by Cayla Kluver
“He’s handsome—you could marry him!”
“I’m sure that would improve Father’s opinion of me. ‘Sire, I would like to marry a vegetable merchant…or perhaps the servant of a vegetable merchant,’” I said with exaggerated formality.
“It would be interesting to see his face when you asked him.”
We continued to work our way through the shoppers, scanning the items that were available this week. Miranna was replacing a scarf she had been examining at one of the stands when a familiar voice rang out behind us.
“Mira!” Semari was making her way toward us through the bustling swarm of people, her cheeks flushed and her blue eyes dancing with excitement.
“Semari!” Miranna returned, moving forward to greet her friend with a hug. “How are you?”
“Papa was furious when he was told what we had done, but I’m hardly even sore anymore,” Semari said, the smile on her face broadening, though it hardly fit her words. “And he’s forgotten all about it now.”
“Because of Narian?” Miranna pressed, jumping to the topic that had been foremost in our minds of late—the shocking resemblance between Semari and the Cokyrian youth.
Semari nodded and we moved off to the side of one of the tents to converse without being jostled by the bustling shoppers.
“When the Captain of the Guard and the King met with us, they asked if my parents could identify him as their son, in some manner other than his looks and his age. My mother recalled that Kyenn had been born with an unusual mark behind his left ear, a mark in the shape of a jagged crescent moon. The captain examined Narian and discovered the mark exactly as my mother had described it! How likely is it that two people would have the exact same birthmark, let alone such an unusual one?”
“Not likely at all,” I said, captivated by her tale.
“The King and the captain then concluded that he is the long-missing member of our family, my older brother.”
“What are they going to do with him?” Miranna asked.
“Well, my parents want him to live at home, but he can’t be completely trusted, so for now he stays under guard at the palace. The captain wants to slowly introduce him to Hytanican life, at the same time watching over him, in case the Cokyrians did send him here for a purpose.”
“Have you spoken with him?” Miranna persisted.
“Of course I have! The captain has arranged for him to visit us each week. On the appointed days, Destari transports him to our home in the morning and returns him to the palace in the evening. The men keep a close eye on him when he is with us, but there have been no real problems.”
“What is he like?” I breathlessly asked.
“It’s so thrilling to meet him, my long-lost older brother, but the situation is also very strange.” Semari had become contemplative. “I have always been the oldest child in my family. It feels odd to be someone’s younger sister. And from my parents’ standpoint, it’s as though he’s come back from the dead.”
I reflected on this for a moment. Semari’s older brother, Kyenn, had been abducted just a week after his birth and was believed to have been murdered, though his body had not been among those returned by the Cokyrians. The trauma Semari’s parents, Baron Koranis and Baroness Alantonya, had suffered had been so devastating that they still felt its pain sixteen years later and had always been haunted by the uncertainty of their son’s fate. It was almost inconceivable that the Cokyrian youth arrested by London could be their missing child. But their joy at his return had to be tempered by the knowledge that he had been raised in the land of Hytanica’s greatest enemy.
“He is very quiet.” Semari’s voice drew me from my thoughts. “He doesn’t talk much at all, he just observes everything.”
“Well, Hytanica must be interesting to him,” Miranna speculated. “The way we live is no doubt different from life in Cokyri.”
“I don’t know if ‘interesting’ is the right description. He acts almost condescending about the way we live…like he’s disappointed, as if he expected more from us.”
“What do you mean?” I queried.
“He’s not exactly conceited. To give you an example—he was surprised, irritated almost, when he learned that I did not know how to handle a weapon, that the focus of my education and that of my sisters has been on etiquette and not Hytanica’s history or its politics. He seemed to think our educations insufficient.”
“Does he ever mention Cokyri?” Miranna asked, managing to divert us to the subject she’d been dying to discuss since we had begun chatting.
“As I said, he’s not very forthcoming. The only thing we know is that while he was in Cokyri, he discovered he was Hytanican, and that’s why he left to come here. He hasn’t said how he found out or anything else about his life, and we haven’t pressured him to tell us. My parents believe that he was raised as a member of the upper class, though, as he is quite well spoken and well mannered.”
Just then, another aspect of the situation occurred to me. “How are you addressing him? He apparently has two names.”
“That is somewhat undetermined,” Semari answered ruefully. “My parents want to call him Kyenn—he was born to them and that is what they christened him—but he insists that they call him Narian. My mother, though it dismays her, understands his preference and is willing to use his Cokyrian name, but Papa refuses. My father went to him and told him that he can introduce himself as Narian, or whatever he wants to be called, when he is elsewhere, but while he is under his father’s roof, his name will be Kyenn. My brother replied that he would respond to no name except Narian, regardless of whose roof he was under.
“So as not to anger my father, the rest of us have been calling him Kyenn, which only increases the tension as he will respond to my mother’s use of the name, but not my father’s. He also directs any questions he might have, though they are few indeed, to her, and glares at Papa as if he were a simpleton if he deigns to answer on her behalf.”
“London told me once that Cokyrian women, rather than men, occupy positions of power,” I mused. “Perhaps that is why he is willing to obey your mother but not your father.”
