by T B Phillips
Taros froze at the doorway to the palace, muscles tensing beneath Sarai’s hands on his arm. At first, she was confused, but then nodded and spoke to him soothingly. “Felicima sleeps and will not see you go into a building. Do not be afraid of her wrath. Come.”
“I am not afraid of Felicima. I am a god like her. It… It is only that I have never been inside of a building of rock.” She frowned at his words. Surely, he struggles with the language, she assured herself. She gently coaxed him inside, smiling at the wonderment that filled his eyes as they entered the grand hall. He looked around with amazement, taking in the banners and tapestries. Three attendants approached, and she motioned for him to follow them. After another brief hesitation, he stood a little taller and with more confidence. He turned his head with one last look before allowing them to guide him toward his quarters.
A few moments later a deep voice broke the silence in the hall. “Thank you for freeing me, Sarai.”
She turned and saw Cassus in the doorway. She smiled. “You’re the future of this city, Councilman. My father is not fit to rule in these changing times, and the Pescari people need your benevolence and compassion over his war hawking.”
He nodded, striding up beside her. “You have a wisdom far beyond your years, Sarai Horslei, and you’ll no doubt be a strong future leader of your house. I hope that your deeds here tonight do not earn you excommunication from your father.”
Frowning, she pondered this possibility for the first time since she had stolen the key and freed Eachann. “Even if my father survives his injuries, he’ll not be able to deny that is too late to turn them out of Weston.”
“Plans are already underway to establish a temporary Pescari borough in the city. Taros’ uncle Teot is moving them into the lower sector as we speak.”
Sarai looked up with concern. “What about the citizens living in that sector?”
Cassus smiled disarmingly. “They will be… relocated. Trust me that their new accommodations will be a… a step up from their current situation. The removal is necessary in order to prevent those who resist their sanctuary from doing them harm.”
She pondered his words and then nodded. “Yes. I see the wisdom of moving out the residents so it will be easier to keep the peace.” She stole a glance at the guard quarters where her father still lay unconscious.
Following her gaze, Cassus nodded. “You should visit him. He’s your father and it’s normal to worry about his wellbeing, even if your allegiances differ.”
“No. I no longer care if he awakens at all.” A tear rolled down her face as she thought of all that she had helped to change in a single night. “I’d rather save several thousand lives by cutting out two that were dear to my heart. Especially when those would have contributed to the pain and suffering of the same several thousand.”
“Your Robert?”
“Yes.” My Robert. Sobs finally let loose from her gut as she thought about her former love.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Taros watched the attendants leave the bathing quarters. They had drawn a bath so hot that steam rose into the air above the pool. His joints had ached with dull pain while he watched the servants fill the tub and he longed to climb in. He felt cold. The feeling ran deep in his body as if it came from the inside out. He leaned in close to the water, hoping to absorb some of the heat but to no avail. He had never felt so cold in his life and had shivered since he and the girl entered the palace. As he stared at the water his muscles began to quake with spasms.
He stole a glance toward the door through which the attendants exited. Finally feeling confident that they would not return, he stripped out of his tattered and burned buckskins. With cautious steps he placed one foot into the tub and then the other. He stood like that, cold feet in the hot water with his naked body over the steam. He frowned down at his feet, realizing that he could not feel the warmth of the water. They were still cold. Slowly he sat down into the pool, picked up a bar of soap and washed himself between shivers.
He did not linger long in the tub. Feeling no comfort from the steaming water he rose and grabbed a towel from the edge. He dried himself and then wrapped the cloth around his shoulders as he surveyed the room. Before leaving the servants had taken care to lay out clean linens on a nearby bench, along with some clothes in the Andalonian fashion. He frowned at these, but his buckskins lay charred and unusable on the ground. Desiring to stop his shivering, Taros slipped into the clothing.
As soon as he finished dressing, he heard a soft knock at the door, and he watched a male attendant enter the room with a large, soft robe. The man tried to wrap it around his shoulders, but Taros stopped him, snatching it out of his hands and putting in on himself. Not appearing offended, the man stepped back and bowed deeply. “I am Philip, your excellency. I will be your steward during your stay in the palace. Is there anything else that I can bring before escorting you down to dinner?”
Taros paused, taking in the words. Although his mother and uncle had taught him the Andalonian language, he had only practiced its use with the occasional fur trader. Once he was sure that he understood the man correctly, he responded. “Food is good. Take me to the food.”
The man bowed and turned and left the room with Taros following closely behind, shivering from the cold.
Philip had a slight hunch to his posture that was more prevalent when he walked than when he stood. His hair was thinning more on the top than on the sides, giving it a horseshoe appearance. But the characteristic that stood out most to Taros was the man’s smile. It was not bold, nor did it make him appear fake. Rather, his smile was as genuinely comforting as one a grandparent would give a child. Interestingly, he did not find it condescending.
When they passed through the great hall Taros immediately noticed that the girl, Sarai, was gone. He felt sad at her absence and hoped to see her again. He welcomed her friendly demeanor after the sudden loss of his mother and craved a friend with whom he could talk about things.
