by Simon Archer
I made my way down to the opposite end of the table, away from Em and the king’s seat. There was no chair directly across from the kingly seat, and something told me that even if there were, it would be inappropriate for me to sit there too. Instead, I took the seat on the left side of the king’s chair, farthest away from him.
It was the only chair acceptable for someone with no nobility, no family crest, and no title to his name.
Madame Lilysmyth raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “Well done, Martin, let’s see how you do with the rest of the meal.”
Needless to say, I did poorly. I mixed up the silverware, the correct conversation topics, and apparently ordered the wrong meal. I thought I might be able to pull some knowledge from the one dinner I had with select nobles all those months ago, but considering I walked out on that gathering before much eating had gotten done, I was lucky to pass this one.
Madame Lilysmyth approached me with a list at the end of the session. I stared from her to the paper and back again. I didn’t take it from her.
“What is that?” I eyed the parchment like a bomb, ready to explode.
“Believe it or not, Martin, I do not wish for you to fail,” Madame Lilysmyth said with a dramatic exhale.
“Could have fooled me,” I countered.
“These are a list of books I suggest you read or at least look over during the next two weeks.” She thrust the paper closer to me, but I still didn’t take it. “All of them can be found in the castle library, which I hear you frequent every night. Perhaps King Atlus will give you a chance to get some reading done?”
“We’re just playing chess,” I said, unsure why I was getting defensive.
“So it has been said,” the Madame said flatly, but I didn’t trust the flicker in her eyes when she spoke. “Please, take the paper.”
I still didn’t. “What for? It’s a waste at this point. I don’t know how you all expect me to learn this in two weeks. I barely got through this meal, and there were only six of us.”
“Even though you won the Battle round, I have been told that it is essential that you make a proper introduction to court,” Madame Lilysmyth said, retracting the paper and putting both hands on her hips.
“By who?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure she would tell me.
“The captain of the guard, if you must know,” Madame Lilysmyth replied. “She seemed to believe that introducing you to court will help the kingdom. It will show that you are serious about us, all of us, and put you in good standing, which, from that display at the tournament, is well on its way.”
I leaned my head against the back of my chair and groaned. Relenting, I held out my hand for her piece of paper. She slapped it into my hand unceremoniously.
“You just need to pass the next parts, Martin,” Madame reminded me. “You do not have to excel. You simply have to pass their inspection.”
I nodded solemnly and curled my fingers to better grip the paper. The impossibility of the tasks ahead eased at her words, though only slightly. It would have felt great to dazzle them and shove it in their faces, but that’s not what was needed. I needed to blend in, and I needed not to scare everyone and play by the rules.
No matter how many times I reminded myself of that, it didn’t get any easier.
“Oh, and one last thing,” Madame Lilysmyth announced before she left me alone in the dining hall. “You need to bring a guest to dinner. Since most of the people you associate with are not full members of the court and have not been to a dinner like this, I suggest you get them up to speed as well, so as not to embarrass themselves or you.”
With that ominous warning, the instructor left the room, and I sat by myself in a lengthy, elaborate dining room. The table stretched long and pristinely crafted before me. It was a beautiful piece that sat something close to fifty people. White marble columns held up the high ceilings, and sculpted arches connected one column to the next. It was so servants could whip in and out with ease, unseen and unheard.
The ceiling peaked like a rounded cathedral ceiling. It depicted scenes from the war between the animals and humans before King Garham discovered the bonding process. That moment was depicted, too, including his symbol. One thing I hadn’t noticed before or seen captured in any other pieces of art with King Garham was a lengthy greatsword in his hand.
It fanned out with spikes along the strong part of the sword. The fuller, the inside part of the blade, was decorated with a line of beads. The weak part tipped into a perfect triangular point. It had a silver hilt with a red grip. The pommel itself was in the shape of Garham’s symbol: a circle with a jagged, lightning-bolt-like line running through the center.
It was a gorgeous piece, and I wondered if Rebekah knew who had made it. I was sure she would see the value in such a carefully crafted weapon. All craftsmen and artists could point out the intricacies that only those with a trained eye could see. I recognized a work of art when I saw it.
That sword, along with the whole ceiling, was art.
I could have stayed there all day, staring at the details. Every panel seemed to contain something new each time I looked at it, like a search-and-find book, only more realistic and a little faded from age. The high windows dragged in the fading light and suddenly cast more shadow. I knew I had to leave the hall. Chances were that someone was going to come in here and eat soon.
Besides, I had a woman to see and an invitation to issue.
29
Diana
When the knock came at my door, I retched into a pot beside my bed. Hopefully, whoever was on the other side of the strong wood didn’t hear the foul noise beneath their incessant knocking. I closed my eyes for a moment and cleared my sore throat.
“One moment, please,” I said, trying to keep my voice as even as possible and hide the rawness.
I held my hands in my head as the knocking politely stopped. I waited there, hoping the individual would leave or forget or just wait out there all night, some alternative to the pounding that mimicked the one in my head.
