the birds as if she were one of them, released from her cage.
Sixteen years, and I’ve never left these walls … the sea is so blue, and it was here the whole time, only a stone’s throw from my home. What else is out there? What else have I been missing? Her pulse quickened, and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
The caravan traveled down the hill through the village, scattering chickens and dust from the road. Their speed made it difficult to get more than a passing glance at any person or object, though she supposed she should be grateful for that. Less chance for the populace to gape at their homely princess.
The breeze pushed her hood back from her face. She didn’t replace it, but rather closed her eyes and imagined the warmth of the sun could smooth the blemishes from her skin. A smell of fish, stronger and fresher than what she had experienced in the royal kitchens, rose around her, accompanied by the tang of salt spray. The wagon jerked to a halt.
They were at the docks facing a long wooden ship with high white sails and two banks for oars. She slid from her seat and gaped across the open harbor. The sea touched the horizon. What lay beyond that? Perhaps freedom?
Gan and Volen descended from their chariot. A group of servants immediately surrounded and dismantled the vehicle, removing the wheels and sides for easy transport. The horses were led away, back towards the palace. Perhaps Lucan had loaned them to Gan as a courtesy, though it seemed foolish for the king to have brought a chariot but no horses, and only for a short ride from the harbor to the palace and back again.
Though I know all too well how important appearances are to royalty.
Gan beckoned towards a young man in a bronze breastplate. “Take the princess to the back of the ship and see that she is comfortable. Her belongings are in the wagon; bring them with you.” The young man nodded and motioned for her to follow. She pulled her hood to shadow her face once more and obeyed.
Laidra didn’t look down as she crossed the narrow ramp onto the ship. A roof supported by pillars covered the length of the broad deck. Hatches revealed a gaping hold with lines of seats for those manning the oars.
“Watch yourself,” her young guide cautioned. “Tumble down one of those and you'll break a leg, or worse.”
Laidra kept one eye on the deck as she followed him.
Towards the stern, a small cabin awaited her. Inside there was a cot, a chamber pot, and a small folding table but no other furniture. It somehow managed to feel both cramped and s
parse with its rough wooden walls and only an un-dyed wool blanket at the bottom of the canvas cot, no pillow. Still, considering the number of men needed to man the oars and sails, she imagined this was one of the better lodgings on the ship. Laidra thanked the youth, who bowed and scurried out.
She leaned against the wall and drew a deep breath. Now what?
It was too late to run. For better or worse, she’d have to go along with Gan’s wishes. For now. Perhaps when they landed in Carta she could get away. After all, she'd be trapped on the ship with nothing to do until they reached their destination. Plenty of time to plan an escape. She wished she’d brought her pipes. An examination of her basket revealed her mother’s servant had packed only clothes.
Commotion swelled like the waves as the crew prepared the ship for launch. Laidra peeked out her door once or twice but feared she’d be trampled in the bustle of men moving cargo and hoisting sails. Her cabin had a small wood-shuttered window that looked out over the sea. She opened this to breathe the fresh air then sat and thought.
Perhaps this won’t be so bad. If Gan succeeds in drawing out and slaying the monster, he’ll have no more need of me. Though maybe I can convince him that my gift is useful. She leaned against the wall and imagined a happy ending: the serpent defeated, the weary warriors returned, but one is wounded. Perhaps Prince Volen or the king himself. She would step from the shadows, her gift warming her hands. The wounds would close, and ignoring her wretched appearance, the men would rejoice. She would be as much a hero as they. The word would spread. She would settle somewhere, like an oracle, and people would flock to her, except rather than vague prophecies, she’d dispense healing. Yes, she'd have a purpose, and somehow she'd earn acceptance.
Lost in this pleasant daydream, Laidra stretched out on her cot and stared at the wooden beams above her. She wondered if there were any limits to her power—other than worsening her already grotesque visage. Her mother had never allowed her to test its limits. All healing had to be done in secret lest the queen fall into a rage. The memory shattered her reverie, and another pang of grief and loneliness shot through her chest.
But that's over now. I've escaped that life, and I'm not looking back.
The ship bobbed up and down with a gentle rocking motion. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on that, imagining herself in the arms of someone who cared for her. The fantasy chased away thoughts of her mother, numbing the pain and soothing her to rest.
***
A knock on the door stirred Laidra from her slumber. She sat up and rubbed her eyes before pulling her hood back over her face.
“Come in.”
Prince Volen entered, followed by a young servant carrying a tray with a bowl and a goblet upon it. Though Laidra was certain her hood covered her features, Volen still cringed when she stood, as if her ugliness might jump onto him and corrupt his perfect image.
“I brought you a meal.” He nodded towards the tray. The servant set it on a small table at her bedside.
Laidra raised her eyebrows. “An honor indeed to have the prince himself serve me.”
Volen shifted from foot to foot. “My father pointed out that whatever your … disadvantages, you’re still a princess. Also, you do us a favor by being here.”
“It isn’t as if I had much choice.” She reached for the goblet.
His nostrils flared, his dark eyes following her every move.
She cleared her throat, suddenly feeling like a bird cornered by a cat.
“You don’t have to stay and watch me eat. I know my presence must be irksome for you.” She picked up the goblet and sharp pain bit her fingers. Crying out, she dropped it to the floor. Blood beaded across three of her fingers.
“Did you hurt yourself?” Volen pulled a cloth from inside his tunic and grabbed her by the wrist.
