Talon the Black

by Melissa Mitchell

  “You don’t even know the half of it,” said Claire.

  “Perhaps I no longer wish to,” she admitted. “The kingdom is in danger?”

  “Good guess. And yes.”

  “I see. Then I suppose your coming here is as important as I predicted. I admit, I thought perhaps I would discover more about you from this visit. And I have. But not as much as I wished to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, to start, I thought you might know why I have visions of you,” she said.

  Claire shook her head. “You’re guess is as good as mine. It’s creepy though, don’t you think?”

  “Creepy…yes, that is perhaps an adequate word for it.”

  Footsteps sounded in the tunnel. Her blood stilled. “Quick, put everything in here. The guards cannot know that I am here.” Together they piled everything into the basket. Then she extinguished her light orb and went to the opposite side of the room so that Eddy would fail to see her. Holding her breath, she waited until his footsteps passed.

  “I must leave you, Claire,” she whispered before lighting the room once more. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I depart?”

  “Well, I doubt you can convince the king to set me free.” Claire failed to hide her dejection. Saffra shook her head, wishing that she could. “Right. I didn’t think so. What about a bath?” she instead asked. “I smell like hell.”

  Saffra felt a smile tug at her lips. “Now that, I can do.”

  Claire was surprised. “Really?”

  She grinned wickedly as she moved away from the woman. Speaking words that would summon up the dirt from the floor, she formed a clay-like bowl in the corner of the little cell. Claire gasped as it took shape. As soon as it hardened, she finished her incant. Then, taking a water skin from the basket, she poured it into the bowl. Alone, it was hardly enough. But she knew the words for multiplying water.

  “Aukae vaten.” The water rose to fill the bowl.

  “I don’t believe it. I was only—I was only joking. I didn’t think…”

  “Your wish is my command, Lady Claire.” She winked at Claire. “But now I must leave you. Do not let the guards see the bowl or the basket.”

  Hugging Claire, she said her goodbyes. “I suppose the next time I shall see you is in the throne room.”

  “I can hardly wait.” Claire did not hide her lack of excitement regarding the trial.

  “You are braver than I could ever be,” she admitted before departing. And it was true. Claire had already displayed great fortitude despite her circumstances.

  At last, she retreated from the room, back through the tunnels, and past the guard room. As she went, she heard Eddy swearing. He’d lost another hand of cards, but remained none the wiser that he had missed her on his rounds. Smiling to herself, she made her way from the dungeons.

  Yes, Claire was the best thing that had come of this situation. What was more, if anyone could stand up to the king, it would be this outsider from another world. And wouldn’t that be something!

  36

  Kastali Dun

  Desaree and Jocelyn found Sarah just after sunset. Together they made their way to a vantage point right outside the keep’s gatehouse. It was an ideal place to watch the start of the procession. Ranks had already formed as everyone assembled to watch Lord Cyrus travel through the city.

  The warm summer air had not yet abated, and those carrying torches added to the heat. As if afraid to disrupt the mood, the sobbing women cried soundlessly. Only hushed whispers could be heard as they floated through the orange glow. The speculation of a thousand onlookers created a sea of undertones that carried itself down the lines of progression where Cyrus would soon be carried.

  Packed tightly in the crowd, Desaree, Jocelyn, and Sarah stood on their tippy-toes to see over the heads of the other watchers. Collectively, it was a throng of ashen gray, illuminated by many orange flames that cast dancing shadows of firelight into the crowd.

  “I have never seen this many gathered,” Jocelyn whispered in awe. It was true. Never had she taken part in a gathering of so many people.

  She turned her gaze to the left where the main assembly was. From the gate, the parade would snake its way through the city until it reached the defensive walls. Outside Kastali Dun was a huge pyre constructed by the cryptons. In keeping with tradition, Cyrus’s body would be burned by the fiery breath of the king himself. This was the way of the Drengr Fairtheoir.

