by K T Munson
He grabbed the key from the man before reaching out and taking her wrists to unshackle her. Then he asked, “What are you doing here?”
“You saved my life once,” Vica said as she rubbed her hands over her wrists once he undid the manacles. “I thought to return the favor.”
Hadrian tipped his head back and inspected her before asking, “Who are you?”
“Vica, youngest daughter of Byden Blackwood, holy man of the Citadel,” she informed him, “and I come to make you an offer you should not refuse.”
Hadrian ran a hand over his face, and shook his head. “I am beginning to wonder if I live in a world of coincidences and less a world of choices.”
“You choose to save me that day,” Vica said firmly. “Fate may have a hand in our meeting, but they cannot compromise free will.”
“I suppose not,” Hadrian said with a laugh. “It seems you did listen to me sometimes.”
“I didn’t always understand, but I listened,” Vica said taking a step closer and looking up at him. “I did not know you would do this. I thought you were dead until I heard of a monk with an indestructible blade running around freeing slaves going by the name Hadrian, Hadrian the Hero.”
“Luck,” he said with a shrug. He moved away from her since he was suddenly aware that Vica was female. “It seems to have come again.”
“Yes,” Vica said her head dropped down a moment before continuing. “Lorian has brought supplies south to your western gate. They will arrive tomorrow. Take the supplies, gather your freed men onto ships and take them home. Go to where The Commander cannot follow you.”
He studied her face before saying, “Come.”
Hadrian dropped the shackles on the floor before leading her from the room. He led her through the building and down into the courtyard. Many had taken up residence there and all stumbled to their feet to shake his hand. He asked how they were and made sure they were well cared for. He went from person to person, speaking with them and shaking their hands.
Vica followed silently until they were at the edge of the courtyard where he said, “This is their home where would I take them?”
“Why are they in the courtyard?” Vica probed glancing around them.
“Because they want to be here,” Hadrian replied.
“They want to be near you,” Vica emphasized. “If you go back to Roanoak, they will follow.”
“I can’t go back,” Hadrian said with a heavy sigh. “I can never go back.”
“What do you mean?” Vica demanded clearly confused.
“I chose Hadrian for my name, but I was not born to it,” Hadrian said with a frown. “I was born Prince Hadric Rohan, first born to King Ridric, former King of Roanoak. I was exiled for all my days from Roanoak, I cannot return so long as my half-brother sits on the throne.”
Vica’s mouth dropped open and suddenly Hadrian felt old and lost. He clasped his hands behind his back and stared out over the courtyard. It has been a very long time since he had thought of home let alone his birthright. It was a dark past he tried not to dwell on.
“I had no idea, but why were you exiled?” Vica asked when she gained her senses.
“My half-brother was born from a Rohan and Rohan blood marriage and he was given the throne. His claim to the bloodline was stronger and he married into a family that became more and more powerful. I tried to contest the legitimacy. I was the first born, but my half-brother exiled me to the north, to be forgotten,” Hadrian said staring at her. “I have not told this to anyone in a very long time. It was so long ago sometimes I wonder if it was someone else’s life.”
“You were exiled as a different person, from your past,” Vica exclaimed, “Surely your brother would see that you have changed and become a hero among the people?”
“I imagine Rodrick would have changed as well,” Hadrian said remembering the day his brother banished him and sent him down The Knife, “but I remember the hatred and that does not fade. There is a chance he would execute me for returning.”
“You must choose then,” Vica said putting a hand on his arm, “To stay here and defend Ostapor with the knowledge of certain, eventual death for you and those who follow you or a gamble that you might be executed and your people would have their home.”
“It should not be my choice,” Hadrian said. “It should be theirs.”
“I will come with you to your home,” an old man said, one Hadrian had not noticed.
Kal had remained with them and helped care for the women at first. It was not long until Hadrian saw him for what he was and put him in charge of various groups. He was a shrewd man with a sort of honest wisdom to him.
“Ostapor is your home,” Hadrian said with a frown. “Why would you leave it?”
Kal’s voice rose and drew others attention to him as he spoke, “All of Ostapor was my prison, I want to start anew. You were denied your birthright, we will help you claim it.”
Others stood and raised their voice in agreement, “We go where you go.”
The voices rose in the courtyard and everyone slowly stood and joined in agreement. Hadrian stood baffled and looked out over the faces. He saw hope that was not overshadowed by worry. They would follow him and he could go home. Roanoak and the rainbow palace were waiting for him, calling him home.
“I believe I have my answer,” Vica retorted as she looked up at him with pride.
“To Roanoak,” Hadrian said and thrust his hand in the air.
Everyone began to cheer and Hadrian could not deny them. Gazing over their faces caused the gears in his head to spin. He was making a choice to return knowing that he and his people would not easily pass through the gate that was between the Oaken Harbor and the Maiden’s Harbor. He would need something to overcome them; something that could fly.
