by Hannah King
At the edge of the aromatic space rose a well defended but beautiful fortress with warm lamplight pouring out of its many paned windows. The building had always been pleasing to the eye. Its wisely positioned arches were carved over with Leiden love verses, and the building boasted lavish balconies, turrets, pillars, and decadent stained-glass patterns. The citadel reached its summit in a peak, hundreds of feet from the ground.
Tratis’ stomach churned, and his heart pounded as they rhythmically climbed the marble steps to the entrance.
“Tratis!” Eithne’s voice carried through the hall. He felt himself jump a little in surprise. His sister was actually running toward him. Was that warmth he heard in her tone?
A gentle smile graced her fair features. She still looked prim and proper, dressed in layers and layers of satin and silk, her waist constricted tightly by a corset, her blonde hair fastened neatly with tight gold cords, but in her small blue eyes he saw affection and welcome.
With a twinge of guilt, he knew that she had painfully missed him all those years. He remembered their last encounter and its stark contrast. She hadn’t been expecting him the last time he’d been there, and it was never a good idea to surprise a Leiden.
She surprised him even further and embraced him, musty, sweat stained clothes and all. After the hug she wrinkled her nose. He’d known it was too good to be true.
“I don’t know why I didn’t think to have you bathe before you came,” she fretted. “You know our standards, the Paraphrant will look down on you. You can at least change before we see them. I’m sorry it’s so late, but they were in no hurry to see you. I had to persuade them you see.”
“All right,” he said, trying to sound at ease. “Do you have anything spare that would fit me?”
Eithne smirked. “Ever the comedian.”
“I just imagined they’d all been burned,” Tratis replied truthfully.
“Not all of them,” she said with a grin. It was so nice to see her without her string holders; it had been ages since he’d seen her true smile.
“Wyatt, won’t you escort my brother upstairs to his room?” Eithne addressed the Ambassador. She then turned back to Tratis and added, “I think you’ll find the trunk at the foot of the bed holds a few of your old garments. Please pick something that isn’t wrinkled beyond recognition.”
She hugged him once again. “Welcome brother,” she said, then motioned for him to hurry.
Wyatt led him up the familiar stairs and through the well-lit hallways until they reached the room. His old room, to be exact. The wooden door had been scraped and sanded back and front to rid it of his youthful carvings. It was sleek and bare again like every other door in the hallway. The door opened to a crisply clean room. It was vacant, but by no means neglected by the slaves.
He went over to the old chest, which, he noted, had also been refinished, and found some clothing he remembered all too well. The scent of lavender filled his nose as he unfolded the articles. He grimaced. Leidens had always been so proud of their lavender fields.
After trading his own dirt caked clothing for the most impressive garments he could find (that still fit) he left the room and headed swiftly down the halls and up the staircase.
Wyatt followed him nervously at first, seeming unsure if the confident stride his charge was taking was appropriate. He eventually sidestepped briskly around him to lead him to the council room instead of vice versa. The new clothing had made Tratis look as if he belonged in the regal halls, clearly causing Wyatt to doubt his own authority for a second. Tratis, however, was well aware of his current position and all that it lacked. The fine clothing didn’t make him doubt for a minute how difficult the impending meeting would be.
Once they reached the thick, ancient door, Wyatt inserted a key into its lock and pushed it open with great effort, revealing a large meeting space.
A fire was burning in the hearth at the far end of the room. The huge blaze combined with the glow of many sconces illuminated the hall. The council room held no windows, as was customary in such establishments for the prevention of spies, and assassins.
The members of the Paraphrant sat in straight, elaborately carved seats at a long, ivory table, their crystal glasses filled with a pale wine that was, for the present, untouched.
Eithne sat stoically at the head of the table, having resumed her monarchal presence, for the time being. She nodded to Tratis and gestured for Wyatt to take a seat in the corner. Tratis knew he himself would not be asked to sit, but would stand at the foot of the table, the space generally designated for presenters. The room fell silent and all eyes turned to him. He took a deep breath and began.
