Allegiance

by Cayla Kluver

  “What is your name?”

  “Ryla, Your Majesty,” she replied with a bright smile, and my intuition told me that her personality would blend well with my sister’s.

  “Do you believe you could carry out the duties of a personal maid?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. I’m a quick learner and would be honored to fill such a position.”

  “Very well, you will serve Princess Miranna.”

  At a loss as to how to distinguish among the remaining three candidates, I turned to the housekeeper.

  “I shall leave the final decisions to you,” I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt. “You are no doubt better able to judge the abilities of these women than am I.”

  The housekeeper nodded and ushered all four from the room. As a maid entered with lunch, I dismissed the rest of the staff to attend to their duties, and moved to one of the rose velvet armchairs beside the bay window. While I ate, my thoughts turned to the first official gathering I would plan as Queen: a small celebration on the nineteenth of June in honor of Miranna’s seventeenth birthday.

  The head cook returned in the afternoon, along with a palace scribe, and I began to discuss the ideas I had formed for a dinner party. Over the next few hours, I decided on a menu and a guest list, charging the scribe with preparing the invitations. The guests would include my parents; Lord Temerson, the young man my sister favored, and his parents; Miranna’s best friend, Lady Semari, and her parents; Cannan and his wife, Baroness Faramay; Steldor’s best friend, Lord Galen, and whomever Galen asked to accompany him; and Lord Baelic, Cannan’s younger brother, with his wife and two eldest daughters, for his girls were among my sister’s circle of friends.

  After joining my family for dinner, I was so worn-out from the day’s stresses that I would have liked to return to my quarters, but I hesitated in light of the mood Steldor had presented that morning. Since he had not shared the evening meal with us, I assumed his disposition had not improved and feared an encounter with him in our parlor. I thus went to the library instead. An hour later, I left with my book, hoping to avoid my husband and his antagonistic attitude by going straight to bed.

  To my dismay, I entered the parlor to discover Galen and Steldor sitting in armchairs across from each other with the gaming table in between, deeply enmeshed in a chess match. Galen had recently been appointed Sergeant at Arms, the former sergeant Kade having willingly passed to the younger man the responsibility of commanding the Palace Guard. As Galen was quickly discovering, this also cast him in the role of Cannan’s official lackey, and he was finding it necessary to spend long days, and sometimes nights, in the palace.

  I examined the two friends, noticing again how alike they were in appearance. Only a year older than Steldor, Galen was of similar height and build and even had the same taste in clothing. I had always thought their personalities to be similar, too, but had recently started to consider that Galen’s nature, like his brown hair and eyes, was not as dark as Steldor’s.

  Galen glanced in my direction and hastened to his feet.

  “My Queen,” he said with a slight bow, whereupon Steldor took note of me, although he did not rise. I inclined my head toward the sergeant, at the same time stealing a peek at my husband, unsure whether or not I was welcome.

  “Perhaps I should take my leave,” Galen said, feeling the tension that now permeated the room. “We can finish our chess game another time.”

  “Just sit down,” Steldor gruffly directed. “Alera won’t mind. She likes it when something or someone comes between us.”

  Ignoring the King’s remark, I held up my book and spoke sweetly to Galen.

  “Please, do stay. I was planning to read anyway.”

  “Trust me,” Steldor added, indicating the chessboard. “This will be the best part of my evening.”

  While it had not been my original intent to remain in the parlor, I chose to do so now, knowing that my presence would aggravate Steldor and provide some repayment for his rude comments. Although clearly unhappy at having been caught in the cross fire, Galen took his seat, and the two men resumed their match. I crossed to the sofa, stepping around the table that stood before it upon which had been placed the usual goblets and jug of wine. Slipping off my shoes, I tucked my feet beneath me on the padded leather and began to read, only to be pulled from my book about twenty minutes later by Steldor.

  “Alera, bring us some wine,” he called.

