The Court of the Sovereign King

by David Landrum

  At least I would die peacefully, I thought, consoling myself. The building continued to shake. Dust filled my room. It got so bad I pulled a sheet over my mouth and nose to try to filter the debris in the air. That was when everything suddenly went dark.

  Someone had pulled a black hood over my head. I heard men’s voices. Men had come into the convent. I wondered if I would be raped or killed, but several strong arms picked me up and carried me off. I had no idea who had abducted me or where I was being taken.

  I heard the sound of swords hitting against shields and against other swords. I smelled smoke and fire and heard screams, curses, and battle cries. The Ottava had apparently breached the walls and broken into the main compound. The men who had abducted me were running. We turned. I felt cold. No light filtered through the hood they had pulled over my head.

  After a moment, I realized where they were taking me.

  The men carrying me eventually set me on my feet. One of them ripped the hood off. I had been correct in my assumption. I was in the Chamber of Death where the grinding wheel was located. A group of twelve guards surrounded me. I stood directly across from Queen Lisine.

  She looked beautiful but harried. After regarding me for a long moment with eyes full of hatred and contempt, she spoke.

  “The battle is lost. The Ottava have broken through and have all but conquered the palace. Our army is in disarray. The Fire Witch betrayed us.”

  I looked at her. Her face was weary but still proud.

  “I’m sorry, my Queen.”

  “Did you persuade the Fire Witch to join our enemies?”

  I opened my mouth to say that I had not, but then I stopped. After gathering my thoughts, I spoke.

  “I did not do so deliberately. But when she passed through my body and saw my soul, I think she was persuaded that—” I stopped. I was digging my own grave. But what did that matter, since I was sure to die anyway? “I think she was persuaded that the way of peace and love, the things we try to cultivate in our souls as pledged women holy to the truth of our witness, is the preferred way to operate, as opposed to war, violence, and—” I wanted to say treachery but stopped myself. I got the idea she understood what I left unsaid.

  “Your virtue will do you little good here. My cousin is dead. The least I can do is avenge your self-righteous judgment on him. You will pay dearly for your insolence.”

  I tried not to show fear, but her words made me tremble. A leering smile came to the queen’s lips.

  “What a magnificent specimen of womanhood you are, Alethea. I’ve not seen many women more beautiful than you. I will give you to my personal guard to enjoy; then, the grinding wheel. You will have the privilege of being the last soul to die beneath it. A sad end for such a beautiful girl.”

  Everything inside me wanted to cry out, plead for mercy, and beg. I decided I would not give her that satisfaction. Yet despair engulfed me. Evil would win. I would be assaulted, violated, and then die an agonizing death. Lisine would enjoy watching my torture. I would experience my worst nightmare. I could do nothing to stop her. She saw the anguish in my look and smiled broadly.

  “Well, now. You’re afraid. And you should be.” She turned to the chief of her guard. “Marc, you may enjoy her first.”

  He put out his hands and loped forward to seize me. I closed my eyes. Then I heard him scream. Puzzling, I opened my eyes to see what had happened.

  He had somehow burned his hands in attempting to seize me.

  I was wearing what seemed to be a garment made of fire.

  Everyone stared at me. In a burst of light, Suelta appeared.

  She also wore a garment of flame. She looked at the guards. They fled.

  “Are you all right, child?” she asked, turning to me.

  I wanted to cry but managed to hold it back and nod. She turned her terrible gaze to Lisine, made a gesture, and soon she wore a garment like mine.

  “You wear a dress of flame,” Suelta said. “Don’t try to remove it. Your reign as queen is at an end. I am leaving judgment to this young woman. She will decide your fate.”

  Now the tables had turned. I saw the terror in Lisine’s eyes. No reason, I thought, to even frighten her. No reason to take revenge or want to see her harmed. She would be placed in the hands of justice.

  “Have her confined,” I said. “She can be judged for whatever faults may lie on her soul.”

  “I expected you to say that. Lisine, you are fortunate to have such a merciful soul sit in judgment on you.”

  “Slay me. At least give me the dignity of death.”

  “I’ll give you more dignity than you gave this woman, and for that you may thank her.”

  Lisine suddenly raised her hands and clawed at the dress. The moment she touched it, she screamed. I thought her hands would be charred and blistered, but they were not. The pain of the fire rang through her soul, but no damage came from it.

  “You can hurt yourself all you want. Contact with this type of fire will not destroy you—it will only cause you pain.”

  We heard noises. The room filled with soldiers from the army of Ottava.

  Chapter 7

  Things quieted. The Ottava secured the palace. There was no massacre of those who lived and worked there. Soldiers who surrendered were shown mercy and treated humanely. The king died in the fighting. Suelta turned Lisine over to the Ottava as a prisoner. When they had established peace, near the end of the day, I asked to return to the convent.

  “Are you certain you want to go there?” Suelta asked me.

  “I know what probably happened. I just want to see.”

