by Jayden Woods
*
News of bloodshed spread from one section of the palace to the next. People panicked. Screams echoed through the halls. No one knew how much of the panic was well-founded or how much arose from the sheer lack of safra. But Vikand chiefs gathered in groups while the Dearen guards scattered, and blood gleamed from some of their swords.
The princess refused to speak to anyone directly. She sent messages through Sir Gornum that anyone who stayed uninvited in her palace would pay dearly for their crimes. This threat frightened some Vikandese away, but not all of them.
“I understand why you might wish to leave,” said Rebeka. “This is not how I wanted to spend my time in Dearen, either. But think of what good we might do here. If we support Princess Fayr against the Vikandese, then perhaps we could—”
“Don’t fool yourself.” Eleanor scrambled about the room gathering clothes and belongings. “We have no troops here, no weapons, no means of combative support.”
“We have our wit, and our reason!”
“Do we?” Eleanor dared look at Rebeka, if only for a moment. “I’m not so sure anymore.”
Rebeka fell into a terrible silence. Eleanor continued packing. Rebeka did not move or speak at all. Eleanor tried to ignore her altogether. But somehow, the silence itself grew unbearable.
She stopped and lurched over her bags with choking breath. “Rebeka ... the truth is that I received news of King Byron. He will return to Yamair very soon.”
“What? How soon?”
“I don’t know exactly ... but soon enough that I must leave today. I must prepare for his return.”
“Oh.” Another long silence. “I see. I see, indeed.” The look on Rebeka’s face said it all. She feared the worst.
Eleanor couldn’t endure it. She reached for Rebeka and dared grip her hand. “Please, Rebeka. Don’t give up on me. I am very confused and … and … I still need you.”
“Yes, King-wife.” Rebeka squeezed her hand in return, but her gaze stayed downcast.
15
Dungeons