The Pain of Compassion

by Roland Boykin

  All too soon he pushed away an empty platter and raised his mug, signaling he would like a refill. As the innkeeper approached, Navon gestured to the chair opposite him at the table, his prepared speech ready.

  “Please be at ease and join me for a moment. I am on a quest for the Keep’s healer to find a special herb he says can only be found in the far north and I would prefer not to travel alone. Do you know of any group or trader who will be traveling in that direction?”

  “I haven’t heard of anyone m’lord, but I know someone who I can ask.” The innkeeper’s attitude changed to one of concern as he leaned forward. “Certainly m’lord wouldn’t need protection on the road, or have you heard of some danger recently?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Navon denied. “It’s just that it can get lonely on the road, and having someone to converse with makes the trip shorter.”

  “As you say m’lord. As you say. Please excuse me as I must get back to my other patrons. If I hear of anything, I will inform you straight away,” he promised.

  Navon wondered at the innkeeper’s nervousness. Maybe he was just uncomfortable talking to someone of a higher station. Thoughts of the innkeeper soon gave way to an image of that comfortable looking bed upstairs. With a full meal and two mugs of stout ale making his eyelids droop, he headed up to his room with no other purpose other than to get a full nights’ rest.

  After a night filled with dreams of snow covered mountains, strange beings, and a sense of impending danger, Navon broke his fast in a somber mood. Even the impish smile from the innkeepers’ daughter as she brought him his breakfast, failed to lift his spirits. Coming through the door from the kitchen, the innkeeper spotted Navon and rushed over.

  “Good news m’lord,” he beamed. “I just received word that a group of men, who arrived last night from the Capitol, are leaving this morning for Brighton Ferry. I’m sure they would be honored to have the Baron’s son accompany them.”

  Navon listened closely as the innkeeper gave him directions to a stable near the north gate. After settling his account, he hustled upstairs with a renewed sense of purpose. Weapons strapped on and with pack in hand, he hurried along the dirt street as fast as was seemly for a Baron’s son. His upbringing would allow nothing less. The village was larger than he had imagined, and the shops that lined the street made him wish he could take the time to stop. The innkeeper had warned him however, the men planned an early start, and he would have to hurry to catch them before they left.

  Anxious, Navon rounded the last corner and was relieved by what he saw. A small coach, with two canvas covered wagons lined up behind it, stood ready to depart. Thank the Eyes, he’d made it in time. As he approached the open stable door, rehearsing how he would introduce himself, an odd thought crossed his mind. Shouldn’t there be someone outside tending the horses? It was his last conscious thought before darkness overtook him.

  Chapter Three ~ A Betrothal

  Sofia woke with a start. A ray of sunshine had discovered a gap in the thick blue drapes covering her bedroom window, and playfully danced over her eyelids. Cursing, she escaped from the tangle of blankets on her small four poster bed, and pulled her long blond hair out of her face. She padded over to the window on bare feet and jerked open the drapes. Sunlight flooded her room from a traitorous sun already well above the horizon. Normally, the warmth of an early morning sun on a crisp spring day would fill her with joy and comfort. Unfortunately today was not a normal day.

  A quick check of the sitting room revealed that no one had disturbed her rooms since last night. By the Eyes, someone was going to pay for this oversight. After a couple of irritated jerks on the servant’s bell rope, she stalked over to her wardrobe, and with a grimace, pulled out the gown made especially for this occasion. She would much rather be riding or sparring with the old arms-master, but the Queen required her daughters to appear at court only four days out of the year, and today was one of those days.

  The Princess returned to the sitting room just as Floanne, her maidservant, slipped through the door, and quickly closed it behind her after a fearful glance up and down the hall.

  “Your Highness,” she exclaimed. “Are you still in pain? How may I help you?”

  “What are you talking about? Where are the rest of my servants, and why do you look like the Eye of Death is lurking out in the hall?”

