Allegiance

by Cayla Kluver

  The walk had taken me a good hour longer than I had anticipated, and I stumbled up the path to the front door of the house with an air of wretchedness quite unlike anything I had ever before experienced. I tried the door handle only to discover it was locked, and a strangled cry escaped me. Resisting the urge to collapse then and there, I limped around to the back entrance to find that it also was closed tight. I wrenched at the door, but it would not budge, and I finally leaned against it, giving in to tears. I had been certain that my trials would end once I had reached my goal. Feeling lost and alone, I sank down on the back steps, burying my face in my arms, knowing my crying would serve no purpose other than to vent my despair, for there was no one around to hear me or help me.

  I was not aware of the passage of time until the dryness of my throat made me long for a drink and I raised my head to see the purplish blue of evening spreading across the sky. I would have to go soon if I wanted to fill my flask from the river, for darkness would shortly cover the land. After that, I would return to the house, trusting that Steldor would not be so vindictive as to leave me out here through the night.

  Despite the tenderness of my legs and feet, I made my way down the sloping hill atop which the home sat to the edge of the forest, where I spotted the path that I had trekked many times with Semari, Miranna and occasionally Narian. I followed the winding trail, now and then stumbling over a tree root hidden by the shadows, until I emerged into the narrow clearing that bordered the Recorah. I hurried to kneel at the river’s edge and splashed some of the refreshing liquid into my mouth and over my face to wash away the remnants of sweat and grime, finally drinking from my cupped hands. The water was cold, and after refilling my flask, I sat down and dipped my swollen feet, ragged shoes and all, into its swirling eddies. I immediately felt the pull of the current, surprised by its force even near the Recorah’s bank, but the chill brought welcome relief.

  The air was losing its warmth with the setting of the sun, and a shiver ran down my back. I knew I should return to the house but could not bring myself to do so, for the memories I found in this place were too strong to ignore. I gazed downriver and saw the spot where Narian had rescued me after my fall into the raging water last summer, pulling me into his arms for the first time. My throat tightened, and I bit my lip to suppress the emotions that were rising inside me. I stood and gingerly walked to the boulders, then hoisted myself atop their craggy surfaces, maintaining a safe distance from the water. Narian would not be here to save me if I fell.

  I looked across the Recorah, the rushing and crashing sounds of the mighty river as it tumbled over rocks and broken branches filling my ears. The thinning trees on the opposite bank looked like eerie sentinels in the dwindling light of day, and beyond them, some distance away, I could make out Cokyrian campfires. It was strange to be close enough to see where Hytanica’s adversaries ate and slept and watched, awaiting the right moment to strike. The thought that I might be in peril this near to enemy lines flashed through my mind, but the evening was tranquil and it seemed to me that the Cokyrians were enjoying a night of peace.

  A noise from the woods at my back startled me, and my sense of security fell away. It was just an animal, I assured myself, only to realize that wild animals presented risk. While I had not spent much time in the forest, I knew that wild boar and bear lived within it. What if an animal attacked me? My instinct was to scoot farther back on the boulder, but I was wary of meeting the river, which was probably more treacherous than whatever foe might be lurking among the trees. When the sound did not repeat itself, I began to relax, only to remember that I needed to walk through those woods to return to the baron’s house.

  I scrambled down from the boulders to begin my hike back through the forest, finding it much more challenging in the dim light to spot the path. I faltered, reluctant to walk among the looming trees, each of their trunks thicker around than was I and many times as tall, but I could not stay the night without shelter or defense on the banks of the Recorah. With no other choice, I began the trek back to the baron’s home, feeling as if the forest was closing in, tightening a net of darkness around me.

  As I walked, every noise—the rustle of a branch, the hoot of an owl—sent my pulse racing. I persevered, fear now amplifying the sounds of the night, but though I was moving cautiously lest I fall on the uneven footing, I was making good progress. Just when it seemed that more moonlight was penetrating the gloom, a sign that the trees were beginning to thin, a hand clamped tightly over my mouth. Unable to breathe, unable to scream, with icy terror solidifying the blood in my veins, I fell back against a muscular chest. Then cold steel depressed the tender skin of my neck.

  CHAPTER 4

  WITHOUT GUARDS

  “YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO TELL ME WHAT you’re doing here,” a man snarled into my ear, removing his hand from my mouth to grasp my upper arm.

  With death but the slip of a blade away and the gruesome image of my own blood spilling down my chest foremost in my mind, I squeezed words through my constricted throat.

  “I—I’m lost,” I gasped. “Please, please don’t hurt me!”

  For one horrifying moment, all was still. Then I felt the dagger lift away from my throat.

  “Alera?”

  The man’s voice was laced with disbelief, but I was too frightened to care. I desperately attempted to pull away, not yet processing that he knew my name. Reaching for me with his other hand, he turned me around.

  “Please, I beg of you, let me go,” I pleaded, suddenly not only in fear for my life. I cast wildly about, not wanting to see the face of my captor.

  “Alera, look at me.”

  This time when he said my name, his voice compelled me to stop struggling. Mustering my courage, I glanced up to see unkempt silvery bangs framing familiar eyes—eyes that even in the darkness I knew were indigo—and I collapsed against him, light-headed with relief.