“It’s just a scratch. What is wrong with that cup?”
He didn’t answer but pressed the cloth to her wounds. A large red dot formed on the white fabric.
Laidra jerked away. “I can heal myself.” She held her hand up to examine it. The cut was deep but clean. A quick burst of her gift, accompanied by the itch of a new blemish on her neck, sealed the wound and alleviated the pain. She bent to claim the cup, wanting to see what had caused the injury, but Volen snatched it first and backed towards the door.
“Eat your meal. We’ll reach our destination by morning. You should rest.”
Leaving the meal but taking the servant, he departed.
Well, that was odd. How will we reach our destination by morning? We just left Oleva. Crossing the Brigyn Sea should take at least three days, I’d think. Laidra pushed the pebbly lentils around her bowl, but didn’t eat.
Of course, her knowledge of sailing and geography was limited to what she’d overheard or read on scrolls. Perhaps a fair wind or faster ship could alter the time needed to make the crossing.
The scent of unfamiliar spices rose from the bowl before her, peppery and rich, not like the sharp notes of lemon and garlic common to Olevan fare. She almost hazarded a taste, but her twisting stomach convinced her to set it aside.
Something pricked at her chest, like the shock when her tunic rubbed against her blankets at night. She withdrew her pendant and found it glinting madly. Sparks flew from it as if it were an anvil struck by the fire god’s hammer.
Within its facets, a picture of Volen and Gan formed, the king and prince standing at the bow of the ship beside the unlit signal brazier. The fading sun painted the sky crimson behind them.
“Did you get her blood?” Gan asked.
“Aye.” Volen gave a curt nod, his lips in a scowl as he clenched the fabric.
A chill swept through Laidra. That was on purpose? Why?
“Well, give it to me!” Gan snatched the cloth from his son’s hand. He drew a vial of green liquid from his cloak and emptied it onto the stained fabric. Smoke rose from it, and a grin curled his lips. “It’s just as the wisemen said: her blood contains the curse.”
Laidra shuddered. The term “cursed” had been thrown at her for most of her life, but to see Gan performing some sort of sorcery with her blood made her skin crawl.
“If she does then her sister does as well.” Volen scratched his chin. “I think taking the pretty one to my bed would be a much simpler and more pleasant way to put this to rest than feeding the ugly one to the serpent.”
The heat drained from Laidra’s heart. She choked back a whimper.
Gan waved dismissively. “Neither method is certain. If this fails, we can go back for the other. Oleva is weak under Lucan; it would be as easy to take it by blade as by wedlock and would allow us to arrange a more advantageous union for you later.” He shrugged and tossed the cloth over the side of the ship. “When we get close to the Island of Exile, have the sailors light the signal to your men, and they’ll drive your brother into the sea. We’ll tie the girl to the raft, slice open a vein so her blood draws him, and wait.” A cruel smile crept over the king's lips. “Once he devours her, her curse will doom him, and you will be free to live as you are, as a man and a prince.”
The image on the opal blinked out.
“Not again!” Laidra groaned. “You stupid thing! Will you only give me warnings when it’s too late to do anything about it? I’m on a ship in the middle of the sea surrounded by people who want to feed me to a monster. Where can I go? I can’t even swim.” She pressed her palms to her eyes and drew calming breaths. All right. There has to be something. Be brave. Be strong. Be active.
The raft. Gan had mentioned a raft. Where would that be, and could she get it into the water without anyone noticing? Even if she did, what would be the chance of her getting it to shore? Still, better to drown than to be fed to some serpent.
Chapter Five
Calen sopped up the last of his lamb stew with a piece of flatbread before putting the bowl aside and sighing. The dying embers of the fire flickered. Cross-legged on a lion skin rug, he edged closer to the warmth, not because he was cold, but becaus
e the glowing coals seemed alive. He wondered when his mother would visit next and if she'd bring anything new to read. Though reading meant sitting, and his legs ached from doing too much of that lately.
It had been several days since the incident. He’d chosen to stay indoors since then, but he was growing bored. The palace had few windows and resembled a cave or mausoleum more than a home.
“I might as well be dead,” he whispered, his eyes flitting to the tapestry on the nearest wall. It depicted a feast, satyrs and nymphs dancing together, drinking from golden cups. So festive. Everyone delighted to be there.
“Are you done eating?” his guardian asked.
“Yes.” Calen turned toward the disembodied voice.
The bowl rose from the table and floated towards the door seemingly on its own. “Would you have anything else?”
“No. I think I’ll go for a walk in a bit. The sun must’ve set by now, and there won't be a moon tonight. If I want fresh air, now is the best time.”
“Be careful.” The voice had a fatherly tone, but Calen had never felt quite comfortable befriending the magical entity who fed and clothed him. For one thing, it only appeared when there was work to be done; for another, it wasn’t much for conversation. Sometimes Calen would go for days without hearing it speak or even being sure it was in the room.
Calen rubbed the back of his neck. Leaving the safety of the castle so soon after his last episode was a risk, but the walls were closing in on him.
If Mother is right and Volen seeks a bride, my time as a man might be drawing to a close. I’d rather live these last days with some degree of freedom.
Calen followed the twists and turns of the palace halls from his living quarters, up a flight of stairs, three lefts, two rights, another left, avoiding the dead ends and infinite loops that made up his home’s labyrinth of hallways. Oil lamps sat in alcoves every few feet, casting flickering light across the smooth stones in his path.