“My Queen, Lord Orp, Lady Vencia, Lord Ruthes, Lord Sasal, Lord Gorphal, and Lord Rartoth,” Tratis addressed them each stiffly, glad he’d remembered which name belonged to each of the sour, uninviting faces.
“Your support of the Sustainer’s camp has gone beyond common courtesy. You have given more of yourselves than we would have ever dreamed. We express to you our gratitude, in the form of the fine pelts we have collected all season long, but that is such a small repayment for the gift of safety you have granted us. I speak for all Cronins, both near and far from us, when I give you my deepest thanks and respect. And you, Your Highness, the kindness both you and the Paraphrant have shown us, truly saved our lives.”
The room was deathly quiet. Each council member seemed unaffected and bored by his sugary speech, and he didn’t blame them.
Queen Eithne spoke first. “The pact has been honored. We stayed true to our word.”
Lord Orp shifted in his seat. His whiskers were gray and neatly trimmed, his eyes piercing.
“And do you understand your people must be gone from here before we enter our time of Purification, as was drawn up in the pact?” he asked. “We cannot have them defile the new year.”
Tratis swallowed, but nodded assuredly. The small time frame had been the most he could bargain for when he’d last visited, and he’d been happy with it then. But now it seemed like so little time. And then where would they go? He feared if they headed back to Brawl too soon, their path would be picked up again.
They needed to be sure that the Parters had abandoned the search. Even the leads felt it advisable to remain immobile at least until the season of pel next year, but they knew as well as he did that the chance was slim.
“Then let it be so,” Lord Orp was saying. “You are welcome here for as long as the pact states, but I beg you to understand the importance of keeping that pact. Your people must not wander through the city or walk on our streets. They must treat the Ambassador with the utmost respect or our terms will end.”
“Understood, sir. I can assure you our camp will remain in the designated area and give your guards and the Ambassador no trouble whatsoever,” he asserted confidently.
“Very well,” Lord Sasal waved a ring laden hand impatiently. He still had fine dark hair that hung beyond his ears despite the fact that he was well into his fifties. Tratis wondered to himself which number wife he was currently keeping company with. Had it been number five or six when he’d left? He was sure the number had gone up in his absence.
“Now that your flattery and gratitude has been delivered and our terms have been revisited, is there anything else that should prevent us from adjourning and retiring to our chambers?” Lord Sasal yawned.
The door was already shutting. If he waited, he might never have the chance to request their presence all together again, but he knew what he wanted to discuss would need to wait for a better time, perhaps during the day, when spirits were higher. These gentlemen were ready to drink their political nightcap and hurry off to dreamland, and anything preventing them from this routine would likely upset his already shaky plan. Still, he had to prepare them.
“Well?” Lord Orp was scowling at him. “What else can the Wandering Prince and his little country want?”
Tratis’ temperature rose. “I...” he hesitated, then scolded himself. Confidenc
e and clarity were imperative here. Squaring his shoulders, he continued, feeling a squirm in his spirit, as if he were a schoolboy in front of them.
“I would like to request a further audience tomorrow.”
There were frowns and question marks on the faces before him.
“Think on this, young Tratis, if you had never left, it would be us who were requesting an audience with you. Isn’t that amusing?” Lord Sasal put forth.
“Enough Sasal,” Eithne said in a low, firm voice. She’d grown up a lot since he’d left her, Tratis noted. Grown to defend herself a little better. He was honestly amazed that she’d learn to work this stubborn crowd, even with its obvious constraints.
“And to what will this further audience consist of or pertain to?” Lord Orp asked.
“A potential asset for Leida, sir, and a question.”
“You are aware that this council does not condone mysteriousness, speak plainly,” Sasal ordered.
Tratis stood his ground, knowing for sure that it was not the time to breach the subject.
“I will speak plainly tomorrow,” he said with a bow. “I’ve had a long journey, and I’m sure you’re all exhausted. Let us drink and be finished.”
