Heart of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

  Dash gasped in mock-horror. ‘She may be a nasty cook, but she’s still a lady – can’t be using axes on them. It’s not very knightly.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Olena bit into her biscuit, the dough crumbling down her front. She paid the mess no heed.

  ‘So why don’t we have lessons today?’ Dash asked.

  Olena nibbled on her biscuit for a moment before replying. ‘Jaxon’s governess was ill today, so Mrs Milner is teaching him.’

  ‘Why don’t we just do lessons all together?’

  ‘A prince learns different things.’

  ‘We learn the same things! He said so himself – histories, sigils, territories …’

  ‘You’re lucky to be learning at all, boy,’ said the younger of the princess’s guards. ‘Let alone sharing royal lessons with Her Highness.’

  ‘I know.’ Dash rolled his eyes. He was tired of learning about the four continents. He always got the capitals wrong and Mrs Milner would make him recite them over and over, until they were even more muddled in his head.

  ‘I’m lucky to have Dash in my lessons, Thomas,’ Olena said, her eyes staring ahead.

  ‘Of course, Highness.’

  Dash saw Thomas’ jaw clench, as it always did when the princess shared her views. The guard’s frustration was obvious to those around who had the gift of sight. Beside Dash, Olena shook her head, ever so slightly. Olena didn’t need her sight to know that Thomas was a disrespectful fool.

  ‘Education should be afforded to everyone,’ she continued, ‘no matter what their social standing.’

  ‘That’s a nice sentiment, Princess, I meant no offence. Only that a stable master’s son is privileged to have access to the royal tutors.’

  ‘As you are lucky to be in the royal guard,’ Olena said simply.

  Thomas opened and closed his mouth, before opting to remain silent. It was rare that Olena used her sharp tongue, but when she did, her opponent was usually left nursing wounded pride. Dash knew she’d have made a fine queen someday had Jaxon not been first in line. Olena turned back to him.

  ‘Did you like yesterday’s lessons?’ she asked.

  Dash nodded. ‘Do you think the East Sea really turned red with blood?’

  ‘Maybe, if there was as much death as Mrs Milner said.’

  ‘Learning about the treaty of Moredon Tower, are you?’ asked Jonathan, the older guard.

  Dash nodded. ‘Do you know it?’

  ‘Everyone knows it. The war to end all wars. Her highness’s ancestors were the ones that put a stop to it all and built that tower to unite the four continents. It’s a symbol of peace,’ the guard said.

  ‘I don’t need the same lesson again today,’ Olena said, but she smiled in Jonathan’s direction.

  ‘What do you want to do, then?’ asked Dash.

  Although Dash knew she couldn’t see it, Olena turned towards the maze.

  ‘I’d like to go in there.’

  The maze, it seemed, called to everyone. Dash had described it to Olena countless times. They’d even had hushed conversations about sneaking off and attempting it together. Olena had insisted that her other senses were more than capable of getting them back in one piece. But now, the guards looked panic-stricken.

  ‘Your Highness, we’re under strict orders from your father – you, and your companions,’ Jonathan said, with a pointed look at Dash, ‘are not to go in there.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ she muttered.

  Dash felt a stab of pity for Olena. Her royal status put more restrictions on her than her blindness.

  ‘Shall we go down to Heathton Falls, then?’ Dash asked, suddenly longing to hear the sound of the crashing water.

  ‘Sorry, stableboy, her highness is not to go beyond the gatehouse today.’

  Olena sighed. ‘You go, Dash. I’ll just sit here, like the statue I’m meant to be.’

  ‘No,’ he said. He hated leaving Olena behind. Whenever he did, she would end up with a bunch of stuffy noblemen’s daughters who spoke to her as though she were two years old.

  They stayed in the gardens a while longer. Dash watched as the princess absentmindedly pulled little flowers from the soil and knotted them together in a floral string. Nearby, he could hear the clang of steel upon steel, and he knew that the squires were in the courtyard for training.

  I wish I could join them, he thought. There was a loud shout of laughter and the sound of a sword clattering to the cobblestones – someone had been bested.

