by CW Thomas
She lingered in the hallway outside, just within earshot, like she always did.
“Get up!” Dagart said to Tristian as his son reclined on a patterned lounge chair reading a book.
“Good morning, father,” Tristian said in his usual polite manner. “How are—”
“Your mother has returned,” Dagart said, “and she has brought Lady Arrahbella to meet you.”
Scarlett peeked around the corner and saw Tristian hanging his head in discouragement. He hobbled along with his cane to the mahogany shelf to return his book. “I was afraid of that,” he said.
King Dagart scowled. “I’ve got no time for you petty gripes. We’ve been planning this for a long time.”
“No, you’ve been planning this for a long time,” Tristian said. “I’ve had no say in the matter.” He hobbled on his mangled leg back toward his father.
“And rightly so,” Dagart said. “It is my position as king to build a future for this kingdom, one that ensures the longevity of our family.”
“Really? And all this time I thought mother was in charge,” Tristian muttered.
The slap came quick and sharp and flung Tristian’s head to the side. He shifted his cane to keep from falling.
Dagart’s voice quieted, but intensified. “In all your years of hobbling about this world, what good have you ever done? A worthless cripple. A worthless son. It’s time you did the one thing you can do, unless you’re going to confess that your prick is useless too.”
“I’m not marrying her, father,” Tristian said, his head still cocked to the side.
“Oh yes you are,” Dagart growled. “And when you meet her today, I expect you to act in a manner befitting an Elle.”
The king strode toward the hallway, prompting Scarlett to shuffle back out of sight.
“Be ready by noon,” Dagart said over his shoulder. He left the bedroom and disappeared down the hall.
Scarlett stepped back into the room, trying to catch a glimpse of Tristian’s face. He ambled over to a tall window next to the bookcase and clasped his hands behind him. He took a deep breath as he overlooked the garden promenade outside overflowing with leafy trees, flowery bushes, ferns, and other greens.
Scarlett went to her embroidery and picked up a small wood framed chalkboard that she carried with her everywhere. Though only eight years old, she had already mastered reading and writing.
On the small board, Scarlett scrawled, Are you all right? She tugged on Tristian’s sleeve and showed it to him.
He nodded, then returned to his somber contemplation out the window.
Scarlett wiped the board clean with the white sleeve of her dark brown dress and scrawled another message. I don’t want you to marry her.
After reading it, Tristian offered a slight smile. “I don’t want to marry her either.” He hobbled to a chair and sat down, stretching his hunched back. “But life is full of things we don’t want to do. Perhaps my father is right, marrying Lady Arrahbella would be good for the kingdom.”
Scarlett erased her message and wrote another. He’s wrong.
Tristian chuckled, a pleasant, soothing sound that Scarlett had always relished. “It’s been known to happen.”
Footsteps pattering down the hall beckoned their attention to the doorway. Aamor swept inside, her dirty gray servant’s dress swaying at her ankles. The young maidservant never failed to provide a breath of fresh air, especially when she was in the same room as Tristian.
“I just heard the news,” Aamor said. “Your mother has returned?”
“Just a little while ago,” he said.
Tristian slipped a beige tunic over his linen undershirt. The fit was poor over his crooked left arm, and the shirt appeared much too baggy around his middle. He sat down on his large bed and stretched his leg.
“How is she? I mean, do you think she’s still, um…” Aamor seemed hesitant to finish her question.
Tristian cocked his eyes at her. “Yes?”
Aamor dipped her head. “Forgive me, my lord. I shouldn’t speak against the queen.”
“You want to know if my mother is still a madwoman?”
Scarlett had never met Tristian’s mother, Lady Catherina, but she had learned in a very short amount of time how notorious she was throughout Tay. Some called her a lunatic. Others said she was still devastated over the death of her young daughter at the hands of Tristian, an accident that had haunted the Elle family for years.
“Do you think the mystics have helped her?” Aamor asked.
Tristian shrugged as he reached for his boots. “That was my father’s hope. In the three years she’s been gone I’ve not received a single letter from her. I know as much as you.”
Aamor fidgeted with a lock of auburn hair hanging by her face. She seemed nervous. “I hear she’s brought a young woman for you.” She moved toward the nightstand to collect the breakfast dishes. “A princess from Efferous. They say she’s beautiful.”
Tristian grunted as he tried to slip his boots on. “Uh-huh.”
Aamor set the dishes down and knelt in front of the prince. With practiced hands she slipped his boot over his skewed foot and buckled it for him.
“May I offer a suggestion?” Aamor asked.
“Of course,” Tristian said.
Her eyes fell to his shirt. She clicked her tongue as she thought. “Don’t wear that shirt.”
He looked down at his tunic. The fit was loose, the style old, and with the cuffs unbuttoned the way they were the shirt looked sloppy and cheap.
“What’s wrong with this?” he asked.
Aamor stood and went to the wardrobe. “You’re going to meet a princess,” she began. “You’ll want to look like a man worthy of her attention.”
“I’m not concerned with impressing anyone,” Tristian said. “This marriage is hardly being arranged for my benefit.”
“Regardless, she is a lady and you should treat her as such.”
