by Cayla Kluver
I went to my quarters and ate, then prepared for bed. Too tired to sit in the parlor and try to read, I crawled under my covers, leaving a lantern burning in the hope that Narian would come. At some point, I dozed off, only to rouse with my head upon his chest and his arms around me. I peered up at him and he gently kissed me.
“Shhh,” he murmured. “Go back to sleep.”
I yawned, then reached up to touch his sun-streaked hair. “Tell me about your day.”
“As you wish,” he said, turning onto his side to look at me. “I’ve directed my officers to prepare for our move to the Bastion, but I still need to decide on an appropriate location for us. I was thinking of the strategy room—it’s convenient to both your study and Cannan’s office, and large enough to be partitioned into a private office for me, with plenty of space left for my staff.”
“That’s a good idea. It would be nice to have you close by, and you wouldn’t be displacing anyone.”
“As for Rava, I think it would be best to give her the office that was formerly used by the Sergeant at Arms. It currently stands empty.”
I stiffened at the mention of Narian’s second-in-command, a sharp, bronze-haired woman who was but six or seven years older than were we. I had taken an instant dislike to her, based primarily on her overbearing attitude, for I knew little else about her. Sensing my change in temperament, Narian gave a soft laugh.
“She has to make the move, Alera, but I prefer a little distance between the two of us.”
I nodded and we went on to discuss the events of my day. When I yawned for the third time in less than a minute, he brought his lips to mine in a kiss that lingered an especially long time, revealing a desire within that my body reciprocated, and I was glad he was lying on top of the bed coverings rather than beneath them with me. I knew not how hot our passion would flare, or if I would have the strength to resist him. As it was, I simply tucked myself into his embrace, and he held me, accepting though he might not understand.
* * *
It was too much to have hoped that my impromptu speech would have settled affairs in the province. With a society in turmoil, a confused and railing populace and an overwhelming hunger for relief in any form, what happened the following week was in principle inevitable, and in reality the worst I could have imagined.
My morning schedule saw me first in Cannan’s office, conferring with my advisor, but our meeting was interrupted within minutes by Narian, who entered without knocking and whose eyes were colder than I had seen them in a long time.
“I thought you intended to control them,” he stated, walking toward the captain’s desk and standing directly beside the chair in which I sat.
He slammed a lengthy piece of parchment down on the wood surface, an unusual amount of tension in his movements. I glanced toward the open door and caught sight of Rava. She stood with one hand resting against the frame, her calculating eyes evaluating the scene while she awaited orders.
Cannan’s gaze went to the parchment, but he did not reach for it, scanning its contents from a distance. Then he looked at Narian, unruffled.
“I can think of a dozen or more men capable of this.”
“But you know who is responsible.”
Cannan sat back, assessing his opposition. “I don’t know with certainty any more than you do. In the absence of definitive proof of guilt on behalf of my son and his friends, I suggest you and your fellows develop a sense of humor.” Then the captain’s tone changed, becoming more forbidding. “I can prevent an uprising, Narian. This, you’ll have to get used to.”
Not wanting to be in the dark, I snatched up the parchment in question. My mouth opened in shock and dismay as I silently read its contents, the men waiting for me to finish.
On this Thirtieth Day of May in the First Year of Cokyrian dominance over the Province of Hytanica, the following regulations shall be put into practice in order to assist our gracious Grand Provost in her effort to welcome Cokyri into our lands—and to help ensure the enemy does not bungle the first victory it has managed in over a century.
Regulation One. All Hytanican citizens must be willing to provide aid to aimlessly wandering Cokyrian soldiers who cannot on their honor grasp that the road leading back to the city is the very same road that led them away.
Regulation Two. It is strongly recommended that farmers hide their livestock, lest the men of our host empire become confused and attempt to mate with them.
Regulation Three. As per negotiated arrangements, crops grown on Hytanican soil will be divided with fifty percent belonging to Cokyri, and seventy-five percent remaining with the citizens of the province; Hytanicans will be bound by law to wait patiently while the Cokyrians attempt to sort the baffling deficiency in their calculations.
Regulation Four. The Cokyrian envoys assigned to manage the planting and farming effort will also require Hytanican patience while they slowly but surely learn what is a crop and what is a weed, as well as left from right.
Regulation Five. Though the Province Wall is a Cokyrian endeavor, it would be polite and understanding of Hytanicans to remind the enemy of the correct side on which to be standing when the final stone is laid, so no unfortunates may find themselves trapped outside with no way in.
Regulation Six. When at long last foreign trade is allowed to resume, Hytanicans should strive to empathize with the reluctance of neighboring kingdoms to enter our lands, for Cokyri’s stench is sure to deter even the migrating birds.