She was the most beautiful girl that he had ever seen. Pescari girls had dull eyes and everyone’s hair was the same color amongst his people. But hers had been vibrant yellow and her eyes had shone with a brilliant sapphire blue. He was drawn to her stark difference.
Several city guards milled about in the great hall while some ran bandages and supplies outside to the injured soldiers in the courtyard. These men glared at him, contrasting the friendliness of Philip and Sarai with their resentful expressions. He knew that they had every right to distrust him after his display at the walls.
Unlike the other times that he had used Felicima’s power, he felt remorse for what he had done to their comrades. Although they were warriors, they were defending their city and had not harmed him personally. In his moment of grief, he had lashed out and killed many of their comrades. They had every right to hate him.
He again shivered while entering the dining hall. The room was large enough to house hundreds of people, and rows of tables ran the length of the vast space. One large seating place was set apart from the others. A raised platform stood before a roaring fire in a grand hearth. He rightfully assumed that table was reserved for the most distinguished of chieftains, as he stared wide-eyed at the feast laid out before him. Roasted hams and entire chickens rested on platters, and fruits that he had never imagined were piled in bowls. His mouth salivated.
Philip indicated that he should have a seat at the banquet table. “The others will be joining you momentarily, your excellency. Do you require anything else in the meantime?”
Taros shook his head and stared at the feast. Philip bowed and left the hall, doors closing behind him with a heavy echo. Flinching, the boy pulled his robe closer and shivered. Stomach growling, he realized that he was hungry. He didn’t know where to start with so many options and tentatively took a step toward the platform.
He approached the table with eyes focused on the roaring fire, watching th
e flames and recalling the events from earlier. Tears rolled down his face at the image of men screaming and leaping from the parapet, desperate to escape his fiery outburst. He had not meant to kill them, but when Felicima’s power flowed, he made no discernment for the lives of others. They were merely in the way when anger gripped him.
He thought about that anger. After learning about his mother’s passing, he had been enraged that his people had not been granted access to the city and his singular thought was to open the walls and destroy the gate. Emotions flooded all at once and the grief gripped his heart and twisted his stomach. His chest heaved in heavy sobs as he lamented over Lynette. He curled up on the floor in front of the fire, shivering and shaking while he wept.
A soft and warm hand touched Taros on the shoulder, comforting and soothing him as he cried. He opened his eyes and looked up to see the face of Sarai, tenderly smiling down. “It’s ok,” she said, “cry it out. That’s what often helps me.”
“I… I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I only want my people safe.”
“I know. Cassus and I believe you. That’s why we intervened. I promise that your people will be fine now.” A single tear rolled down her own cheek as she spoke to him, and he believed her.
He thought again about Lynette, this time with sadness rather than grief. “My mother is dead. She died tonight, and I need to bury her.”
“That’s awful, Taros. I am so sorry, and I’ll make sure that you and your people can tend to her.” She seemed genuinely concerned and he felt that he could trust her. He was about to thank her when she spoke again. “I lost my own mother two years ago. When she passed, I felt like I had lost the only friend that I ever had beside my brother. It was made worse, because it was the year after he’d gone off to the university.” Tears filled her eyes, thinking about her family.
“Is he there now? Or did he return?”
“He died in an accident there and never came back.”
“I am sorry, Sarai. Do you have a father?”
“I do.” A look of concern crossed her face, and she added, “He’s recovering from the injuries he incurred tonight.”
An anxious cramp gripped Taros. “Did I… Did I injure him?”
“Yes. You did, but it was an accident. He was also the reason that the gates were barred to your people, so it is a good thing that he is unconscious.” Her face looked deeply troubled as she spoke, and Taros realized she had risked much to help him and the Pescari.
“What happens now? I only ever thought this far.” The honesty of his words caused him to cringe, as he admitted for the first time since fighting Cornin that he lacked the confidence to lead.
“Don’t worry about that.” She patted his shoulder and he blushed at her touch. “Cassus Eachann and I will help. We’re here for you now.” The sad look that she had been wearing instantly disappeared when she spoke. Her hand lingered on his arm and his pulse quickened as she said, “He is going to help you find permanent settlements.”
A voice from the doorway broke Taros from his thoughts and Sarai pulled back her hand very quickly. “It seems that they could have at least lit a fire in the hearth.”
The two teenagers stood, and Sarai greeted the newcomer. “Hello, Cassus!” Frowning at the simmering coals, she remarked, “That’s strange, the fire was roaring a moment ago.”
Taros turned and saw that the fire had completely extinguished. He realized instantly that he was no longer cold. He cleared his throat and addressed the man, “I am Taros, Shappan of the Pescari and favored of Felicima. Thank you for allowing my people inside the gates.”
The man bowed deeply before him and responded, “Greetings your eminence. I am Lord Cassus Eachann. Acting governor of Weston, city councilman and leader of the humanitarian party. You are most welcome in my city.” Gesturing to the meal, he invited, “please join us in a meal so that you may regain your strength.” Taros nodded and sat down in one of the high back chairs, noticing happily that Sarai had chosen the seat next to his. He hadn’t realized how ravenous he was and feasted.