  The man who had been my bodyguard for most of my life lifted me into his arms and carried me out of the trees and up the hill. I laid my head against his shoulder, enormously grateful to be in his company, for with him I was safe. When we reached the house, he set me on the ground with my back against one of the walls, and a shiver ran through me, which did not pass his notice.

  “Put this on,” he said, removing his leather jerkin and draping it around my shoulders. The familiar garment, which he wore over a white shirt, was warm from his body, and I nestled into it, comforted by its feel as well as its scent. It smelled of leather, the woods and the smoke of campfires; in short, it smelled like London.

  “Eat this,” he tersely continued, placing something in my hand that he had taken from the pouch at his belt.

  My stomach rumbled at the thought of food, and I shoved whatever he had given me into my mouth. It was chewy and dry, obviously something soldiers carried with them, but I cared not.

  “I want you to wait here.” London’s voice was hushed, but firm. “I’ll only be gone a couple of minutes.”

  I nodded, too worn-out to respond. He studied me, unusually hesitant, then dropped to one knee in front of me. He withdrew a dagger from his boot, pressing it into my hand. With a brief but reassuring touch of my cheek, he walked away along the length of the house to my right, examining the structure. I heard the shattering of glass as he struck a window with the hilt of one of the twin blades that he wore sheathed at his sides, and then he disappeared from view.

  While I waited for the Elite Guard to return, fear again crept into my bones. Why had London given me a weapon? Was I truly in peril out here by myself? Needing a distraction, I squinted through the darkness to examine my feet. My shoes were almost destroyed, and my partially exposed skin was red with blisters and from the cold. I leaned my head against the house, sickened by my foolishness, hoping that London would soon come back. I almost jumped up to flee at the touch of his hand on my shoulder, for whether due to my fatigue or his training as a scout, I had not heard him approach.

  “Can you walk, or
do you need assistance?” he asked, kneeling once more beside me and glancing at the remnants of my shoes.

  “Where’re we going?” I said, unable to control the slight slur in my speech.

  Without further attempt at conversation, London picked me up, correctly interpreting my difficulty with words as exhaustion, and walked around to the front of the house.

  He opened the door, evidently having unlocked it from the inside, and carried me to a comfortable armchair in the parlor. I glanced about at the furnishings, for although it was dark, the room was well-known to me. I longed for a servant to bring the tea that was so oft served within its walls. London once more left me, returning a short time later with a blanket from one of the bedrooms.

  “You’ll be safer in here than outside,” he explained, wrapping the blanket around me. “I’m going back into the woods to retrieve my horse.”

  He went to the archway that separated the parlor from the entrance hall, then looked back at me.

  “Keep that dagger with you, just in case….”

  I closed my eyes, planning to rest for just a few minutes, only to be roused by London gently shaking me awake. He took the dagger from my hand and replaced it in his boot, then pulled me into his arms, bearing me out the front door to his horse as I struggled to orient myself. He hoisted me into the saddle, blanket and all, and swung up behind me just as Steldor had done such a seemingly long time ago.

  Taking the reins, he muttered, “As soon as we’re out of here, you have some explaining to do.” He dug his heels into the mare’s sides, sending her off at an urgent canter, and I was thrust back against him.

  We stayed away from the roads, skirting the edge of the forest to approach the city in a roundabout fashion. I didn’t say a word, not even when London turned our mount into the woods and up a rather steep hill, the athletic animal dodging around trees that came out of nowhere in the thick darkness. When the ground began to flatten, he reined in the mare, and I saw a deeply recessed cavity in the rock before us. With a jolt I realized that we had ridden into the foothills of the Niñeyre Mountain Range, a place I had never been allowed to venture, in part because I was a woman and in part because the enemy claimed the high desert area to the north and east of our borders. Despite the rocky terrain and the southerly flowing Recorah River that separated us from Cokyri, my cautious father had never permitted my sister and me to explore this part of our kingdom.

  London slid from the horse’s back, landing soundlessly on the forest floor, then held out his hands to me. Not wanting to appear helpless, I shook my head and dismounted by myself. I instantly regretted my decision; the moment my battered feet met the hard earth I grimaced in pain, grinding my teeth to keep from crying out.

  My former bodyguard secured his horse near the mouth of the hollowed-out area and motioned for me to go ahead, then disappeared from view to return with an armful of dry wood. Bringing it into the center of our shelter, he used his flint and steel to make a comforting fire. There wasn’t much room in our refuge, just enough for two people, but I didn’t mind, for the fire’s light and pleasant warmth were captured within the cozy space.

  London and I now sat opposite each other, the flickering flames reflected in his keen eyes, and I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders as though to ward off the questions I knew were forthcoming.

  “Do you want to tell me what you’re doing out here?” he finally asked, his tone gentle, as if he were worried that he might frighten me.

  “I walked,” I croaked, my words catching in my dry throat.

  He stood to retrieve a flask from his saddlebag and tossed it to me. I caught it and took a drink, then scrunched up my nose at the taste of the liquid.