Chapter 36
Lancel
The change of the atmosphere in the palace was due to the two women closest to Eliron. Lisbeth, newly married to an officer in the White Guard, was immediately up to her old tricks and began to take on a more defined role as a princess of Vargos. In turn, Ashira’s presence had brought a strange happiness to the castle. With Lisbeth’s acceptance of the new Queen and Ashira’s actions, in the wake of the riot, had turned the city on its head.
Lancel stood in the King’s study as Eliron combed through that morning’s mail. He was hurrying because he had lunch with his Queen. Ashira had immediately noticed Eliron’s inconsistence with taking meals. She had taken it upon herself to arrange to have lunch and dinner with him every day. The morning council meeting had taken longer than expected and now Eliron was attempting to hurry his pile of mail along.
Lancel frequently accompanied him on such occasions and at times joined them for lunch. He could not deny the absurdity of it nor could he deny the happiness their company brought him. Eliron had changed some since his marriage and Ashira seemed to bring all the best qualities out in him. Except for when they disagreed, in which they would speak heartily on a matter and many times agree to not discuss it again for a while.
“A letter from Roanoak,” Eliron said drawing Lancel from his thoughts.
“What does it say?” Lancel asked leaning forward.
“Ashira’s birthday is next week and King Rodrick would like us to travel to the Rainbow Palace for a celebration in her honor,” Eliron said with a frown. “I do not understand the need to celebrate the occasion of one’s birth.”
“It is a normal celebration for a citizen of Roanoak,” Lancel explained as he remembered celebrating it himself as a boy. “Family and friends gather to celebrate the individual’s life. It might be beneficial to the bond you are currently forming with your wife.”
“You are correct,” Eliron said with a nod, “as always. In my absence I believe I shall leave you behind to tend to the needs to the kingdom. You shall have to play nice with Hector.”
“You’re going to leave me behind?” Lancel said with a frown; Hector was the White Knight and he was a stubborn and somewhat impulsive
man.
Eliron laughed and leaned back in the chair. “I believe you can manage without me for a few days.”
“I disagree,” Lancel said with a deeper frown.
“Consider it practice,” Eliron informed him.
Lancel was about to retort when there came a soft knock on the door. Eliron called them to enter, assuming it was lunch until Lancel saw the time. It was nearly half an hour until lunch, and they had not expected anyone. One of Ashira’s handmaidens entered, she was the little one with the butterflies in her hair.
She glanced back nervously before speaking, “I announce Queen Ashira, daughter of Roanoak and Bridge of the Water King.”
The door opened fully and Ashira entered, fully veiled. She carried a box in her hands and held it with an easy grace. Yet the veil could not conceal the excited glow on her face and the slight bounce in her step. Ashira nodded to the girl, Missari, before the girl left.
“I beg your pardon,” Ashira exclaimed smoothly. “I know that I am early for our lunch but I could not wait.”
Lancel recognized the box and knew that the sword lay within. She had been trying for weeks to contain her excitement as the bond between Eliron and her grew. Lancel felt a sudden heaviness in his chest and he stood as she entered. Eliron did the same and it was easy to read the genuine happiness in his smile.
She set the box on the desk and explained, “This is a gift, to represent my high esteem. Although it is late, it is my wedding gift to you.”
“If you will excuse me, I have business to attend to,” Lancel said setting the mail, he had started on, down and walking from the room.
He closed the door behind him and waded into the group of handmaidens who were waiting outside the door. Lancel looked up at them as Ashira pushed the veil over her head and Eliron came around the desk. Lancel watched as he opened the box before closing the door. He turned back to find six women staring at him in close proximity.
“Excuse me,” Lancel said and slipped around them as they crowded around him.
He all but ran the short distance around the corner and nearly plowed over a messenger boy. The boy stumbled and Lancel caught him. He was only ten or eleven and had a mop of brown hair on his head. He had seen the boy wandering around the castle on many occasions and yet could not remember his name.
“Whoa,” Lancel said as he steadied him, “What are you in such a hurry for?”
“An urgent message from Roanoak,” the boy exclaimed holding it up.
“I will take it,” Lancel said holding his hand out.
The boy hesitated only a moment before handing the letter over as though it was on fire. He turned and skedaddled down the hall quickly. Lancel watched him go a moment before breaking the seal and unfurling the letter. Lancel read through it once and then again, before he turned, stiffly walking back towards the door.
The handmaidens turned back and were about to give him their normal trouble until they saw his face. They parted silently as Lancel went to the door. He took a deep breath, knocked and waited to tell them the bad news.
Chapter 37
Ashira Highlander
Ashira picked at the strange food on her plate, her forked pushed it around as she listened to her handmaidens. Lisbeth was in the city meeting with a group of women she had known all her life. Although Lisbeth had extended the invitation Ashira had declined and stated she would go next time. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go; it was that she didn’t want to intrude.
Yet as she sat there, picking at her food, part of her regretted that decision. The tempers of the people had cooled since the riot. Ashira had constantly been at the King’s side during all of his open forums with the public. There were times when she had whispered an idea to him and if it had been a good idea then he used it. They were becoming accustomed to her and she could not deny she was becoming fond of them; Eliron most of all.