  ‘Shall we go and observe?’ Olena asked him, knowing full well where his attention had been. ‘Obviously by “we” I mean you. I’ll keep you company.’ She was already on her feet, arm poised for Dash to loop his own through it. With her skirts swishing about her ankles, Olena let him lead her back through the gardens to the courtyard, where the young squires were parrying and blocking with blunted blades. The boys paused at the arrival of the princess and bowed, but she simply waved her hand.

  ‘Carry on,’ she said.

  And they did. Dash watched in awe, his fingers itching to hold a sword, his feet tapping to the rhythm of the swordplay dance. He longed to be a squire with every fibre of his being. But he was a stableboy, nothing more.

  ‘Did you know that Sir Caleb Swinton and Lady Yuliana will be coming to the castle in a week’s time?’ Olena said over the clashing of swords.

  ‘Really?’ Dash knew Olena didn’t have much interest in the retired knight, but whenever she heard news she would always relay it to him.

  ‘Yes. There’s a feast and ball to honour the anniversary of his knighthood.’

  ‘You mean I might get to see him?’ Dash turned to face her fully, the parrying squires suddenly forgotten.

  ‘You might.’

  ‘Can you imagine?’

  ‘Well, I’ve never technically seen him, but I’ve met him. He sounds old,’ Olena said.

  ‘He is old! The invasion was forty years ago!’ Pa and Olena had told him the tale a million times, at his request of course. Sir Caleb had been the Commander of the King’s Guard when mist dwellers had attacked Heathton. There had been a bloody battle outside the castle gatehouse. Young King Arden had been there, fighting alongside his men, when one of the mist dwellers had cornered him. According to the tale, mist had swept in all around the men, and no one could see what was happening – they could only hear the king’s screams. But the young commander had charged in, his two battleaxes swinging – he’d cut the mist dweller in half, saving the king. The king had knighted him after that, and changed the royal sigil in his honour – to two crossed axes in a crown of fire.

  Dash looked to the princess’s guards. ‘Were you there?’

  ‘Do I look sixty years old to you, boy?’ said Thomas, his face a mask of incredulousness.

  Jonathan laughed and slapped his companion on the back. ‘Ease up there, Thomas, it’s an easy mistake with a face like that.’

  ‘Shut it, Jon,’ Thomas growled.

  But Jonathan turned to Dash and the princess. ‘My father was there. He told me once that they thought they were done for – they were surrounded by the creatures from the mist. They couldn’t see, they couldn’t breathe, and their swords felt heavier. That’s when Sir Caleb charged. My father said he didn’t just save the king that day, he saved them all. He saved Heathton. Maybe even the whole realm.’

  Dash’s eyes were wide as he looked at Olena. ‘You never told me that!’

  He wondered what it would be like to have a knight for a father instead of a stable master. Often at royal feasts and balls, Dash had to help his pa attend the horses of the noblemen and their young sons. Most were respectful to his father – he had held his position for many decades now, and had an esteemed reputation throughout the realm. But Dash didn’t fail to notice the occasional snide remark, or worse, a command. He didn’t fail to notice that no matter how polite a nobleman was to his father, he was a mere second in their day. Someone to be greeted, if at all, and forgotten.

  Olena was lifting
her face to the sky – and Dash felt the first few drops of rain hit the crown of his head.

  ‘I knew I could smell rain,’ she said, eyes closed.

  ‘Your Highness,’ Thomas said, ‘we should get you inside before the downpour.’

  ‘I like the rain.’

  ‘Yes, but the king and queen won’t be happy if you catch a chill.’

  Olena sighed. ‘Of course.’

  The squires were packing up their equipment as it began to rain heavily. Olena elbowed Dash in the ribs, bunched up her layered skirts in her fists and broke into a run towards the castle. Dash burst out laughing and sprinted after her, gripping her hand in his when he caught up.

  ‘Your Highness! Don’t run!’ Jonathan pleaded, jogging after them.