  “It’s wine,” he said, catching my expression. “It will revive you and ease your soreness.”

  I nodded and took another sip, watching him return to his position across the fire from me. He waited until I had drunk a bit more, then pressed for additional information.

  “You walked? From where?”

  “From where Steldor took my horse.”

  Though I had slept some in Koranis’s home and had drifted in and out of awareness while we had been riding, I still had little energy to devote to speech. London frowned in confusion.

  “Where are your guards?”

  “I didn’t take any.”

  “Were you and Steldor out riding together?” he persisted, disapproval creeping into his voice.

  “No,” I responded, beginning to realize that Steldor was not the only one at fault for my predicament. “I left by myself and he came after me.”

  “And he took your horse.”

  “I didn’t want to go back, and he got angry with me,” I said woefully, wanting the Elite Guard to sympathize and lay the blame on Steldor. He did not.

  “And why did you leave the palace in the first place?”

  I hung my head, unable to meet London’s eyes, and hoping against hope that he wouldn’t come to the answer on his own. There was a silence, and I could feel him studying me.

  “I understand what this is about,” he finally scoffed.

  I glanced up to see that he had risen to his feet, too irritated to remain in place.

  “You left the palace because of some ridiculous notion that Narian might be at his father’s estate.”

  I averted my gaze, making no attempt to deny his assertion, and he shook his head in exasperation.

  “Didn’t it occur to you that I would already have searched there? Your longing to find Narian could have gotten you killed! You know better than this, Alera. You’ve had a bodyguard your entire life. How could you have left without one?”

  He ran his hand through his silver hair, and I wasn’t entirely certain his next question was directed at me.

  “How can we end up with the Queen, on her own, in the woods, cold, hungry, scared, with no protection, and only the river separating her from the Cokyrians?”

  He laughed, albeit mirthlessly, and I cringed. I had been holding Steldor responsible, but, in retrospect, I had behaved just as rashly as had he. I felt foolish and embarrassed at having assumed I would not be in harm’s way. Was I really so desperately naïve? Or was London exaggerating the danger to make an impression on me?

  London walked partway around the fire and stopped, his arms crossed over his chest, decidedly displeased. As if he had read my mind, he began to answer my questions.

  “Do you have any idea how lucky you are that I found you? Most soldiers wouldn’t have given you ten seconds—they would have slit your throat without hesitation. And do you honestly believe that while you were sitting on those boulders observing the enemy that they couldn’t also see you? Any of their archers could have pierced you through the heart where you sat. Or the Cokyrians could have sent someone to find you, in which case our Queen would now be in their hands.”

  He continued, making a sweeping motion around our shelter with his arm. “I brought you here because I’m not convinced they failed to see you. And even if you didn’t attract the enemy’s attention, you would have spent a miserable night with no shelter and no ability to defend yourself. You could have been attacked by an animal, you could have fallen in the river as you did once before, you could have gotten lost!”

  I hated how annoyed he was with me but couldn’t help noticing how much he sounded like an overwrought parent. That thought threatened to pull up the corners of my mouth, and I bit my lip, knowing that a smile would be absolutely inappropriate under these circumstances. London appeared to be done scolding, but the furrow in his brow told me there was something else he wanted to say. I waited, the shifting shadows cast by the flames playing over his form, giving him an eerie appearance, and he dropped to one knee beside me.

  “Listen to me, Alera. Whatever romantic fantasies you harbor about Narian can never come true. You are a married woman, and Narian is the enemy.”

  These last words cut me deeply. Hearing it said so matter-of-factly was like having the breath knocked o
ut of me. Narian is the enemy repeated in my head, and I recognized for the first time that I was the only one who wanted Narian to return out of a desire for his company and not just because it would be detrimental to our kingdom for him to end up among the enemy.

  “I couldn’t find him,” London said, bringing me back to reality. “But the Cokyrians probably will.”

  London’s dark prediction was still ringing in my ears a half hour later as he doused the fire, satisfied that I was warm and sufficiently restored to enable us to set out again. He did not want to wait until morning to journey back to the city, certain that someone would have noticed my absence, whether or not Steldor had been forthcoming.

  We traveled quickly, although it was another two hours before we reached the city, as the route of London’s choosing continued to avoid the main thoroughfare. I again slept off and on, secure in the arms of my rescuer. I woke as London brought his horse down to a walk before the gate that restricted access to the city. The massive barrier, which stood open during the day to provide passage in and out, had been lowered, and Cannan’s standing order was that it not be lifted until sunrise.

  “Halt and identify yourself!” One of the sentries hailed us, hand upon his sword, but then a guard in the tower recognized my companion.

  “London!” he shouted, and immediately the message that the deputy captain was back swept through the soldiers on duty. Upon seeing me, the tower guard followed with an additional exclamation. “Queen Alera!”

  Recovering from his surprise, the man called for the gate to be raised, for despite Cannan’s orders, he would not deny entry to the Queen or to an Elite Guard who was just below the captain in rank. As soon as the barrier was high enough for us to pass underneath, London urged his mount forward into an easy canter, a gait that would normally have been unsafe to employ on such a well-traveled street. The thoroughfare, however, was virtually deserted.