  My skin prickled in indignation at the interruption, and I wondered why he was unable to get the wine himself, or why he felt the need to issue an order rather than make a request. As I deliberated, Galen stood and strode toward the table without a word to either of us. He filled one goblet with wine and extended it to me.

  “Thank you, kind sir,” I said, smiling at his gesture and deriving great satisfaction from my husband’s irritated frown.

  “Most welcome,” Galen rejoined with a smirk.

  After filling two additional goblets, he tucked the jug under his arm, then walked back to Steldor. With a feigned look of apology, he handed one of the glasses to his best friend.

  “I felt the need to help a damsel in distress,” he explained, retaking his seat. To my surprise, Steldor laughed, and Galen placed the jug upon the floor so that they could continue their game.

  A few minutes later, I set my full goblet down on the low sofa table, still not having cultivated a taste for the drink, then stood and walked toward the two friends.

  “Good night, gentleman,” I said pointedly, looking at Galen before directing my attention to Steldor. “And good night, husband. I believe I will retire.” As they looked up at me, I warmly addressed our guest. “It was nice to see you again. You were most assuredly the best part of my evening, as well.”

  With a final glance at Steldor, I disappeared into my bedroom, pleased with the consternation I had seen upon his face.

  “She’s a bit feisty, isn’t she?” I heard Galen say almost approvingly as I closed the door behind me. I remained next to it, listening for my husband’s response.

  “Yes, she is quite a challenge. I’d break her of her impudence, but I’m afraid that may be her best quality.”

  The two men chuckled, and I leaned back against the wood, angry at Steldor for belittling me in front of his best friend and disappointed in myself for caring.

  I prepared for bed, railing in my head against the circumstances in which I found myself. Had it not been for my father’s selfishness and his inability to see me as anything but a device in the plans of men, I would not now be married to Steldor. The former King had long ago determined that the Captain of the Guard’s son should be his successor in the absence of a male heir, not caring about my happiness—not caring that I had given my heart to another.

  Feeling empty inside, I sat upon the bed and unwisely let my mind drift to Narian, the enigmatic son of the Baron Koranis and Baroness Alantonya. My father had feared the young man and the questions regarding his loyalties— Narian had been abducted as an infant and raised in Cokyri, the ruthless mountain empire that had for a century been our enemy. When he had returned to his Hytanican family ten months ago, it had seemed that my eyes alone were not clouded by hatred and bigotry. I had been able to see Narian for who he truly was: a young man with courage and an independent mind, who had been made to pay for so much that was outside his control. He couldn’t help his past any more than he could help the way those intense, deep blue eyes pierced me and held me captive. I trusted him, and he respected and trusted me.

  With a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, I crawled beneath my covers, deciding to read in the hope of suppressing further memories. But as the candle in my lantern slowly burned down, I concentrated less on the words and more on the question of whether any eventuality could restore hope for the life of which I had dreamed.

  CHAPTER 2

  RETRIBUTION

  “MY LADY? MY LADY.”

  As the voice penetrated my slumber, I slowly opened my eyes, rolling onto
my back to see who had spoken.

  “My apologies, Your Highness,” murmured my golden-haired, round-faced personal maid, Sahdienne, from my bedroom door.

  “What is the hour?” I asked, glancing toward the heavy drapes that blocked the sunlight from my room.

  “Half past nine, my lady.”

  “Half past nine?” I repeated, jarring fully awake and swinging my feet to the floor. “I’ve overslept. Hurry and help me dress.”

  Sahdienne rushed to the window, and I squinted when she let the light of day shine brilliantly through the glass.

  “A guard was sent here with a message, Your Majesty,” she hesitantly continued, as though still apologizing for her presumptuous action in rousing the Queen, however prolonged her sleep may have been.

  “What was the message?”

  “You’ve been asked to report to the Captain of the Guard’s office as soon as possible.”

  I frowned, perplexed, and Sahdienne moved toward my wardrobe to assist in the selection of my attire.

  “Did the messenger give a reason?”