Tristian sighed in defeat. “Must you always be right?”
Scarlett smiled at him.
Returning from the wardrobe, Aamor held up a waist length navy blue gambeson. The garment was designed for ornamental purposes, not the combative functions it was normally used for. It was beautiful nonetheless, with silver thread on the cuffs that wove up the sleeves forming a dramatic triangular pattern on the shoulders.
“I’m not going to war,” Tristian said. “I’m going to meet my future wife.” He paused, considering what he had just said. A moment later he rose and began to remove his dingy tunic. “I see your point.”
Scarlett continued to work on her stitching as she watched Aamor help Tristian into the regal looking gambeson. It fit him well, and gave him an air of masculinity that his disfigurement too often deprived him of. She brought him a brown leather belt to cinch it at the waist, and a sword and sheath to drape at his side to add a touch of style. Aamor slicked her hands with some oil and used it to brush the long dark locks from his face.
“The lady must be able to see you,” she said.
Their eyes locked, and Scarlett saw for one brief moment a glimpse of their mutual affection.
“I’m sorry,” Tristian said.
“My lord?”
Tristian cleared his throat. “Please have them bring the carriage around. I’ll be down shortly.”
Aamor dipped her head. “Right away, my lord.”
Tristian turned to Scarlett. “How do I look, Red?” he asked, pulling at the high collar of his shirt.
Scarlett shrugged.
“Oh, thanks. That’s very reassuring.”
Scarlett gathered her embroidery and chalkboard and followed Tristian out of the room.
The halls of the Elle family castle had changed little since Scarlett had arrived in Tay. There was a new painting of a three masted ship in the grand hall, and the green tapestries in the main entryway were new as of last winter. They featured the leopard emblem of Tay intertwined with the golden serpent of the high king, an effort on behalf of King D
agart to show his ardent support for Orkrash Mahl.
Scarlett climbed into the carriage behind Tristian. They rode west where the high walls of the city’s buildings fell away to reveal an aquatic backdrop of majestic blue sea. Scarlett could see the harbor in the distance with several larger ships anchored further out in the water. Gulls called overhead while white blossoms scented the air.
The carriage stopped next to a beautiful grassy garden enriched by a small trickling brook. Several ballooning willow trees shaded a small white table that had been set for a picnic with a crisp white cloth, porcelain dishes, and silver wine goblets.
Two women were seated at the table in waiting.
A footman opened the carriage door and Scarlett hopped out. Tristian followed, gripping the door for support until he planted his cane on the ground. When he saw the prepared table and the two women waiting for him, he took a deep, calming breath.
“And now it comes to it,” he muttered.
Even from far away it wasn’t difficult for Scarlett to tell which woman was who. Lady Catherina Elle, a woman of about fifty, looked petite and fragile with a proud back and twisty brown hair that time had dusted with gray.
Lady Arrahbella, on the other hand, stood out like a goddess among the rigid and pale-faced citizens of Tay. By even the highest standards she was a beautiful woman, and her appearance had little to do with the exotic foreign gown that draped her as elegantly as the feathers on a dove. Scarlett thought the young woman could have worn a potato sack and outshined every other woman in the realm.
“Tristian, my love!” his mother cooed as she waddled up to him with tiny steps and threw her arms around him.
Scarlett didn’t miss the bewildered expression on Tristian’s face. He looked as though he didn’t know what to do. With some hesitancy, he put one arm around his mother and rubbed her back.
“Hello mother. Does this morning find you well?”
“Very well, my son. Very well. Oh, I have missed you.”
“You have?” Tristian sounded surprised.
Catherina leaned back and laughed. “Of course I have, my beautiful boy. My prince.” She kissed his forehead.
Scarlett did as she always did and wandered a short distance away from the conversation, far enough to remain unnoticed, but still close enough to hear. She clasped her hands behind her back and watched and waited.
“We will have plenty of time to talk later, you and I,” Catherina said. She stepped aside and gestured toward the dark haired woman. “Allow me to introduce you to Princess Arrahbella fu Cipio, from the illustrious province of Konia on Efferous.”
Tristian transferred his cane to his gimpy left hand, took the princess’ fingers in his right, bowed his head and kissed her knuckles.
“My lady, reports of your beauty are not exaggerated,” he said, which made Arrahbella smile.
“My lord is too kind,” she said.
Catherina snapped her fingers at a pair of white-robed servants waiting by her carriage. They hurried down into the garden—almost fearfully, Scarlett thought—carrying wine and a plate of cakes.
“I shall leave you two alone for now,” Catherina said. “I have spent too many days at sea and wish to breathe air that doesn’t reek of salt.”
Arrahbella bowed to the queen. “Good day, my lady. Your have been a most kind traveling companion.”
Catherina patted her on the cheek. “You too, my dear. See you at dinner.”
As Catherina returned to her carriage, Tristian offered the princess a seat before taking his own.
“Surely, you must be tired,” he said. “Would you rather take a rest? We can do this another day.”
Arrahbella shook her head. “Life on the great sea suits me, I think. I enjoy the ocean air and the high waves. I feel sorry for your mother who didn’t seem to revel in it as I did.”