  “Princess Darnelle commanded all the servants not to disturb you this morning on fear of dismissal. She told us you were suffering from a terrible head pain and needed to sleep. But when you rang the bell so urgently, I was afraid for you and came as swiftly as I could. I was alone in the servant’s hall when you called so no one knows I am here. Please m’lady, don’t tell Princess Darnelle I disobeyed her.”

  “I will deal with my sister later. Right now I need you to help me prepare for this morning’s audience with the Queen.”

  Sofia gently brushed a tear from the cheek of her maid, then continued, “Fear not Floanne. Your loyalty to me is appreciated and will be rewarded. Now, let us remind the Court just who and what I am.”

  ****

  In the northern reaches of Dahlian, at a point where the River Susala and the Red River converged, sat Mount Barltok. On a promontory that pointed west toward lush farmland, stood a tower of rock that had split away from the mountain like a crystal shard. On the pinnacle of that shard perched an ancient castle named the Rose Palace. Built in an earlier age, when the Deluti ruled the land, it was so named not only by the pink granite used in its construction, but also because it was patterned after the blossom of a wild rose. A large, domed, reception hall dominated the center with two story wings in the shape of petals arranged in a circle around it.

  With an eye for defense as well as beauty, the Palace was connected to the mountain by a single bridge that appeared to be an extension of the very stone itself. Storerooms and a large cistern had been carved out of the rock below to supply the Palace in the event of a siege. The road from the bridge traveled down the gentle slope of the mountain to the capitol city of Kiplar spread out below.

  Her Majesty, Queen Oliva Salidoris, sat on display in her Crystal Throne at the northern end of the Great Hall. Today was the first day of summer and one of only four days she required her three daughters, the four Governors, and the local nobility to attend her. Dark and curly shoulder length hair, adorned with golden threads containing delicate pink blossoms and tiny green leaves, framed the face of a mature yet strikingly beautiful woman. The intricate Crown of Dahlian, nestled atop the curls, appeared to anchor the golden threads in place. A sleeveless, floor length gown, was the color of spring wheat in celebration of the new season. The gown was trimmed with the same profusion of leaves and blossoms at the hem and waist, with the neckline cut just low enough to hint at the femininity hidden within.

  Intense hazel eyes, partially hidden behind lowered dark lashes, scanned the courtyard as she greeted her guests with a nod and a distracted, but benevolent smile. The fingers of her right hand continued to tap out a rhythm on the arm of the throne despite her best efforts to still them. Today’s major announcement involved an agreement that had been reached concerning Princess Sofia. An agreement that her daughter was completely unaware of, and the Queen was concerned what her hot tempered daughter’s reaction would be. At a discreet signal from the Queen, the Seneschal lowered his head to hers.

  “Any word as to the whereabouts of Princess Sofia?” she whispered.

  “No, Your Majesty. The servants are being uncommonly tight lipped. No one has seen the Princess since late last night.”

  Just then a movement at the southern entrance to the chamber caught the Queen’s eye like a breath of air rustling the leaves of a single tree branch. A young woman, dressed in a blindingly white gown with folds of sheer lace down the sleeves and around the neck, strode down the aisle. Back straight, every muscle loose and in perfect balance, her eyes never seemed to move, yet saw everything. The lethal grace of her movements was a testament to the years of c
landestine lessons she had received from the Palace Guard’s retired arms-master.

  A wave of silence spread out from the Princess as the sea of courtiers parted before her on the way to the Throne. Even from far away the Queen could see the anger smoldering in the eyes of her youngest daughter. Knowing Sofia wouldn’t have created a dramatic entrance on purpose, something or someone must have delayed her. The Queen’s suspicions were confirmed as she caught the barely suppressed smirk and look of disdain on the face of her middle daughter, Princess Darnelle.

  The Queen stood to address the court, purposely ignoring Sofia’s attempt at an apology. She fervently hoped her daughter would contain her infamous temper this day.