“An audience will be granted to you tomorrow Tratis,” Eithne spoke, raising her glass. “Provided the Paraphrant agrees.” She looked at them and they relented, too tired to disagree.
“Hunsalie,” she said in Leiden, and took a long sip of the wine. The others followed except Tratis and Wyatt. Hunsalie was the sign of the end of their meeting and of agreement. If the wine was not drunk, the table could not be left.
When the glasses were drained, Wyatt opened the door and escorted Tratis out into the hallway, down the stairs and into the courtyard. Both men pulled the cowls of their cloaks over their heads and shivered as they stepped outside. It was raining again. He imagined the council members slipping off to their cozy bedrooms, blowing out their lamps and sinking into deep, warm sleep. Wyatt left him at the mouth of the Turaphelin courtyard, presumably hurrying back to his own comforts.
As Tratis climbed the slippery staircase to the landing he breathed a huge sigh of relief. His arms were still tense, and his head reminded him that his greater challenge awaited him tomorrow. The first thing would be to get out of these old, stiff clothes, and back into something he felt like himself in again.
Returning to this place he had once belonged to had not made him doubt his decision for a moment. He wouldn’t trade places with Wyatt for the world. Even in the confines of the old prison ruins, he was a free man.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TALITHA
“GOOD MORNING,” TRATIS said good-naturedly as I entered the courtyard. He had his usual cup of coffee in hand. “Sleep well?”
I nodded. It had been nice to sleep within walls, to be able to shut my eyes for once without wondering if I’d be woken up by a Parter’s sword.
“You?” I asked Tratis, endeavoring to make a little conversation.
“Puddles make poor beds.” He shook his head. “I tossed and turned all night.”
“Oh,” I said. “What do you think this place was?” I wondered aloud, scuffing the cobblestones with my boot heel.
He raised an eyebrow. “Good question. Ah, there’s breakfast,” he said cheerfully, jumping to his feet. “Walk with me and you’ll be closer in line,” he winked. I followed him quickly. He certainly moved fast for someone of his stature. Even my long legs strove to keep up with his pace.
“One good thing to keep in mind about Leida,” he said to me as we hurried ahead of the masses, “They might be stingy, but they know a good breakfast. Doesn’t matter how much they hold back, I think you’ll be surprised by the difference between this meal and last night’s dinner. If I were you, I’d fill my plate full, because it’ll be the best meal you’ll get all day.”
I smiled at this fact. He seemed to know so much about Leida, perhaps because he’d had more schooling than I had.
“See?” he pointed as we reached the wagon. Slaves were opening giant vats and delicious smells filled the air. Ladled onto our plates was stewed fruit and a snowy white porridge. A piece of bread was placed next to it along with a thin strip of bacon. My mouth watered.
“What did I tell you?” Tratis shrugged as I gaped at the serving. A slave offered both of us a steaming cup and I took it gladly.
“Coffee!” I heard myself say and blushed at my enthusiasm. Tratis shook his head.
“Tea’s more like it,” he said, and waved away the cup that was extended to him.
“Tea?” I stared down at the hot liquid bitterly, but the warmth in my hands was undeniably pleasant.
“Can’t knock it till you try it,” he advised. “Of course, I don’t care for it, but it’s qen leaves from across the sea, and it’s universally praised.”
I kept the cup as a hand warmer and decided to investigate its contents later.
“You look a lot happier with that full plate in front of you,” he observed with a grin. “Put some of that away, it looks like you could use it. And remember, the Leiden generosity runs out at noon. It’ll be something skimpy for lunch, I warn you.” His blue eyes twinkled.
I shoveled the food into my mouth, almost having to pace myself because everything was so delicious. Then I took a sip of the tea. It was weak, but I decided I liked the flavor. The warm liquid was graciously received by my chilled, aching body. As we ate, the sun made an appearance and added to our already rising spirits.
Captain Gray came over to where we were sitting and looked directly at Tratis.
“The leads want to speak to you before your meeting with the queen,” she said.
He nodded, “I was just finishing.”