  “No, my lady.”

  She helped me into the gown I had indicated and then brushed my dark brown hair while I sat in front of the mirror that graced the top of my dressing table. As she began to fashion my tresses, intending to pull them up off my shoulders, I shooed her away.

  “Don’t fuss further. I shouldn’t keep Cannan waiting.”

  Foregoing breakfast, I hastened into the corridor, not slowing until I reached the landing of the double staircase. Smoothing my skirt, I more sedately descended the flight to my left, turning to walk underneath it in order to enter the Throne Room by means of the antechamber. The Captain of the Guard’s office opened off the eastern wall, and a Palace Guard knocked upon its door at my approach. Without waiting for an answer, he opened the door. Overcome with foreboding at sight of the men who were talking with the captain, I stopped on the threshold.

  I had expected that Cannan desired to speak with me alone, although to what end I could not fathom, but Steldor, Galen, Destari and my father were also present. This placed me in the company of the Captain of the Guard, the King, the Sergeant at Arms, a deputy captain in the Elite Guard and the former King, men who were not only imposing, but intensely dark in coloring. As everyone’s expressions were somber, I felt as if I was stepping into a room full of storm clouds.

  Cannan was seated behind his desk, with Steldor on his left so that he likewise faced the others. Everyone came respectfully to their feet, but I continued to stand still, unnerved.

  “Come in, Your Majesty. Have a seat.”

  Cannan motioned to a spare wooden chair in front of his desk, which looked to me to be an interrogation chair, for it was not designed for comfort. Galen and my father—who was still addressed as King Adrik, though he no longer ruled—took up seats in similar chairs to my left. Destari, the towering Elite Guard who had at times replaced London as my bodyguard, stood on my right, unaccustomed, I supposed, to relaxing while within his captain’s office. Father and son had reseated themselves in leather armchairs, and I eyed Cannan, unable to imagine the reason he had sent for me; women in Hytanica, including the Queen, were not consulted in financial, political or military matters.

  “We’ve been updating Steldor regarding our efforts to hold the Cokyrians at the river,” the captain explained. “It’s time to inform him of Narian’s significance to the enemy.”

  My breath caught, and I fervently hoped I had not yet awakened—that this was just a nightmare. I did not want to have to discuss Narian in the presence of any of these men; that was doubly true when it came to my father and Steldor.

  “London has not yet returned to Hytanica,” Cannan continued in his businesslike manner. “It is incumbent upon you and Destari to tell us to the best of your abilities about the Legend of the Bleeding Moon.”

  “Then let Destari speak,” I blurted. “He knows as much if not more about the legend than do I.”

  Cannan, I was certain, knew what I was doing, but he let it pass and turned to the deputy captain, who came to attention.

  “Stand at ease, and tell us what you know.”

  “Yes, sir. On the day of the tournament last October, London met with Alera and me to discuss an urgent matter. He told us that he had become suspicious of Narian and had gone to Cokyri to learn what he could about his upbringing.”

  My father seemed shocked by this news, and even the military men seemed taken aback by London’s bold and dangerous initiative, leading me to believe that no one else would have dared to venture into the enemy’s stronghold.

  “While he was there,” Destari continued in his deep, resonating voice, “he discovered an account of an ancient legend, the Legend of the Bleeding Moon, which foretold of our kingdom’s downfall. The account repeated our own lore about how our first King hallowed our land with the blood of his infant son to give Hytanica abiding protection from her enemies. The legend held, however, that a Hytanican boy would be born under a bleeding moon, and that this boy would be marked by the moon and given the power to overthrow his kingdom.

  “In the final months of the war seventeen years ago, a blood-red moon dominated the night, and the Cokyrians snatched our infant boys from their homes. All those taken were murdered except for one, the young man now known to us as Narian. I’m sure you are all aware of his unusual crescent-shaped birthmark, for it was the basis of his identification as the Baron Koranis’s son. London believes that Narian is the one of whom the legend speaks—that Narian has been trained by the Overlord to destroy Hytanica.”