  “People of Dahlian. May the blessings of the Eyes continue to look down upon our land. The Governors inform me that the crops are healthy, our herds of cattle and sheep are thriving, and the mines continue to produce precious gems and gold. Our Master of War reports that the Army and the Navy are strong and prepared. However, I have no intention of testing those claims by initiating another war with Marlinor as I relish the security of peace. To this end, Princess Francine has been negotiating tirelessly with the King of Marlinor. Today we joyously announce the betrothal of Princess Sofia to Prince Mathias, the youngest son of King Charles.”

  She waited for the cheers and applause to die down before continuing. “To honor this announcement, I call for a day long celebration throughout the land. Let the Proclamation be sent forth!”

  As the clamor reached a new height, the Queen turned to her daughter with a raised hand to forestall the objections she knew were coming. It wasn’t needed. Sofia stood motionless, the color of her face reflecting that of her gown. Eyes like blue topaz regarded the Queen, then looked away as she descended the steps of the dais and slowly walked away. Her steps were no longer graceful as she ignored the well wishers and exited the chamber. Unable to bear the sight, the Queen turned away as she fought to dismiss the memory of the emptiness in her daughter’s eyes.

  Sofia managed to make her way back to her rooms through a fog of despair and disbelief. Of all the things she had envisioned for her life, being married, especially to a Malinorian, had never been one of them. Deep inside of her, where the cauldron of anger normally simmered, sat a cold emptiness. Floanne, sensitive to the mood of her mistress, moved quietly about the rooms, laid out a change of clothes, and poured the Princess a cup of chilled wine. At a knock on the sitting room door, Floanne quickly hid in the bedroom.

  Queen Oliva entered and stopped just inside, then quietly closed the door behind her. The Princess stood motionless, staring out of her window.

  “You will leave in the morning with an escort of ten men commanded by Lt. Marton. You may take along one maid. The men will escort you to Seaside where a ship will be waiting to take you and the escort across the Straits of Durmont to the capitol city of New Bratan. There you will be met by King Charles and Prince Mathias.”

  Gliding to a side table, the Queen carefully set down a small bejeweled chest.

  “Inside of this chest is an ancient wooden box, the contents of which are unknown. No one has been able to open it for many generations. The box has been part of the Royal Treasury since the time of the first Queens of Dahlian and is believed to contain an item of great power. King Charles’s only requirement for the betrothal was the gift of this box, so you will present it to him immediately upon meeting. How he even knew of its existence is a mystery.”

  Unused to being ignored, the queen ordered, “Face me while I am speaking.”

  She involuntarily took a step back as Sofia turned to face her. Out of lifeless eyes spun a darkness that threatened to draw the color out of everything in the room. Determined to finish what she had started, the Queen continued.

  “My daughter, your sacrifice will benefit our country immeasurably. As your Queen, I demand it of you. As your mother, I ask it of you.”

  Receiving no response, the Queen turned and made her way back to the door and risked one final look at her daughter on the way out. As the door clicked shut, a breath of sound escaped Sofia’s lips, “I have no mother.”

  Unable to think, Sofia continued to stand long after the Queen was gone. A movement drew her attention to the bedroom door where Floanne stood transfixed. With faltering steps, her maid walked across the room as if being pulled by a rope straight to the jewel covered chest.

  Once there, Floanne’s hands slowly grasped the lid and raised it. Eyes bright with wonder, she trembled slightly as she reached inside and lifted out a wooden box darkened with age. A smile danced at the corners of her mouth as the box appeared to open on its own accord, and she was bathed in a golden light. Closing her eyes with a sigh, the lid of the box closed, and she returned it to the chest.

  As the glow around her maid diminished, the Princess heard a voice, as if someone was speaking to her from the bottom of a well.

  ‘The bearer of the box is found. Guard her life with your own.’

  Sofia shivered and pulled back from the abyss where her shock and despair had led her. The sharp edge of her reasoning flared to life and cut through the events of the morning. She was being manipulated for someone else’s gain, but would have to deal with it later. Right now she needed to make plans and prepare for her departure in the morning.

  “Floanne! What are you doing over there?”

  “Your Highness? I… it is such a lovely chest!”