He had accommodated her whenever she asked something of him. Rarely did he disagree and it was only for a good reason. As of late they had taken to doing lunchs and dinners together but still she had her breakfast separate. She glanced down at the food again before setting the fork down and pushing it away.
She had been playing with it for the better part of an hour; it was time to honestly abandon it. Ashira turned her attention outward as she studied her handmaidens. Those from her home were now better mingled with those from Vargos. There were a stubborn few on each side but Ashira knew they would eventually forget their differences and realize they were allies now.
“Are you not hungry?” Missari asked gently.
“Not any longer,” Ashira said with a smile.
“Have you lost your appetite? Feeling a little sick?” One of the older women asked and Ashira looked up at her startled.
“No, not at all,” Ashira said with a smile. “Just a little homesick I think.”
“Hopefully it will be morning sick soon,” she retorted and swallowed some water. “It would be good to have a little prince or princess round the castle again.”
Ashira was just about to say something when Missari put a hand on her wrist and shook her head. Ashira was startled but kept her mouth closed. Her little friend would not have done so if she didn’t have good reason. Missari had taken upon herself to learn all the customs and rules of Vargos to keep Ashira out of trouble. Ashira was finding she was a quick study. Although she was picking up on it, Missari was clearly better informed. She could even sew decently though she had only been practicing for a few weeks. Ashira had taken some time to recover from her fall and lost valuable learning time. If Missari had warned her, then she knew something that Ashira did not.
“I hope Lisbeth has one first,” Ashira said carefully.
Missari retracted her arm and added, “I believe your children will be the most beautiful things Vargos has ever seen.”
All the women chatted on for some time and Ashira let them. Today was not a day that Eliron would meet with the public and so she would only see him at lunch and dinner. She could not help but smile, while it was very easy for her to think of him as Eliron, it was quite another to actually say his name. She had this strange feeling that saying his name was like telling him she loved him, which was a topic she was not completely decided on. As Ashira contemplated, her handmaidens played games and some sewed to their hearts content. So the morning slipped into early afternoon without notice. Ashira sat in the sun and let the light warm her skin, as she watched the hands of the clock count away time.
The double doors opened and an attendant entered, his face set in a mask of politeness. “Announcing Belvix the Swordsmith in attendance of Queen Ashira, daughter of Roanoak and bride to the Water King,”
Ashira turned back to him with a genuine smile of pleasure, she was very happy to see him. He had not only spoken in her defense for her but put himself in harm’s way for her. The large man wore the same strange yellow sash on his waist but today it was against a fiery orange. He had two attendants with him and they each carried a wooden box.
“Belvix, my lowly Swordsmith,” Ashira said putting her hands out and taking his. “I had not expected you to bring it yourself.”
“I wanted to see you for myself,” Belvix said gripping her hands, “And I am glad to find my Queen in good health.”
“Have the city guards, I had posted, acted as a deterrent?” Ashira asked hopefully.
“They have,” Belvix reassured her, “Though there are more that support my Queen these days than those that oppose you. I will not need them much longer.”
“I am relieved to hear that, on both accounts,” Ashira could not help but grin excitedly.
“I am happy to please the Queen,” he responded before motioning the attendants forward. “The sword, as requested.”
The attendant came forward and Belvix released her hands to open the box. Within lay a sword with all the markings that were customary to a Roanoak blade. The handle was clearly functional but not like any she had ever seen. Belvix turned and held the b
lade out for her, hilt first.
“Care to test it, my Queen?” Belvix asked with a knowing smile.
Ashira took the blade and felt its good balance and easily gripped hilt. She knew that it was not customary for Vargos either; she had seen their practice blades. Ashira grabbed hold of her skirt, lifted it slightly and held the blade out. She moved smoothly as she tested the blade and her movements. After a few she turned back with a smile and nodded her head enthusiastically.
“It is perfect. Where did you get the design for this hilt?” Ashira asked as she settled the blade back in the box.
“It is a design I crafted using a traditional blade from Roanoak and a warrior blade in Eswan,” Belvix explained as she closed the box.
“Missari,” Ashira said waving the girl forward, “Please have my sword taken to my rooms and retrieve Belvix’s payment.”
“As the Queen commands,” Missari said before rushing off.
Ashira waved the other attendant over and had him set the box on the side table. Ashira sat down and indicated that Belvix should do the same. Instead of sitting, he stood in front of the chair and faced her. She did not command him to take the seat; she would let him do whatever was most comfortable.
“Tell me Belvix,” Ashira said straightening her skirts, “What is your story?”
“I am a man from Tiam who makes swords,” Belvix said and spread his hands out, “That is all.”
“That is all you wish to tell me, you mean,” Ashira said as Missari returned and held the items out for her. “I know the mark you bear with pride and offer another.”
Ashira held out a sash made of a deep purple that was altered from one of her veils as she explained, “In Roanoak, when a person performs a service in honor of the ruling family, they are given an item of significance. This was the veil I wore the day I found out that I would become Queen of Vargos.”