  Dash was too quick for him, even as he pulled Olena along. Together they ran up the steps, into the entrance hall, and into the south gallery. Dash knew Olena loved to run too – but the guards would hardly let her. They were afraid she’d fall and that they’d get the blame for her scraped knees. Ladies, especially princesses, couldn’t have scraped knees, Pa had told Dash. The grin was so wide on Olena’s face that Dash didn’t care about the talking-to he’d get after. Why shouldn’t the princess have fun like all the other children? Her lack of sight made her no less able-bodied than the rest of them. They ran past the main gallery, hurtled through a group of courtiers in frills and fancy coats, and barrelled right into Commander Swinton.

  A calm rage settled across the commander’s sharp face as he bowed low to Olena. ‘Your Highness,’ he said.

  ‘Commander,’ she greeted him, trying to swipe the silly grin off her face.

  Dash’s heart nearly stopped. Commander Swinton – the son of Sir Caleb – was glaring daggers at him. His hair hung loose around his face, but it didn’t hide the patchwork of yellow-and-purple bruising over one of his pointy cheekbones.

  ‘May I escort you somewhere, Your Highness?’ the commander asked Olena.

  ‘No thank you, Commander. I can find my way,’ she said, laughter still tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  ‘Bye, Dash.’ She patted his arm before floating off slowly in the direction of the music room.

  Her guards caught up, panting behind Dash, but upon spotting the commander, they straightened themselves and steadied their breathing.

  ‘Commander Swinton,’ Jonathan said, bowing his head.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be with your charge?’ The commander’s nostrils flared.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The guards made a show of leaving, heading towards the great hall.

  ‘The music room,’ the commander called out, irritated.

  ‘Right, sir. Thank you, sir.’

  They ran off in the opposite direction, and the commander sighed.

  ‘I’m not a sir,’ he muttered, and then froze, pursing his lips as he realised Dash still stood before him.

  ‘You,’ he snapped. ‘The princess is not some lowly farm girl. She could get hurt running around like that. Stay out of the way.’

  And with that, the commander strode towards the great hall, leaving Dash gaping in awe at the axes that gleamed across his back, and the silver hilt of the longsword at his hip.

  Chapter 8

  Dimitri Swinton wished the stable master, Carlington, would keep his son under control. The boy was running amok around the castle again, and more and more frequently, the princess was getting caught up in his antics. It wasn’t appropriate. Swinton was already having a bad day – a bad week, in fact. And now he had to give King Arden the news. That he’d not only lost the orphan girl to the Valians, but that they’d also left his men in tatters.

  The great hall was empty and dark thanks to the grey skies outside. Usually during the day, the hall was bright, with over twenty massive arched windows allowing the sunlight to beam across the decadent table settings and the jewelled thrones on the dais. But today it was dim, the clouds casting long shadows across the room. Swinton nodded to the two guards at the heavy doors to the throne room, and bowing their heads, they stepped aside, allowing him through. Inside, the servants had lit hundreds of candles, so the room was bright and uncomfortably warm. Swinton resisted the urge to roll up his sleeves and undo the first few laces at the front of his shirt. King Arden spotted him from where he sat on his throne, chatting to the queen on the dais, the platform and its contents even more opulent than those in the great hall.

  ‘Commander,’ the king said with a smile, ‘come, come forward.’

  Swinton strode down the centre of the room and knelt before King Arden and Queen Vera. Arden was an impressive-looking man. Even sitting down he loomed over people. His build was that of a fighter, but though he’d once been a renowned swordsman, he now had the relaxed posture that came with decades of wealth and peace. He hadn’t worn his sword in years; instead, he wore a jewelled dagger at his hip. He rested his hand on its hilt.

  ‘Rise,’ said King Arden, ‘and tell me – what in the realm happened out there?’

  The king didn’t sound angry, but that was one of the things Swinton hated most about working closely with him – no one ever knew what the king was thinking, until it was too late. Several years ago, the previous commander had been involved in a scandal concerning a nobleman’s wife and a brothel. At the time, the king had seemed calm, understanding even, much to the then commander’s relief. It wasn’t until some days later that the commander had been reprimanded, and publicly so. He now dwelled in the slums of the capital, doing anything he could to get his hands on opium and foreign wildflower. Swinton feared a day when he might be on the receiving end of that. Silently, he prayed to the goddess Yacinda that it wouldn’t be today.