Regulation Seven. For what little trade and business we do manage in spite of the odor, the imposed ten percent tax may be paid in coins, sweets or shiny objects.
Regulation Eight. It is regrettably prohibited for Hytanicans to throw jeers at Cokyrian soldiers, for fear that any man harried may cry, and the women may spit.
Regulation Nine. In case of an encounter with Cokyrian dignitaries, the boy-invader and the honorable High Priestess included, let it be known that the proper way in which to greet them is with an ass-backward bow.
My hands were trembling out of anger and distress by the time I reached the end. When I finally raised my eyes to his, Narian answered my unspoken question.
“These have replaced the High Priestess’s laws everywhere they were posted.”
He turned from me to address Cannan. “The regulations as they were intended still stand, and will be enforced whether or not the people are aware of them. Inform any who might have had a hand in mocking the High Priestess’s rules that their game is putting their countrymen at greater risk.”
Cannan remained silent in face of the order, and Narian did not wait for a reply. With a quick, respectful nod toward me, he departed, Rava at his heels, and the office door closed resoundingly behind them.
I stared at the parchment I still held, unable to keep it from shaking, and my vision blurred. It was foolish to be hurt, for this blow was not aimed at me, but yet the insolence of the document stung.
“Steldor and Galen did this?” I demanded.
“So it would seem.”
“Why?” My throat and jaw were tight. “Why would they do this, undermine my authority? They’ve taken what I’m trying to do and ground it underfoot. The Cokyrians will be furious. They’ll bear down harder than ever.” I whisked the moisture from my eyes, taking deep breaths to calm myself. “How can they think this will help?”
Cannan sighed and leaned forward, assuming a more fatherly posture.
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“They’re allowing the people to dissent. They’re showing that we can still laugh and, most of all, that we haven’t been forgotten. I don’t approve of the method, either, Alera, but what they’ve done may not be all bad.”
I forced myself to nod, struggling to control my raging emotions. The hard work had scarcely begun, I knew that, but to see what I had accomplished tampered with and ridiculed was painful, even with Cannan’s assurance that it could be taken in a positive light. Then London’s words about being neither too cooperative nor too defiant returned to me. Perhaps this was what my bodyguard had meant—opposition, but on an isolated scale.
“You’re right,” I finally said. “This might not be all bad, provided it doesn’t escalate.”
“I agree. I will, however, talk with them.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, and he rose to see me to the door. As I crossed the Hearing Hall toward my study, I debated whether I should be the one to talk to Steldor, all the time knowing he would probably deny any involvement if I broached the topic. No, he was far more likely to listen to his father. When had he ever been open to listening to me on matters affecting the kingdom?
* * *
It was a mere day after the disturbance caused by the revised rules that Narian made the move to the Bastion, claiming it as his new center of operations. The chain of command that began with him and Rava was completed by six others, all but one of whom was female. Narian took over what had been the strategy room, while Rava laid ownership to Galen’s old office, which was separated from Cannan’s only by the antechamber on the south side of the Hearing Hall.
Tension was to be expected, but was not excessive over the next few weeks—with Steldor and Galen out in the city, all in my inner circle wanted things to go smoothly. Of course, some wary and unpleasant glances were thrown by both Hytanicans and Cokyrians, but everyone for the most part coexisted peacefully.
Rava, despite her competence and practicality, was the only one who worried me. To have been chosen as Narian’s second, she had to be among the High Priestess’s elite, and it showed in her lofty attitude toward my people, even the ones who worked alongside me. The women she found deplorable and weak, with their dresses and subservient manners; the men she found inferior for their entitled attitudes and Hytanican blood.
Her potential to create a problem became apparent when a middle-age maid accidentally brushed against Cannan as she hurried through the Grand Entry Hall toward the service areas of the Bastion.
“Oh, excuse me, Captain!” she exclaimed.
Rava, who had been consulting with me and the former Hytanican military leader, extended a hand faster than my eyes could follow, snatching the maid’s arm and yanking her around with such astonishing strength that she nearly dropped the oddly shaped bundle she was carrying. While Rava’s pale blue eyes scrutinized her captive’s fleshy face, the maid’s expression escalated from alarm to panic, and I shifted uncomfortably, uncertain what the woman’s transgression had been. Having reduced the servant to the status of a frightened rabbit, Rava shifted her gaze to Cannan.
“He is no captain,” she spat, still addressing the woman, but the disgust in her voice meant for the object of her contempt. “Not anymore.”
Cannan did not react, other than to meet Rava’s eyes with an equally intense glare of his own, and the maid looked uncertainly between the two of them, shifting as Rava’s grip bruised her forearm. Only I, standing at his side, saw Cannan’s jaw clench before he redirected his attention to the poor woman.
“She’s right,” he said, succinct and gruff.