  A lengthy silence followed Destari’s revelations, and I was thankful to see that the others were focused on the King, who was absorbing this information with no more than a crease in his brow.

  “And when did you and King Adrik learn of this?” Steldor finally asked, directing his question to his father, having inferred that London, Destari and I had withheld this information for quite some time.

  “Three months later, on the day Narian left Hytanica,” Cannan responded. “We sent for him shortly after London met with us, at which time we discovered that the boy had fled.”

  Steldor glanced at me in confusion, though his next question was directed to Destari. “Why did London bring this information to Alera?”

  “He did not believe the captain or the King would trust what he had to say since he had been dismissed from his post. He also wanted to warn her against befriending the young man.”

  “And did she stay away from him?” Steldor pressed, his eyes narrowing, and I suspected he already knew the answer.

  Destari wavered for an instant, reading Steldor’s expression, but in the end answered straightforwardly.

  “No, Your Majesty, she did not.”

  Not wanting to look at any of the men in the room, I focused on stilling my fidgety hands, for this habit revealed my level of discomfort, and my anxiety was now nearing panic proportions. I couldn’t remember a time when I had so desperately wanted to escape from a situation, but the captain had no intention of granting me a reprieve.

  “It is imperative for us to know where Narian’s loyalties lie. Alera, you and he appeared to be friends. What can you tell us?”

  I concentrated on Cannan as words tumbled from my mouth without passing through my brain. In my extreme desire to end this conversation, I told him what I could, as rapidly as I could, painfully aware that Steldor’s eyes were upon me.

  “He rarely spoke about his life in Cokyri, and I always felt that it must have been very harsh. In any case, I know he did not want to return. He once told me that he despised having his life laid out for him, but he also told me that if ever he did return to Cokyri, the Overlord would be difficult to refuse. Still, I think he will turn from the legend if he can—”

  “He spoke with you about the Overlord?”

  The captain interrupted my monologue, lifting one eyebrow, the only trace of surprise that ever showed on the imperturbable man’s face.

  �
�Yes…but we didn’t talk about the Overlord. He just mentioned him.”

  “I see.”

  Cannan considered me, and my empty stomach felt as though it were shriveling. I had unwittingly made my position more precarious, for Narian had spoken to no one but me about his relationship to Cokyri’s powerful warlord. I was the only person in whom Narian had confided; I alone knew that the Overlord had been his teacher.

  “I take it the two of you became quite close,” Cannan finally concluded.

  I shot Destari a quick look, fearful that the captain might bring to light my relationship with Koranis’s son, which had far exceeded the bounds of friendship. I had a feeble hope that he could somehow deter his commander from further pursuit of the matter, but Cannan’s keen eyes caught my glance and he turned to his Elite Guard.

  “You were her bodyguard at the time. What was the nature of their relationship?”

  Destari shifted uncomfortably, his thick, dark eyebrows shrouding his black eyes, and the fact that he was attempting to protect a secret of mine seemed to echo in the room.

  “She had become his…closest friend.”

  The tension in the office heightened, as if the air had been sucked out through the doors and every person inside was now silently battling to draw breath. Steldor had gone rigid in his chair, jaw clenched, and I thought the animosity burning in his eyes would set the room aflame. Galen was watching the King, plainly worried that he would not be able to contain his famous temper. My father’s usually kind gaze roved the room as he undoubtedly tried to determine whether or not his mind had jumped to ridiculous conclusions.

  “Ahhh…” Cannan’s monosyllabic utterance told me that he had grasped the situation, but my heart sank when I realized he was not yet ready to let the matter drop. “And had this friendship led to intimacy?”

  I could feel myself blushing, for all of the men except Cannan had shifted their attention to me. The captain continued to wait for a response from Destari, but when none was forthcoming, his countenance grew grim. Concern for the guard who was struggling to defend me finally compelled me to speak.