“I suppose that could be the reason.”
Semari glanced down the street as someone called her name.
“I’m coming, Mother!” she responded, and then continued. “It’s just that neither of my parents knows quite how to deal with him. My mother is not accustomed to being the center of attention, and she knows little about some of what he asks her. My father is the head of the house and deserves to be treated as such, but at the same time, he does not want to be angry with Narian—Kyenn. My father’s oldest son has come back to life, and all Papa wants is to get to know him. Kyenn’s attitude is difficult for all of us, but especially for my father, as he is not used to being someone’s second choice.”
Narian’s was an attitude with which no one in Hytanica would be familiar. I could not imagine someone showing more respect for women than men, or treating their father as inferior to their mother. Both would be completely unacceptable in Hytanica, and I wondered how Narian would ever fit into our world.
“I’m coming, Mother!” Semari repeated, as her name once again reached our ears over the crowd. “I have to go, but maybe you can come for a visit to our country estate. There is a good chance that Kyenn will be there.” She hugged us each in turn and then ran off to join her family.
“She’s incredibly lucky.” Miranna sulked in the aftermath of her friend’s departure. “The plan was for us to meet him and ask about Cokyri, and now he’s practically living in her home.”
“Life just isn’t fair sometimes, even for princesses,” I teased, though feelings of envy were twisting my stomach also, for it was unlikely that we would be allowed to visit Semari at home while Narian was there. My father would insist upon giving the Baron and his family privacy so that Koranis and Alantonya could get reacquainted with their son, and their children could get to know their brother.
“We’d bet
ter return to the palace,” I said, noticing that the sky was clouding over in preparation for an evening shower. We were walking back through the cobblestone streets, Tadark and Halias in tow, when a dreary issue sprang to mind.
“Father wants me to see Steldor again,” I said.
“Really? When?”
“Next week. Unfortunately, I had to use you to avoid being trapped alone with him. Father is going to find an escort for you, and then the four of us will go on a picnic.”
“Oh, that sounds splendid! We haven’t been out of the city in such a long time.”
“You’re not upset with me?”
“Not in the least! I rather welcome Steldor’s company. And I can help by drawing some of his attention away from you.”
I still did not understand how Miranna could look forward to spending time with Steldor, but I wasn’t about to argue with her. The more diversions there were, the less time would be available to the Captain of the Guard’s son for bragging about himself.
CHAPTER 12
THE PICNIC
WHAT HAD STARTED AS A SIMPLE PICNIC SOON became an event requiring as much planning as a grand festival. First, there came the problem of finding an escort for Miranna. My father spoke with most of the upper-class young men in Hytanica, but had difficulty finding one that he viewed as responsible enough to attend his younger daughter.
Next, the King gave due consideration to how we would be transported, and where we would eat. I had assumed we would spontaneously pick a site, but he was insistent on knowing exactly where we were going to be at all times, and I realized that his desire for oversight had less to do with fatherly interest and more to do with paranoia over potential Cokyrian danger.
And what about our bodyguards? Should both accompany us? My father concluded that only one was necessary as we would be in Steldor’s very capable hands, and I suspected Cannan would have the place where we were heading under surveillance. Tadark, who was closer to the rest of us in age, staunchly refused to be left behind and so became the favored one, despite Halias’s superior rank. Neither Halias nor I was happy about this particular decision, but as long as the King was satisfied, there was nothing either of us could do about it.
At my father’s direction, my mother spoke with the cooks to have them prepare and deliver a list of foods from which we could choose our picnic lunch. The resulting menu was pages long, and I picked the first few items that caught my eye, not having the willpower to review all the options.
By the time the day of the outing arrived, I was so tired of hearing about it that I was eager for it to be over. Miranna’s enthusiasm, on the other hand, continued to run high, due more to her infatuation with Steldor, I was sure, than anything else.
It was the third week in July, and the day was destined to be hot. Miranna and I had thus chosen to wear long, full-cut skirts with short-sleeved white blouses. I had also braided my hair into a single plait down my back, while Miranna’s was tied at the nape of her neck in the manner in which Halias often wore his.
We left the palace grounds midmorning, riding in a buggy that had been furnished by the Royal Stables and was pulled by a magnificent pair of black Friesian horses. The buggy had a high wooden seat over the front wheels upon which the driver would sit, with a double front-facing seat over the back wheels that was padded for comfort. The floor of the buggy was relatively low to the ground for ease of entry.
As Steldor would be handling the reins, it was assumed that I would sit beside him, and a pad had been laid on the normally bare wooden seat in recognition of this arrangement. My escort was informally but elegantly dressed in a double-breasted white shirt with gold buttons and trim, and black breeches. As usual, he wore his showy black boots with the half dozen buckles running up the tall shafts. His shirt sharply contrasted with his dark hair and eyes and had no doubt been calculated to increase the intensity of their effect and raise the pulse rate of any woman within range. Even I had caught myself staring as he’d strapped our picnic supplies to the rear-facing jump seat at the back of the buggy.