“It won’t do to be late,” she pressed. He raised an eyebrow, shoveled in his precious last bites and stood up.
“Happy?” he asked with a wink. I rose to follow them, but Gray stopped me.
“Wait here.”
“I think she ought to be part of this discussion,” Tratis protested.
“Not yet,” she insisted, her eyes stormy compared to the blue sky above her. Tratis frowned but nodded. I watched as the two of them headed inside the Turaphelin. A strange feeling drifted over me. Gray was always so mysterious. I tried to brush the odd encounter off, sitting for a little while longer, drinking in the tea and the sunshine.
I scanned the courtyard for my old friends, but it was hard to find them in the large crowd. Everyone seemed grateful for the option to eat outside instead of in the awful dining hall.
None of my friends had spoken to me since I’d been placed in the front with the captains the day we’d abandoned camp. They’d looked shocked that day, and I wondered if Cora had told them what was going on. There had been no time to officially announce me as a captain, but they had to realize that I was no longer part of their rank.
I watched from my perch on a sidewall as the groups broke into formations to begin their drills. Loneliness flooded over me. I’d always imagined there would be more to do as a captain, but at the moment I felt excluded from both groups. I waved at Wes, but he was staring at riders that were approaching the front gate. The Leiden Ambassador had returned. Wes ran to greet him and after exchanging a few words, hurried back into the Turaphelin in search of someone.
The Leiden remained on his horse, sitting straight as a board and idly watching the activity in the courtyard. Ten minutes passed and I noted that no one had returned to speak to the man. The Ambassador shifted impatiently in his saddle and looked as if he was considering turning around and forgetting his mission. I glanced toward the building and saw Tratis pushing through the crowds toward him.
“Forgive me, there was much to discuss with my leaders,” Tratis apologized to the man, putting his foot in the stirrup of a horse that a guard had offered to him. Without another word they departed, trotting swiftly toward the distant citadel.
My forehead wrinkled in confusion.
Why is Captain Tratis always
the only one going to meet the Leiden government? I puzzled. Why not Lead Breiden and Lead Talrinious? Isn’t it custom to take council with the highest authorities? I chewed this over for a few minutes and then brought my plate back to the wagon. There was nothing for me to do, so I wandered back to the captain’s room, hoping to overhear some gossip or be given something to do.
Of course, I was disappointed. It was deathly quiet up there. The leads were still staring out the window, deep in thought. Gray was pacing, Stalvert was pretending to read and Lewis was carving pictures into the stone walls. They hardly acknowledged me, except for Gray. She gave me her usual disapproving look and turned away again. I quickly returned to my spot in the courtyard.
I sighed. It was so strange not to be moving anymore, to instead be confined. Had it been up to me I would have taken off to explore the beautiful farmlands, or streets, but that much had been made clear to us. No wandering. I bit my lip. How long would we be here, waiting for the Parters to give up? Through temper and beyond?
Surely the Leiden’s would give us better accommodations if we were staying through those freezing months. Or was this just a stop? Perhaps we would go beyond Leida after resting. I honestly wasn’t sure what it was like beyond Leida. I knew a few vague foreign names and shapes that made up countries and territories, but I didn’t know what they held. I made a note to ask Tratis when he got back.
I sighed. He reminded me so much of Da, with his smiling eyes and ready wit, his easy presence. Fear bubbled up inside me. I was so worried about my parents. We’d all been stuffing away our sinking feelings since we’d started marching in the opposite direction of our families. The road weariness and the strange new city had pushed it even further away, but the ache was still there, no matter how dull.
Tratis’ plan had worked so far, and I had to praise him for at least getting us somewhere safe. Still, I hoped it had been the right decision.
I heard my old rank’s call to drill. Commander Reblaine was shouting orders and I watched them filing into the courtyard to begin their exercises and training. Finally, I saw the familiar faces of my squadron. More than anything, I wished I could join them, anything to release the tension that was building up in me from sitting around. A little jogging or sparring would have made the time go by faster and replaced the weary ache in my body with a healthy ache that represented progress.