  Tearing her eyes away, Floanne bounced across the room, hands clasped together.

  “This is so exciting! Are you really going to Marlinor? And to be escorted by Lieutenant Marton. He is so handsome! I have always dreamed of sailing on a ship. You have to beware of pirates though, or so I’ve heard. And the King! They say he is so strong and handsome that women fall down at his feet!”

  Laughing at her maid’s excited ramblings helped to lighten Sofia’s mood, and put her in the right frame of mind for what she had to do.

  “It will take more than a pretty face to make me fall down at the feet of any man,” she snorted. “And don’t you worry about pirates. Our ships are a match for anything those thieves will have.” Turning toward the bedroom, she continued. “Now, I need to get out of this gown and leave to make certain arrangements. While I’m gone, I want you to pack only the two large travel chests. When I return I’ll have one of the Guard escort you to your quarters so you can pack without being disturbed. I want us both ready to leave first thing in the morning.” Not receiving a response, Sofia turned back to find her maid frozen like a deer caught in the gaze of a hungry wolf.

  “Floanne? What is wrong? You heard the Queen. She said I was allowed one maid and you are the only one I would trust to travel with me.”

  Fear filled eyes regarded the Princess as Floanne trembled, “No one in my family has ever left the Rose Palace, Your Highness. We have always served the Queens of Dahlian. My grandmother told me that a curse had been placed on our family, and anyone who tried to leave the Palace would die before reaching the end of the bridge.”

  Putting an arm around the shoulders of her maid, Sofia steered her towards the bedroom. “I imagine your grandmother told you that just to scare you into not leaving the Palace and getting into trouble. Don’t you worry, Floanne. I will protect you with my life.” With a sense of unease, she wondered, why would I say such a thing?

  ***

  Sofia awoke early the next morning, refreshed and with a renewed sense of purpose. After a peek into the sitting room, to check if Floanne was still asleep in the trundle bed brought up for her last night, Sofia hurriedly dressed herself. What she would be wearing today under her gown would be frowned upon by nearly everyone, but she was taking no chances. The gown she had chosen was the color of freshly tilled earth with long sleeves and loose fitting enough to hide what was underneath. The mornings were still cool which gave her the excuse of wearing a light cloak for added concealment.

  She left her bedroom for the last time and almost ran into her maid who was coming to w
ake her. Floanne immediately dropped into a curtsy. “Please forgive me, Your Highness! I didn’t mean to sleep so late.”

  “You are forgiven. I sometimes enjoy dressing myself in the morning, and it is not as late as you think. Now go and ring for our breakfast. I want to check the travel chests one more time before I send them down to be loaded.”

  Servants arrived with breakfast along with two guardsmen who would carry the chests down to the courtyard where the escort was assembling. As she ate, Sofia went over in her mind the precautions she had taken, and the preparations she had made last night. She had also decided last night to conceal her anger and act like a dutiful daughter when the Queen came to send them off. Sofia had no intention of giving anyone the satisfaction of seeing how upset she really was. The sadness she felt at the thought of leaving surprised her. The Palace was the only home she had ever known, but she had never felt comfortable in the role of a Princess. Whatever the future may hold, Sofia doubted she would ever return to the Rose Palace.

  A knock at the door heralded the arrival of Lieutenant Marton to escort her down to the courtyard and the coach waiting there. Calf high boots so black they looked wet, every button and buckle of his uniform gleamed. With the twin golden braids of his rank proudly displayed on each shoulder, he was the epitome of an officer in the Queen’s Guard. Short blond hair, a neatly trimmed mustache, and square face with a strong chin, were typical of most men from Dahlian. Standing just over six feet made him taller than average.

  Plumed helmet under one arm and his hand on the hilt of his sword, he executed a perfect bow to the Princess, and then gave a slight nod to Floanne. Sofia hid a smile as she watched her maid attempt to brush her skirts with one hand, pat at her hair with the other, while preventing the two travel bags from slipping off of her shoulders.