Scarlett noticed the princess spoke the language of Edhen with the ease of a native. Only a hint of her Efferousian accent seeped through.
“So was she truly a good traveling companion?” Tristian asked, seeming surprised.
Arrahbella’s response didn’t come as soon as Scarlett thought it would. “She, um, had her moments.”
Tristian smirked. “That sounds more like it.”
With the food set out and the goblets full, the servers retreated from the table. They remained standing at a distance, ready to assist the moment either Tristian or Arrahbella gave a subtle flick of the wrist.
“My father sent my mother away several years ago to a doctor on Krebberfall in hopes of curing her of her mental illness,” Tristian began. “Well, some call the man a doctor. I would call him a mystic. Who knows what he did to her. I’m eager to see if his treatment helped.”
“It must not have been easy to be away from your mother for so long,” Arrahbella said.
Scarlett smirked. You have no idea, she thought.
“You have no idea, princess,” Tristian said.
“Will my lord pardon me if I correct him?” Arrahbella asked.
“Oh?”
“Where I come from I am not known as a princess. This word was foreign to me until I started learning your language. We have different concepts of royalty, I think. On Efferous, the daughter of a king is known as a ficept.”
Tristian nodded, and Scarlett knew that Arrahbella wasn’t telling him anything that he didn’t already know. If there was anyone in Tay that rivaled Scarlett’s sharp memory and ever growing knowledge of things, it was Tristian.
“Fi signifies a female descendent of a royal family,” Arrahbella continued. “Fu signifies a male descendent.”
“Hence your name,” Tristian said, “fi Cipio.”
A look of surprise crossed Arrahbella’s face. “You know my language?”
“Not as fluently as you know mine,” Tristian said. “I have spent a great majority of my life confined to beds and chairs with little else to do but read. One learns much when he consumes all the books in the castle and reads them again until he acquires more which he reads again and again.” He smiled at the end so she wouldn’t take him too seriously, which she didn’t.
“Please don’t mistake my meaning,” Arrahbella said. “I do admire your country very much. I admit I have often envied the princesses of your land. To be a princess must be an amazing thing.”
“Well, if I understand the social structure of your people, and I believe I do, a princess is exactly what you are.”
“My lord?”
“Even if you are not considered such on Efferous, now that you are here, seeing a prince, as unrefined as this one may be, you are, I’m afraid, a princess.”
Scarlett couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw the young woman blush.
The two of them sat for some time discussing the differences between Edhen and Efferous, their likes and dislikes of sweet cakes and wines.
Scarlett sat down in the grass to work on her embroidery, listening as the two of them danced around the topic most prominent on Scarlett’s mind.
Tristian finally broached the subject. “If I ask you a personal question will you be honest with me?”
Arrahbella looked almost offended. “I would never be less than completely honest with you, my lord.”
“I’m curious to know how you feel about traveling half a world away from your home to marry a man you’ve never met.”
Arrahbella’s answer came before no hesitation. “My mother and father have prepared me well for this day. It is my duty as ficept to my father, adjucept of Konia. I honor them by fulfilling my part in this arrangement.”
“And is that what this is to you? Fulfilling an arrangement?”
She looked down at her lap where she had been toying with the pleats of her gown.
“Let us speak plainly,” she said, and when she looked up the sweetness had vanished from her face. She looked like a woman of business conducting a transaction.
Tristian gestured with an open hand for her to continue.
“This marriage is bo
rn from our parents,” she said, her tone going hollow. “It is mutually beneficial for both of our families for us to wed. For the Elles, my father has pledged his support of King Dagart’s war efforts. For the Cipios this union will mend decades of hostility between our great kingdoms. Having a daughter married to one of the great kings of Edhen will give my family much prestige on Efferous. I hold no illusions, my lord. I will provide you with an heir, and serve your family with loyalty.”
“What about love?”
Arahbella looked shocked. She blinked, her eyes softening. When she spoke, her voice was tinged with grief. “I don’t think people like you and I have the luxury of love, my lord.”
If her words affected Tristian at all, he didn’t show it. “So after the wedding there will be war. Tay and Glencoe…” He stopped, shaking his head. “The two kingdoms have been at each other’s throats for several generations. Now they compete for the support of the high king. You and I are nothing except pawns in their schemes, which I care nothing for.” His words were blunt, but they didn’t seem to phase Arrahbella in the slightest.
“Perhaps,” she said, “but Tay is on the verge of a radical growth that will benefit many if its campaign against Glencoe is successful.”
Tristian smirked. “You sound like my father.”
“Does that please, my lord?”
Tristian shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “My father cares more about impressing the high king than he does about you or me, which is something else I care nothing about.”
“Such passivity is dangerous…” She stopped and bowed her head. “Forgive me, my lord. It was impolite to criticize you.”
Tristian waved his hand. “There is nothing to forgive. We were speaking plainly, remember. Thank you for your honesty.”
“May I ask what my lord does care about?” Arrahbella asked.
Tristian leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment. “Well, I would like to care about you, miss.”
If Arrahbella wasn’t blushing before, she was now. “Me?”