“Of course, sir,” the maid replied in a quaky whisper, adding with a glance at Rava, “Ma’am, sir, Commander.”
Rava thrust her away, finding her of no further interest now that she had made her point, and the woman hastened away, clutching her package as though it were her life. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Narian at the foot of the Grand Staircase, one hand on the hilt of his light, thin-bladed Cokyrian sword and the other on the railing, watching his second-in-command with a detached but clearly displeased countenance.
* * *
In order to give my family—my parents, Miranna and Temerson—privacy on the third floor, Narian had decided upon my old second-floor quarters for his residence. There was the added benefit to this arrangement of less ground to cover in sneaking through the corridors to reach my rooms, although he continued to regularly use my window for an entrance. Long ago, he had discovered how to climb over the palace roof to visit me, and I could only assume this remained his habit. I didn’t complain, knowing that the method reduced our risk of being caught.
We were sitting upon my bed, facing each other, when I voiced my fears about the altercation in the Grand Entry.
“I can’t control whether Rava shows respect to my people or not, but the approach she demonstrated today is bound to stir up resentment, and we have enough of that already. And I can’t help but worry that she might pose a bigger problem for us, for what we’re trying to do, than we realize.”
Narian pondered my words, the fingers of his right hand rubbing the wrist that had been broken by the Overlord during the fight over my life. The warlord’s training had instilled in Narian such control that he had no noticeable mannerisms, nor did he fidget, and this simple, inattentive action told me his level of comfort with me equaled mine with him.
“Rava?” he said, weighing the possibility. “She’s no diplomat, I’ll grant you that. But she wants what the High Priestess wants. I think she knows her bounds and won’t cross them. In any case, she’s under my orders—I can control her if need be.”
“And are you so sure of what the High Priestess wants?”
“Until Hytanica attacked Cokyri a century ago and started the war, what Cokyri wanted was crops and knowledge about irrigation and soil. And we were willing to trade to acquire those things.”
I bristled at the way he characterized the beginning of the war. In reality, Hytanica’s Crown Prince had been sent to negotiate the treaty to which Narian had alluded, and Cokyri had executed him over some insult he had paid their ruler. Nonetheless, I held my tongue, not wanting to divert our discussion.
“Over time, winning the war became a matter of pride, for Cokyri does not back down. But now that is over, and from the High Priestess’s point of view, Hytanica has been put in its place. Her focus is once more on our need for crops and knowledge, and she sees little else to gain from this land—we are a mountain people, not valley dwellers, and ours is a wealthy empire in its own right.
“Unlike the Overlord, the High Priestess will obtain what Cokyri needs in the most efficient manner possible, shedding as little Cokyrian blood as possible. If she can walk over your people, she will. If not, she will abide the Hytanican way of life up to the point where it disrupts her goals. All Cokyrians stationed here know this, including Rava. And they know that the High Priestess is not forgiving when someone under her command steps out of line. Rava will not disobey.”
“London said something to the same effect the other day—that the High Priestess won’t interfere in our way of life, provided we are neither too compliant nor too disorderly.”
“London?” Narian’s eyes narrowed, and I tried not to take offense over the misgivings he continued to harbor about my bodyguard. “Sometimes I think he knows too much about the Cokyrian way of life.”
“We happened to be talking about my role as Grand Provost.”
“I suggest that you take w
hat London says with skepticism. He may have his own agenda.”
“That may be true of all of us. Still, I asked for London’s opinion and he gave it. He’s not pushing me in any particular direction. I trust him, Narian, whether you do or not.”
He nodded, but did not address the issue further. Knowing he considered the matter settled, I changed the subject.
“Does it bother you?”
“Hmm?”
I motioned to his hands. “Your wrist. You haven’t left it alone. It’s the one that was broken, isn’t it?”
He ceased rubbing, dropping his right hand to his leg and flexing the other to prove his coming point.
“No, it doesn’t bother me. It’s just…a habit, I guess.”
An amused smile lit my face at the measure of surprise in his voice. The only habits he’d developed under the Overlord’s control were his need to be armed or, at the very least, not far from his weapons at all times, and to scan every room he entered for exits and enemies. Even if it were just around me, seeing him break free of some aspect of that monster’s tyranny was gratifying, and I leaned forward to kiss him full on the mouth. His response was ardent, eager and we lay down together, having no further use for conversation.
CHAPTER FOUR:
BACK TO LIFE
SHASELLE
The scream echoed throughout the house and, I speculated, well into the street.
“Celdrid!” my mother cried, struggling with my irate brother.
I hastened into the entryway, pushing my hair, which was still damp from my bath, out of my face. I stopped with a hand on the banister of the staircase to listen.
“No! I don’t want to wear that silly doublet!”