It was too much to hope for because the knocking started up again, this time accompanied by a voice.
“Diana,” Martin called through the door. “It’s me. Open the door.”
Panic struck me like a slap in the face. My symptoms tempered for the time being as adrenaline took over all my senses. The room blurred as I noticed how messy it had gotten since I’d been quarantined yesterday.
“Until you can manage to stand on your own two feet again, you will not leave this room,” Rebekah ordered.
I’d taken her command to heart and hadn’t ventured out. Rebekah had kept the rest of the guard away, warding off visitors, but somehow, the last person I wanted to see had managed to slip past everyone.
The knocking came again, this time more insistent. “Seriously, Diana, let me in. I’m going to break down the door if you don’t.”
I seriously doubted that he could kick down the door. But then I remembered the light cannonballs that he had threatened King Atlus with. I was trying to be inconspicuous, and having my door literally blasted off its hinges seemed like a rather large attention grabber.
I hustled to my feet and grabbed the pot. With a quick toss out the window, most of the evidence of my illness disappeared. As I shuffled to the door, I kicked a couple of things out of the way to clear a path. I cracked the door open and peeked out. Predictably, Martin tried to push the door open further, but I held it steady. He jerked back and looked up at me, confused.
“Diana,” Martin said with a chuckle. He pushed again, but I held firm. “What the hell?”
“What is it, Martin?” I said as dismissively as I could. My heart grew heavy at having to do it, but I had to get him out of here.
“What is wrong with you?” Martin asked, clearly offended. “Why won’t you let me in?”
“Now is not a good time,” I said with an eye roll.
“It hasn’t been a good time for weeks now,” Martin countered. “I haven’t seen you in so l
ong.”
He leaned in closer to the gap. Scents of oranges and hazelnut wafted through the door, and I nearly swooned right there. Those smells intoxicated me, especially when Martin slept peacefully. I found myself leaning in to match him.
“I don’t know about you, but it has been too long,” Martin whispered invitingly.
The corruption seemed to have no effect on my womanhood because, at the sight of his bewitching eyes clearly offering himself to me, my core tightened. His lips beckoned to be kissed, pecked, and tugged. I wanted to grip the back of his head, bring him to me, and have him carry me to the bed.
“Martin.” His name left my mouth without warning. Each syllable slid into the air with an uncontrollable desire.
He took that as an accepted invitation and put his lips to mine. Taken aback, I released the door, and Martin pushed his way in. He wrapped his arms around my waist and kicked the door shut with his foot. My hands found their way to his neck and up to his hair.
He tasted sweet, and I tested my tongue against his teeth, tempting him to open it. However, when I did that, Martin pulled away and blinked with a disgusted look. His nose wrinkled, and his lips pursed.
“What have you been eating?” Martin wondered, mid-gag.
His question broke the spell he’d cast over me as I remembered the pot I just dumped and the gross bile I’d recently vomited. I released him and stepped back, covering my hand with my mouth.
“I am sorry,” I said instead of answering his question.
“It’s okay,” Martin said as he shrugged it off. “You can clean your teeth quickly and then…” Instead of finishing his sentence, he grabbed at the top of my pants and proceeded to untie the ribbon holding them up.
I hastily scrambled to stop him. When I gripped his wrists, he misunderstood and looked at me with a wicked and seductive gaze.
“Oh, you want me to go first?” Martin reached up to undo the top buttons on his vest.
Before I had to fight against the sight of his gorgeous naked body, I enveloped him into my arms and squished him against me. I trapped his hands between our chests and buried my face into the crux of his neck. I felt his surprise through his stiff muscles, but he recognized the abnormal desperation in this act, so he untucked his arms and held me tight.
For a moment, I let the tenderness of his touch comfort me. We didn’t speak a word, but still, I told him all the trials of the last twenty-four hours. I allowed the loneliness and pain to pour out of me. Bless him. Martin clutched me and my emotions with a grace I had never seen in him before.
I could not remember the last time we had been so intimate. Yes, we slept together, but there was something purer at this moment, embracing one another as we did. The last time I felt this vulnerable was when I vowed to help Martin in a cave and kissed him for the first time.
Suddenly, the thoughts of that initial kiss reminded me of why we were in that cave to begin with. Martin had weakened himself by trying to cleanse an entire town of the corruption. While he had done it, he was unconscious for three entire days. I only barely managed to get us out and escape the guards who hunted him.
I resolved never to see him so helpless again. Those three days had been torture, and not just for me. Bailey-Sue, Alona, and Millie-May, Bailey-Sue’s mother, watched over him like personal guardians, with no guarantee that he would ever wake up again. Since then, I watched him heal individuals, lakes, wells, gardens, and plants. All of them weakened him in order to rid them of the corruption. Now, with the bargain he struck with Hennar, there was a good chance he might damage himself and still not heal anyone.
I could not put him through that pain, not if I had any say in the matter. So I released Martin and stepped back.
Surprise and confusion crossed his face, one after the other. He rocked forward, wanting to step closer to me, but I stopped him by retreating once more. Then an expression crossed his face that burned a hole in my heart: hurt.