Miranna’s companion was a stocky young man named Temerson, whose height and eye color matched my own but whose hair was cinnamon-brown. He was clad in the Military Academy’s standard-issue brown tunic and sash and looked terribly out of place next to Steldor, although in truth he would have been rather cute if not subjected to such a comparison.
Miranna and Temerson occupied the backseat while Tadark rode alongside on his own mount, the horses’ hooves clacking pleasantly against the cobblestone of the main thoroughfare as we passed through the walled city. To the west of the thoroughfare lay the Market District, while to the east was the Business District, where money changers and lenders, taverns, inns, doctors and barbers did a lively business. Farther away from the wide street, we could see church spires, the granary and innumerable residences. Ahead of us rose the thirty-foot-high turreted stone wall that surrounded the city, with guard towers on each side of the gate as well as spaced evenly along its length. The city was home to about fifteen thousand people, with another twenty-five hundred living on farms and in villages scattered throughout the Hytanican countryside.
As we left the city, the stone thoroughfare turned into a dirt highway that wound its way through the terrain to the only bridge spanning the Recorah River. Our route soon took us east onto a much narrower and less traveled country road, for we were headed toward a protected setting in the bend of the river, where trees promised shade and the wide, rapidly flowing water would ensure a cool breeze. Even at a brisk trot, it would take well over two hours to reach our destination.
The outing began smoothly enough, but it did not take me long to discover that the mind-numbing planning for the picnic had made me even less tolerant of Steldor’s ego. It helped that Miranna was present, but Steldor was flirting with me, not my sister. As the horses trotted onward, I tried my best to silently dissuade him by concentrating on the passing landscape.
Hytanica’s rolling terrain was lush and green at this time of year, and the fields of flax that would soon be harvested were dotted with beautiful pale blue flowers. As we drove along, we saw many farmhands hard at work in the fields, and my suitor would wave magnanimously to them on occasion.
Undaunted by my reluctance to interact with him, Steldor proved quite capable of carrying a conversation by himself. After another tedious monologue similar in content to the one he had delivered on the night we had dined together, he leaned toward me.
“So what’s the name of your sister’s friend?” he asked.
Temerson had shyly introduced himself to us all, but Steldor had been too busy being Steldor to pay attention.
“Lord Temerson,” I supplied, his arrogance depleting my patience. “I assume you know his father, Lieutenant Garreck, as he is a veteran battalion commander who has been teaching at the Military Academy for the past fifteen years, and his mother, Lady Tanda, is a friend of my mother’s, and I presume, of your mother’s.”
“Ah,” he replied, then he glanced back at the young man with whom my sister had been unsuccessfully attempting to converse. “So, Temerson, are you a student at the Military Academy?”
The inquiry was unnecessary, given Temerson’s age and apparel, but I suspected the military might be the only subject they would have in common.
I scrutinized Miranna’s escort while waiting for him to respond and saw the look of a cornered animal settle upon his face. He opened his mouth but no sound came forth, and he instead opted for nodding his head twice. It struck me that to someone with a reticent nature, Steldor could be exceptionally intimidating, and probably doubly so to a young cadet over whom he held rank. It was possible as well that Temerson had at some time been the object of Steldor and Galen’s derision.
“The quiet type,” Steldor remarked to me, as if Temerson weren’t there. “Reminds me of another his age.”
“And who would that be?” I asked, social graces winning out despite my determination to discourage him from talkin
g.
“That Cokyrian boy.”
“You mean Hytanican boy,” I corrected, assuming he knew the young man’s true identity.
Steldor brushed my comment off. “He was raised Cokyrian. He thinks like them and behaves like them. That’s all I need to know.”
“Yes, but he was born Hytanican,” I argued, hardly believing that Steldor would be so quick to judge Narian. “That’s all I need to know.”
“That’s beside the point, anyway. All I was going to say is that he has barely spoken a word since we brought him to the palace, and I find it rather odd.”
“Perhaps he is just overwhelmed by all that has happened to him. He was captured by the people he undoubtedly fears the most and now has been reunited with the family he’s never known. I don’t think I would be talking much, either.”
“Or perhaps he doesn’t speak because there is nothing going on in his head.”
“Just because he is not about to divulge his life story at the merest implication that he should does not mean he is unintelligent, Steldor.” I could tell my keenness to debate was beginning to annoy him, but I was enjoying his discomfort too much to drop the matter.
“Why are you defending him? You know no more about him than I do.”
“Then why are you deriding him?”
“We clearly aren’t going to agree on anything here.”
“On the contrary. That’s the one opinion of yours with which I will agree.”
The rest of the trip passed without much discussion. Steldor and I did not converse further, and though Miranna tried several times to elicit a response from Temerson, nothing came of her attempts.
Steldor halted the horses beside a large oak tree near the river, leaving Tadark to secure them. Temerson helped Miranna from the buggy and I grudgingly permitted Steldor to lift me to the ground. His hands were upon my waist as he set me down, but he did not immediately release me. Instead, his gaze bored into my own, and the blood drained from my face at the thought that he might kiss me. Then he smiled and dropped his hands, leaving me with the distinct impression that he had gotten the reaction he’d wanted.