  She walked with me through the corridors of the conquered palace. Our part of the building had not suffered a great deal of damage. Things seemed intact. Now and then a group of soldiers would escort prisoners to holding areas. Workers cleaned up bloodstains here and there. A terrible quiet had settled over the vast, ornate halls that were abuzz with activity prior to this day of battle and conquest. The outer gate of the convent had been knocked off its hinges. The inner gates were shut, but someone had procured a master key and opened the doors.

  All of them were dead—all the women I had lived with a little more than a year and come to love. According to the protocol I had been taught after my consecration, the nuns had undressed, bathed, shaved, and got in bed. The Venerable Mother had come to their rooms and given them a draught of poisoned wine and they had quaffed it obediently. Last of all, she had drunk as well. If someone could have told them the Ottava would respect them and treat them with the honor and circumspection their calling required, would they have not taken their own lives? Probably they would have, I told myself. The Maidens of the Court were a part of the scheme of things in the palace. When the order collapsed, their duty would be clear to them. Suelta touched my shoulder.

  “I am so sorry, child.”

  I nodded. Nothing to say. One of those situations where words are not appropriate. We stood for a while. An officer from Ottava said the sisters would be buried with regard to their calling and with honor. I nodded and told Suelta I was ready to go.

  We returned to her quarters. I met the commander of the army of Ottava. I also met Vanorra, Elizet’s twin sister. They were identical twins, and seeing her, a tall, proud woman, the very image of her sister, strong, beautiful, a virgin and a warrior, I was overcome. Remembrance of Elizet’s shameful treatment and death, of the evil that had eaten the soul out of the kingdom and was so manifested in that moment of brutality, flooded my soul. She understood and embraced me, holding me until I could get some control of myself. She asked me to dine with her that night and I said I would be honored. I returned to Suelta’s chambers, bathed, and went to bed. I woke just before suppertime and went to dine with Vanorra.

  I found a nice gown to wear. It seemed heavy and elaborate after the simple clothing I had worn as a sister. I did wear a head covering,

  Guards and two serving women escorted me to Vanorra's chambe
rs. She wore a beautiful purple garment. We ate quietly. She asked me to describe what I had seen in the Sovereign King’s torture chamber—not to hold back anything. She listened judiciously as I spoke, though I could see the pain in her eyes as I related the story of her sister’s death. When I finished, I felt empty.

  “I cringe that you had to behold such a thing. But now I know. I will take my sister’s place. It is a custom among our people.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I will marry, damn it. That’s something I never wanted to do. As long as she was alive I was permitted to remain in my maidenhood. But our laws say that if a twin dies, it is her sister’s responsibility to assume her soul, and to do so I will have to be wed. Father has already arranged a match for me and he’s very smug about it—always wanted to see me married, and he’s finally going to get what he hoped for. But I will obey. It’s my duty. I’m thirty-two and can still have children, but I need to hurry up. The wedding will be in a few weeks. Got to get pregnant and raise a family, particularly a daughter I can name after my blessed sister so her memory can be perpetuated. And—” she looked at me, “you know Breandan of the clan of Arnoth?”

  My heart skipped.

  “I know him, yes.”

  “It was he who organized the revolt of the conscripts in your army, which greatly aided us in the war. He confided his love for you, confided to me because he knew me as a woman pledged to living a single life I could be trusted to keep his secret. He said the pain in his heart was so great at losing you that he could hardly bear it. I suppose I’m betraying his confidence, but, again, I’m not going to be under pledge for much longer, and I thought you should know how he feels. He still loves you. He wants you for his bride, though he knows you’ve taken vows and been consecrated.”

  “The order is dissolved. I suppose, technically, I’m still under vow.”

  She laughed. “All of that is ridiculous. Vows, pledges, it’s all nonsense. A woman should be able to do what she wants to do.”

  “But you’re marrying even though you don’t want to because of custom.”

  Her face looked solemn. “I feel a deep obligation to Elizet. She embodied virtue. Her soul went to the depths of the earth, her spirit to the farthest sky. I was not worthy to unlace her shoes and wash her feet. I take the obligation because of my love for her. So it is not merely for the sake of custom. It is for love.”

  “I’m sorry I said what I did.”

  “You don’t have to be. And learn from it. Don’t let the past bind you with a false chain. You a free woman now. Behave as a free woman.”

  For the rest of the meal we talked about our past—she about her training as a warrior maiden, I about my year in the convent and the things I loved about being a sister there. We shared a long embrace before I returned to Suelta’s quarters and went to bed.

  In the morning, I met Notos, Suelta’s lover. He was handsome as Suelta was beautiful. They made the perfect divine couple, he with blue skin and long hair worn in ringlets, she in her fair loveliness. Notos exuded such splendor I repeatedly wanted to kneel and worship him, but I did not because I sensed this would have disappointed Suelta, who saw me as a sister and a friend, not a devotee. We dined together. Notos told me about the torrential storm he had sent against the forces of the Sovereign King.

  “By the time the Ottava attacked,” he said, “your people were hardly in any shape to resist. The conscripts, who were soaked, battered, cold and miserable, revolted when their superiors used threats to prod them into battle.”

  We dined. My god and goddess company asked about my family. I realized after a while I had talked about them at length, running my mouth, not considering that they might actually want to talk. I apologized.