  Musicians had already formed ranks to take the lead. They stood motionless like statues, holding their instruments at the ready. Then, as if cued by Desaree’s gaze, they began. A hauntingly sad tune echoed from the towering walls of the buildings that bordered the street.

  The musicians took up their march, moving the action forward. The people in the crowd cast flowers onto the ground, covering the way for the procession. In that moment, the great sorrow permeating the air burst like a pig’s bladder blown too tight, and the cries of many joined the heart wrenching tunes of the sad music. Grasping Sarah’s hand with her right, and Jocelyn’s with her left, she gave each of them a reassuring squeeze.

  “Here comes the king!” Sarah gasped. Indeed, the king had just come into sight. His tall form, heightened by the rich, gold crown upon his brow, was difficult to miss. “Do not look directly at his face,” Jocelyn warned, her voice hushed. “He will know.” The common rumor was that the king despised any attention brought about by his scarred face. In truth, his reputation was more frightening than the deep lines upon his skin.

  Try as they might, the three women were unable to see much over the heads of everyone else, but Desaree saw the bier lifted by the cryptons who carried it. Cyrus rested atop. An ornately beaded cloth had been draped over him, hiding what lay beneath. Her eyes were drawn to the beauty of the rich beads that shimmered and sparkled. There must have been thousands sewn into place.

  Flanking the bier were the five remaining King’s Shields. The king walked in front, his head bowed in defeat. Like the crowd, these Drengr also wore steel gray—the color of a sad sky—with dragon head sigils embroidered just above their hearts.

  She tried to get a better look at Lord Verath, pushing herself as high as her toes would allow. When she caught sight of him, her heart stilled. His expression was hard and grim. It spoke volumes as to how he felt escorting his fallen comrade. All of the Shield’s faces were that way—etched with grief.

  Just as quickly as they came, they passed. The music died down as the procession continued further into the city. The crowd trailed after, making its way down the street. With them went the sad cries. She wished she could follow. It was unfair that she could not. Unfortunately she and Sarah had evening duties. Begrudgingly, they said their goodbyes to Jocelyn who continued without them, and made their way back into the keep.

  The feast that followed brought many guests into the keep. They ate and drank away their sorrows without respite. Desaree stayed busier than ever. She was charged with assembling and delivering platters of caramelized carrots and leafy greens into the dining hall. This kept her on her feet long into the night. As soon as one dish was fetched and placed before a table of hungry mouths, she was required to retreat for another. By the end of it her body ached, but she continued to serve, as it was her duty.

  Only once that night did she glance up to the head table. She noticed that there was little conversation taking place between the king and his men. She carelessly allowed her gaze to wonder along the table until her stare fell upon Lord Verath. Their eyes met. In an instant, her face was burning. After that, her regard avoided him entirely.

  When at last the feasting came to an end and nearly everyone had retreated from the dining hall, she found herself delivering the final empty platters to the cookery. Relief drove her, for soon she too would be comfortably tucked away within her bed, or so she hoped. Much to her dismay, Tess had other plans. The woman rounded on Desaree with another tray of food. She groaned. “What is it now? Can I not rest for the n
ight?”

  “Not yet dearie. Take this to Lord Verath.” Tess thrust the tray into Desaree’s hands.

  Her stomach began to flutter with unease. “Did he not get his fill at the feast?”

  “Gods child! ‘Tis not for you to question a lord’s command!”

  “But why me?”

  “Because he requested you!” Tess tapped Desaree atop the head with her wooden spoon. “Now get. Go on.”

  Blowing loose strands of hair from her face, she forced herself to move. “Why me?” she groaned aloud, balancing the platter to open the big door leading from the cookery.

  As she left, she realized what a mess she was. Holding the tray forward to look down at herself, she saw food splatters adorning her apron. “Gods above, Desaree!” she cried, hardly caring if any heard her. “You look like you’ve taken a tumble in the pigpens.” Like her attire, her hair was in a fit state of disarray as strands freed themselves from her braided plait.