He ate so much that within minutes his stomach had begun to ache. Sitting back in the chair he felt tired. Feeling warm, he looked back at the fireplace. While they were eating, an attendant had scurried over to the fire, trying to relight it and struggling to do so. Taros noticed that the wood was half-burned and cool, making the man’s chore difficult. Beside him, Sarai shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Concerned about her comfort, he reached toward the hearth and with the flick of his wrist the fire roared to life. Both Sarai and Cassus jumped at the sudden combustion and the attendant fell back onto the floor in a terrified heap.
Cassus regained his composure quickly. “How do you do that, young Taros?”
“I do not know. I think that it is a blessing of Felicima, although many of our elders call it a curse. Sometimes I can control it.” Frowning, he added, “tonight I could not.”
“Does the fire come from within you? Or elsewhere?” The man named Eachann seemed to be calm and comfortable talking about it, but Taros felt strange. He did not want to talk about this topic in front of Sarai.
“Both, I think. When I use my power all other fires go out.”
Sarai asked the next question. “Where did the fire to light the hearth come from? There are no other fires around.”
“I. I don’t know. I do know that I no longer feel as cold as I did earlier, but I am cooler after lighting it.”
Eachann pressed. “Why did you light the fire just now, Taros?”
He looked up into Sarai’s beautiful blue eyes, blushing a little with embarrassment as he answered, “Because she was cold.”
Sarai’s cheeks went red at his answer, smiling shyly as she said, “Thank you, Taros. That was very sweet of you.”
Raised voices were heard in the foyer and the dining hall doors crashed open. Teot entered followed by two of his warriors. They were flanked by six palace guardsmen, all of whom had swords drawn.
“Shappan! These people could not keep us away! Are you well?” Teot narrowed his eyes at Sarai and Cassus, relaxing a little when he saw that Taros was unharmed.
Taros stood and greeted his uncle. “I am, Teot. Gather up the remains of this meal and distribute it to the people.” Turning to Cassus, he added, “They will need more.”
Nodding his agreement, the statesman responded, “Of course, your excellency.” He motioned two of the guards and directed them to organize a detail to take more food to the Pescari. As they scurried off to take action, Phillip entered the room with a look of grave concern on his face. Leaning in, he whispered into the ear of Cassus who nodded a reply and then dismissed the steward with a flick of his hand.
“Lady Sarai. I am afraid that I have some dire news.” Cassus did not blink as he relayed the information. “Your father has succumbed to his injuries and has died.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The coastline north of Estowen’s Landing curved slightly westward around rocky cliff outcroppings and the occasional tall mountain range. Evergreen spruce and pines reached upward toward the heavens, painting the landscape with dark color that contrasted the pink hues in the rocks. Winter had fully gripped the peninsula this far north, and the tree branches dipped with the heavy wet snow, letting the excess blow off with a wind so icy that it cut to the bone.
Skander Braston ignored this wind as his ship bounced on the choppy waves, having traveled far in a single night. He was already hundreds of miles north of the meeting place, but he could not shake the humiliation of the event. Thinking about the night before made his mind race. He had planned for the exchange perfectly, had the upper hand even. But after Matteas Brohn had killed Crestal Esterling, chaos had ensued, forcing him to flee.
Flee. Such a simple word with intense connotation. The northern king grimaced at the thought that one simple word would brand him forever a coward in the eyes of his enemi
es. Outnumbered by the arrival of Lady Esterling’s private guard, he had no choice but to run back to his ship empty handed when the fighting broke out. Hester had told him to keep the parlay a secret from even his own generals, so he had traveled with only a small cadre of soldiers and sailors.
The sudden arrival of the Falconer had also startled him, forcing him into panic. Their powers were unworldly, demonic even. Unnatural to the order of the gods. Skander felt another wave of rage rise from his belly, causing his chest to tighten. He was certain that in the bedlam the pirate wench had used similar magic on him and his men, wrapping them in vines and sending spiders to attack them.
He remembered her lunge at him with a knife. She had nearly killed him, and he was lucky that Artur interfered. Something had been oddly familiar about that witch, like he had run across her in his past. Perhaps she had some vendetta against him. He gritted his teeth as he thought about the feeble attempt on his life and her dark magic. The voice of his father returned. Only a coward would fear a woman, Skander.
Skander Braston was the most powerful man in the northern kingdom and he would never allow a woman to hold power over him. Flinching, he thought about Hester resting in luxury in his palace, ordering around his servants and conniving politics behind his back. She played the nobles against each other with her games and was a master in her craft. But, even with her manipulations, he refused to allow her an ounce of control over him.
He often regretted seducing her and taking her for his wife, but always understood that she was the only woman halfway deserving to stand by his side. Although it was true that he had originally only taken interest to slight his brother, she served more purposes to him than to warm his bed. Her family owned the iron mines and their wealth fed the empire. If she could produce a male heir, then he would dominate both houses.
Thinking about Braen enraged him. That sap had adored and worshipped Hester, mistakenly believing that she loved him back. While he wooed her with tokens and favors, Skander flexed his strength before the nobles and gained legitimate backing as the future leader. While Braen brought her poetry to win her affection, Skander had secured her future as a queen.