“What’s wrong?” Martin asked, his eyebrows furrowing in suspicion. “You’re acting really weird.”
“We cannot do this,” I said, looking at the floor.
“Okay,” Martin said slowly. “If you’re not up for sex, we can just talk. I had something I wanted to ask you, anyway.”
“I do not want to talk either,” I growled, the sentence harder to say than I anticipated.
“No,” Martin said definitively. “That one you’re not getting away with. I understand maybe not being in the mood for anything physical, but you’re going to at least explain why you’ve suddenly turned into a bitch.”
“Maybe I have always been a bitch, you just somehow forgot,” I said, each word burning as it traveled up my throat.
Martin huffed and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. For a second, I thought he was going to leave, and I had done it. However, he took a giant step forward so that we were inches apart. I scrambled back but found there was nowhere to go. Martin pinned me against the wall and put a hand on either side of me.
“What’s. Wrong. With. You?” He punctuated each word with a crisp, clear accusation, and I nearly caved right then and there.
My heart cracked each time he asked me that. Didn’t he know how badly I wanted to fall at his feet? How I wanted to hold him and be by his side as he fought for our kingdom? Since I had gotten ill, my fate had broken off from his. I would still help him, but it would not be at the forefront like I had dreamt. Instead, I would shove him ahead and hang back while I still could.
“You would not understand,” I said lamely, thrown off guard by his intense stare.
“Try me,” He challenged with a snarl.
“I do not want to do this anymore,” I whispered cowardly.
“What?” He said, despite knowing he heard me. We were too close for him to not.
I gathered my resolve myself with a quick blink and emptied my face of the hurt that increased with each heartbeat. I made my eyes dead, and my voice flat.
“I do not want to do this anymore,” I repeated, firmer and sterner.
“This being us?” Martin clarified.
“Yes,” I said, finding it easier to agree than explain.
“Just like that, huh?” Martin said, clearly not believing me. “You’re full of shit. What was that just now? You aren’t that vulnerable with just anyone. Is that it? Are you starting to get real feelings, so you want to pull away?”
“No,” I said, keeping my face expressionless.
“This is stupid, Diana, and you know it,” Martin protested. “Do you need me to say it first? Because I will.” Martin inhaled, readying himself to make some confession I could not handle. If he uttered anything close to his true feelings about me, I would crumble.
“No, Martin, that is not it.” I put my hands on his shoulders and firmly guided him back from the wall. Keeping him at arm's length, I continued to push us to the center of the room before I let go and stepped back.
Martin, though, grabbed my hand before I could pull away completely. I tried to jerk out of his grip, but he clasped me with both hands and held tight. Our eyes met, and his filled with emotion.
“Something’s not right here,” he said. “This isn’t you. Just tell me what’s wrong, and maybe I can help. I’m really good at healing, you know.”
When he suggested healing me, his hands glistened with the white light that had become his trademark. Upon the sight of the light, I recoiled like he was on fire. My hand slipped from his, but Martin’s arms remained outstretched, glowing hands holding nothing.
We stood there, feet apart, staring at one another. Nothing about this situation felt right or good. All I could see was a man who I cared deeply for, standing in front of me with empty hands and the dismay written all over his face. Inside of me was a myriad of feelings, at war with one another. Still, reason prevailed over sadness, longing, and happiness, so I kept my distance.
“Damnit, Diana,” Martin pushed the curse through tight teeth. He lowered his hands, though they continued to shine. �
��You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” I admitted, finally saying something truthful.
“And you’re not going to tell me why? Just that you don’t want to anymore?”
“There is no other reason,” I lied, with the rigidity of the soldier I was.
Martin licked his lips, like he did not know what else to do, and bobbed his head up and down. It looked like a nod, but there was no conviction in it. His eyes scoured the room, gazing at anything but me. They landed on his still glowing hands, which opened and closed like he was hoping to grab hold of something amid this precarious situation I put him in.
Suddenly, Martin ceased all movement. I could not see his face, but I knew him well enough to know that the lack of fidgeting meant that he had made up his mind about something. He was steeling himself to do it, and all I could hope was that he was readying himself to walk out the door without another word.
Instead, with surprising speed, Martin closed the gap between the pair of us and put both of his glowing hands on the sides of my face.
“No!” I cried out, but my warning came too late.
Before either of us knew what was happening, the light from Martin’s hands illuminated the room. It brightened tenfold to a blinding glare. Heat vibrated between our touch, scorching the pair of us. It seared down my body, fast as a speeding arrow, straight for my stomach, where the corruption curdled.
I slid my hands up through his and grabbed his wrists, removing them from my face. I spun Martin around, pulling him close to me, and crossing his arms in front of him. The move resembled a dance until I lifted my leg and kicked Martin in the rear as I let go. He tumbled forward and away from me.
When we finally stopped touching, a blast of warm air flared between us, forcing his hair to flop forward and knocking me back a couple of paces. We remained there, me leaning against the wall and Martin panting on all fours.