  “Why must he always see me at my worst?”

  The empty corridors gave her no answer.

  Ever since her first encounter with him, she had avoided Lord Verath. She was too embarrassed to see him again and was plenty happy to admire him from a distance. The last few mornings when he requested breakfast, she traded the duty with the other servants. They were more than happy to exchange duties, and she was more than happy to avoid him. She went out of her way to do so, but now there was no escape.

  With the exception of her footfalls echoing from the stone corridors, a dead silence had fallen over the keep. In their exhaustion, the guests and patrons had finally retired to their beds. She wished she could be curled up in her own, hiding under warm blankets and resting her weary body. Nonetheless, her tired feet made their way to their destination, albeit not without minor protests in the form of aches and pains.

  She stopped outside of Lord Verath’s chambers, knocking more loudly than she ought to. He opened the door immediately and ushered her in.

  “Good evening, Desaree.” His deep voice made her stomach flutter and her face flush.

  “Good evening, my lord.” A click sounded as the door behind her closed. Overcome by shyness, she kept her eyes on the tray and made her way across the room. Why was the table so far from the door?

  “I apologize for keeping you from your rest,” said Lord Verath. “I am well aware of the late hour.” She made no reply so he continued talking. “If you will forgive me for it, I believe the need is dire.”

  It took a significant deal of effort not to snort. Dire? Kiaya’s harvest! He had just eaten. She rolled her downturned eyes and set the tray upon the table.

  “Have you eaten dinner yet?” he asked before she had a chance to place the contents.

  “No, my lord.” Her face flushed anew.

  “Wonderful. I had hoped not. Stay and eat with me.” His request left her utterly shocked. She stole a glance at him. He was studying her intently. “Well? Will you grant my request?”

  Her heart began to race. “Thank you for your invitation, but I am not hungry, my lord. I must respectfully decline.”

  “Nonsense. You have not eaten. You must be hungry.”

  She opened her mouth to argue but no retort followed.

  “Sit. I command it of you.” Taken aback and too afraid to disobey, she immediately sat. As it so happened, she was too shocked to do much else. Her hands clasped together in her lap as she nervously fidgeted with her fingers. She eyed the food upon the tray. His dinner did look spectacular. There was roast goose, mashed potatoes, and leafy greens. They all tempted her unfairly. There was even pie! How long had it been since she had eaten a slice of warm pie? Especially one that looked so tasty. She studied everything hungrily and while she did, Lord Verath continued to watch her, though she pretended not to notice his gaze.

  “Have some of everything,” he said at last, handing her the only plate on the tray. “I insist.”

  As if in a daze, she began filling her plate with little bits from each platter. The fragrant scent of herbs left her stomach growling. At the sound of it, a booming laugh broke the silence. She immediately froze. Utterly embarrassed by her own stomach, she stole another glance at Lord Verath only to find that he was laughing at her!

  “See?” His eyes glittered with mirth. “And you told me you were not hungry. Ha! What say you now?”

  She gave him a shy smile and returned to the food. It came as no surprise that everything was delicious, the roast duck especially. She ate it slowly to savor its fine taste. Once she began eating, it was difficult to remember how weary she was.

  “Is it to your liking?” Lord Verath’s voice pulled her from her food trance. He had taken a seat across from her and from there he watched her.

  “Yes, my lord. It is excellent.”

  “Please, I insist that you call me by my name.”

  “Of course, Lord Verath.” She was immediately shy again.

  “No, what I meant—” He paused to sigh. “Verath will do.”

  “As you wish, my—Verath,” said she, correcting herself mid-sentence. Then she felt her face burn as she realized how silly she sounded.

  Soon it came time for pie. Although she was already stuffed, her mouth watered in anticipation. She eagerly scooted her emptied plate away and grabbed the small platter, greedily setting it in front of her. Verath showed no interest in the pie, and why should he? He had had plenty of pie at the feast. What Verath did notice however, was her. Her eagerness left him grinning, but she no longer cared that he found her behavior amusing. Perhaps his entire reason for inviting her here was to entertain himself. At least the meeting paid her well, regardless of the embarrassment it brought.