  ‘Getting the girl was simple enough, Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘She had no solid connections to Angove – not since the old fisherman died. But when we reached the summit of the ranges the Valia kindred found us.’

  ‘The Valians were all the way over that side of the crossing?’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Five.’

  ‘And you had ten men with you?’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  ‘You’re telling me that five women outfought my commander’s hand-selected troops?’

  ‘These were Valians, Majesty, not simple women.’ Swinton didn’t press the fact that Lennox had been the king’s choice, not his.

  The king nodded, and next to him, the queen looked elsewhere and rearranged her skirts.

  ‘Details,’ the king commanded.

  ‘One of the men, Siv Lennox, was harassing the prisoner.’

  ‘To what extent?’

  Swinton glanced at the queen, not wanting to offend her.

  ‘His intentions were not honourable, Your Majesty.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘When we had retired for the night, he lay hands on her, and that’s when the kindred showed up. I think they may have been watching us for longer than I’d care to admit.’

  ‘Why didn’t your scouts notice?’

  ‘The Valia have other means of travelling through the ranges and forest, sire.’

  The king nodded again. ‘Yes, I’ve heard those stories, too, Commander. Which of the kindred? Anyone we’ve dealt with before?’

  Swinton swallowed. ‘It was what they call the Queen’s Guard, sire.’ Swinton bowed his head in apology to Queen Vera. She smiled grimly.

  ‘Queen’s Guard. There is no queen in Ellest but for the one who sits before you now,’ the king said.

  ‘Of course, sire. I was merely relaying their terminology to you. Of their matriarch guard, there was Athene, first-in-command, Tilly, Marvel and Petra. The usual suspects; we’ve dealt with them before.’ Swinton took a deep breath. ‘And Henri Valia.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Henri Valia, Your Majesty, she was there.’

  ‘Tell me, Commander. What is the Matriarch of Valia Forest doing attacking the king’s men carrying out a royal summons?’ The king gripped the a
rms of his throne.

  ‘I’m not sure why they were there, sire. Though I do know they have different notions about what constitutes their territory. I believe they attacked due to Lennox’s actions. To lay hands on a woman in what they deem their territory is a direct insult to the kindred and their ancestors.’

  ‘The Hawthorne Ranges and Felder’s Bay are not Valian territory.’

  ‘No, sire.’

  ‘And they interfered with your task regardless of the fact that they were on my land, attacking my men, and – where is the prisoner now?’

  ‘They have her, sire.’

  The king rested his head in his hand for a moment. ‘Commander,’ he said, ‘this was supposed to be a simple mission – retrieve a commoner, a girl, from Angove. What other damages besides losing a prisoner of mine?’

  Swinton took the verbal blow silently. He had let the king down; he’d failed to do his duty. The king could easily, and perhaps should, strip him of his title for this.

  ‘Siv Lennox lost an eye, several of the other men have minor injuries – cracked ribs and the like – but no deaths. The Valians were careful about that.’

  ‘Though they could have killed you, easily, by the sounds of it?’ The king scanned Swinton’s own bruised face.

  The commander hesitated, before answering honestly, ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  ‘And Lennox’s eye?’

  ‘We were lucky we had Fiore Murphadias with us, Majesty. His grandmother was a healer in Battalon. He knew what herbs to pack the wound with. Lennox is in a lot of pain, but the wound hasn’t festered. We think he’ll live.’

  The king nodded. ‘I suppose his injury will be punishment enough for his careless actions. Though he will receive no pension.’

  ‘I’ll see to it, sire.’

  The king pressed his fingers to his temples. ‘And what of your private mission, Commander? Did you release the contents of the jars you were given?’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty. All but three. After we lost the girl, I thought it prudent to return to you as soon as possible.’

  ‘Good. At least you made the right decision in that respect. Have you marked the coordinates you missed on the map?’