  “You show your love for your family and friends. The King of Ottava has informed them you survived the battle and are well. He tells me things are stabilizing quickly in your land. The destruction of war was minimal, most of it was here. The loyalists in the western provinces are negotiating with the rebels. Neither side is being unreasonable. I think they will come to a peaceful compromise. And the new government has promised to restore the abandoned temples dedicated to my name.”

  I could only express my joy at these things.

  That night, I slept. In the morning, my family came for me.

  I’m afraid I was not a paragon of dignity. I cried, wept, and wailed, a blubbering, snotty-nosed, little-child lamentation. But nothing could be more precious than my parents and sister and brothers. I had hardened my emotions and not allowed myself to grieve at being cloistered away from them. Now my grief engulfed me. I gained a little bit of self-control when I saw they thought I was going mad. I was able to talk and to assure them I was all right. They took me to an inn where we rested and talked until after the midday meal. They had brought some of my old clothes. My sisters, Tarafa and Ellyn, helped me change. It was a delight beyond telling to be with them again, especially with Tarafa, who was two years younger than me. I was astonished at how much Tarafa had changed and matured in just over one year. I let them see my shorn hair but still wore my head covering. I would do so until my hair grew back to a proper length.

  We journeyed two days. My anxieties grew. I wondered, after all the violence and evil I had seen, and after my own humiliation and the trauma of almost being violated and murdered, if I had not been damaged in my soul beyond recovery. Could I ever, after what I had seen, joyfully yield my body to a husband, even to Breandan, whom I had always loved? Could I nurture children given the horrors I had known? Darkness filled my heart. Fear tore at my insides. And—since I can be a bit obsessive—I wondered about my vows. I had pledged myself to a life of virginity and service. Had the destruction of the Maidens of the Court really cancelled the vows I had made by heaven and by all that was holy and true?

  I fell into another fit of weeping when I saw my village.

  Things resumed the old patterns quickly, and the old patterns were healing. The familiar rhythms of my home life returned. I saw my old friends. I slept with my sister again. “The bed was so cold without you,” she grumbled humorously. I once more took up the chores I had been assigned before the levy took me. Something as simple as weeding the garden with Mother and Tarafa drove the darkness away.

  Still, the darkness did not leave quickly.

  I had nightmares. Oddly, they were not of the abuse and torture I narrowly escaped. The vision that made me wake in a swirl of terror and despair was of my sisters at the convent lying in peaceful death. The old, the young, Thelka, Anna, Imelda, Zarria, Katarine, all the others. I even remembered Jocasta. I remembered how her disagreeable behavior covered up her bitterness, loneliness, and disappointment at being taken in the levy and put in a convent. All dead. I saw them in my dreams.

  As summer ended and the village busied in anticipation of harvest, Mother gave me the news that Breandan would be returning. She also said she wanted me to spend a few days with Rhea.

  I told her I would. An unmarried girl obeys her mother.

  People considered Rhea the wisest woman in the village. In her early sixties, a widow, she had raised ten children and spent her life serving as an herbalist, nurse, and counselor. Still beautiful as age streaked her hair with grey and lined her face, I could imagine her being as young as me.

  It has always been easy for me to see through people. Many people are shallow, selfish, and pretentious. I could not see through Rhea because her depth seemed infinite. It was like the sea or the sky—or like the realm Suelta had shown me where the gods dwelt. It extended beyond the scope of knowing most women experienced.

  The healing I felt in the time I spent with her did not come through wise counsel, though I did get a lot of wise counsel from Rhea. The healing came mostly through quotidian activities that were a part of living in her home. Dining, cooking, doing household tasks, cleaning. Two young girls, Melanie and Lynette, were living with her, working as servants and learning herbal lore. I slept
with them in a big bed and learned a bit about herbs myself. The easy rhythms of her house calmed me and washed away my pain like a clear, steady stream’s flow washes the weeds and slime from the rocks in its course. I felt healing.

  I don’t want to give the impression that her house resembled a cloister. It was not like the convent. We talked, laughed, drank, celebrated. Her children, grandchildren, and friends visited—not three days went by when she did not have guests. Yet in all of this, quiet and strength lay as the foundation of the life she lived there.

  The night before Breandan returned I sat with her by the hearth. Melanie and Lynette were asleep. We sipped strong drink. The scent of herbs drying by her fireplace filled my senses.

  “What is in your heart, Alethea?” she asked.

  I hesitated then said, “Can I love Breandan after all the ugliness I've seen?”

  “Your willingness to give your body to him mirrors the giving of your soul. The queen and the men who would have done despite to you were not thinking of your soul—well, they were. They were thinking of hurting the sacred part of you we call the soul. They would have done so by doing violence to your body. He will bring you peace. Remember, he needs healing too.”

  That was the moment her wisdom transformed me. I had escaped violence, really. Breandan had seen more of it than I had. For him and for me, violence had left the imprint of memory, but that could be, well, not undone, exactly, but understood and comprehended. I could make that ugliness my own, not a terror but a path to understanding. I nodded. We had more whisky. I did not know what to say to her. She knew I had healed.