  With the first bite, her eyes closed in enjoyment. Instead of fretting over his stare, she focused on the savory taste of the berries doused in glaze filling, which was ever so good, and the crust with its flaky, buttery texture. It was every bit as scrumptious as she imagined.

  “I see your bruise is much improved.” Lord Verath broke the silence. She quit her chewing and opened her eyes to find his gaze. “I did not appreciate your refusal when I last asked who was responsible. You ought to have told me.” Her body tensed and she was immediately on guard, which he must have perceived. “Come now. You need not fear me. It merely makes me angry to see such mistreatment, especially towards you.”

  “Thank you for your concern, my lord. The bruise is healing well enough. But I truly have no desire to discuss it.” She regretted her words at once. They were too bold.

  He did not reproach her for it, but he did pick up a demanding tone of voice when he said, “I could make you tell me, Desaree. I could command it of you.”

  This left her uneasy, for he could if he really wanted to. “I would prefer that you do not.” She was nearly squirming in her seat. “I cannot risk her finding out.”

  “Her?” Verath’s head tilted to the side. “It is a woman and not your lover?”

  She blinked several times. “My—my what?”

  “Your lover.”

  “I—I do not have a lover.” Her nervous stammer embarrassed her.

  Verath’s eyebrows rose slightly. “I see. And you are afraid that if you tell me, this woman will find out?”

  She nodded, but otherwise remained silent.

  “What if I can promise you otherwise? Would you tell me?”

  She considered his offer. If Lady Caterina did not suspect her, then perhaps it would be fine. Yet her misgivings lingered. “You promise she will not find out?”

  “I promise. You have my word.” He laid a hand over his heart as a sincere gesture. Every King’s Shield was honorable. They never lied. They never cheated. Such wicked things were against their code.

  She paused, thinking about her answer. She decided that she could trust him. “Since you promise, then I will tell you.” Hesitating for the span of several breaths, she silently reassured herself that all would be well. Then she told him exactly what had happened.

  “Lady Cateri
na?” His brow furrowed for a fraction of a heartbeat, then he quickly hid any evidence of surprise.

  “Yes. Lady Caterina.” She fidgeted in her chair.

  “I should have known. She is certainly an evil woman, is she not?”

  Her eyes widened. “What did she do to you to make you dislike her so?” The words tumbled out before she could stop them.

  Verath merely chuckled. “She has done nothing to me, thank the gods! It is what she does to the king.”

  A tiny gasp escaped her lips. This was a delicate subject indeed. She had not intended to drag the king into the matter. Now she was especially intrigued.

  “Can you keep a secret?” Verath asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. She nodded, for she successfully kept many secrets.

  “Lady Caterina has been after King Talon for years. He despises her, but that does not hinder her. She makes it painfully obvious that she wishes to be queen. Being the petty woman that she is, she is not interested in his...handsome face.”

  Desaree burst into fits of uncontrolled laughter. For the first time since entering Verath’s presence, she felt all her nerves melt away. “This does not surprise me,” she cried. It was hard to talk through her gasping. “Now that you mention it, I recall that Lady Caterina spoke of her desire to be queen the day she struck me.”

  “Did she?”

  “Yes, she claimed that she would soon be queen.”

  Lord Verath roared with laughter. They were both in fits. “Caterina is sadly delusional,” Verath said at last. “The king has given no answer, nor do I think that he will.”

  “That is a blessing indeed.”

  “It is good to see you laugh,” said Verath.

  Once more, her face began burning and her awareness of his attention resurfaced. She became immediately serious. “The king understands her motives I hope? She is beautiful to be sure, but her show of charm is false.”

  “Aye, he sees through her.”

  “Few have the ability to see Caterina’s true self. She has a way with acting.”