by Cayla Kluver
“How is the work on the Bastion coming?” I asked my father after the meal had been served.
“It is difficult, but we’re making steady progress.”
He glanced at Temerson, who was also working with the Cokyrians on the rebuilding project, and I had the impression he was seeking assistance.
“The Cokyrian officers are very knowledgeable, but their approaches are, at times, different from ours,” Temerson supplied, the confidence in his voice belying the shy young man he had been. “We would like to restore the structure to its original grandeur—they’re more interested in it being functional.”
“I could talk to Narian about the project,” I volunteered, seeing the opportunity to put in a good word for the man I loved. “I’m certain he would support what you want to do.”
“No,” my father sharply responded. “It’s important that we deal with the Cokyrians on our own.”
I nodded, a bit confused by his reaction. Was he uncomfortable with the topic? Or was his reaction due to the mention of Narian?
“What King Adrik means is that we can’t rely on Narian if we hope to earn the respect of the officers with whom we work,” Temerson clarified.
I nodded, for his explanation seemed plausible; and yet there was an undercurrent of tension that suggested they weren’t telling me everything.
“And how are you handling the stress of your new position?” my ever-elegant mother asked, filling the strained silence that had fallen.
“It’s a challenge, but I have Cannan to guide me, and Narian is quite willing to listen to my ideas.” Despite a stiffening of backs, I persisted. “He wants to see our kingdom joined with his country in as peaceful a manner as possible.”
My mention of Narian resulted in another momentary shutdown of conversation, then my mother finished her thought.
“Just be sure to take care of yourself. You look tired, and the mantle of leadership is a heavy one.”
Another discomfited pause ensued, for she had highlighted a further change my people were being asked to accept—unlike in Cokyri, women had not been permitted to rule in an independent Hytanica. But responsibility wasn’t weighing me down; expectation was tearing me apart. In order to retain my position as Grand Provost, I had to prove worthy of the High Priestess’s confidence; at the same time, I had to establish credibility with my people as a ruler. I could not afford to disappoint either side; yet I did not know if it were possible to satisfy both.
To everyone’s relief, the conversation moved on to more mundane matters. But despite the casual nature of the discussion, Miranna didn’t say a word. Her cheeks had regained their rosiness, and her curly, strawberry blond hair tumbled once more upon her back, but the extent of her emotional recovery was not so easily gauged. She and Mother spent much time together, for the former Queen had also endured unmentionable cruelty at the hands of the Cokyrians when the Overlord overran the palace. But despite their similar experiences, it was Miranna about whom we all worried.
After dinner, we excused ourselves to go our separate ways, and I invited my sister to accompany me to my quarters. Although we tried not to leave her unattended, there were inevitably times when she was on her own, and I had a partial solution in mind.
Temerson stayed in the corridor, at ease keeping company with London, while Miranna came with me into my parlor. Even this early in the evening, there was weariness in her face and in her stance, and I bade her to sit on the sofa. Then I clucked with my tongue.
“Kitten!” I called, raising the pitch of my voice.
The lanky, easygoing tabby cat poked his head out of my bedroom, arching to stretch his back before coming to me at an ever increasing pace. I picked him up, feeling the vibration of his purr, then carried him to my sister.
“Here, Mira,” I said, placing the hopelessly trusting cat into her arms and giving him a scratch behind the ears. “I want you to have him, for now. He’s a good companion. He was to me while…while you were gone.”
I smiled sadly, for however sensitively I had made mention of her ordeal, she had withdrawn from me, not wanting to remember it. Something in her deportment, perhaps the way she shifted her body weight away from me, spoke as loudly as anything she could have said.
“Thank you, Alera,” she murmured, nuzzling her cheek into the cat’s soft fur. She stood, Kitten lounging in one arm, and leaned forward to give me a half hug.
“Good night,” she said, then left without another word.
Taken aback by her abrupt departure, I hesitated for a few moments, then went to open the door. I rested a hand upon the frame, staring down the corridor after her and Temerson as though I might glean some revelation from the invisible trail of my sister’s passing. London was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed upon his chest, his perceptive indigo eyes fixed on me.
“How is she?” he asked, then he cocked an eyebrow. “I assume you gave her the cat.”
I motioned for him to come into the parlor, in part to discuss my sister, but largely because I didn’t want to be alone.
He lit a few more lanterns before taking up his usual position against a wall, this time by the hearth. I sat on the sofa where Miranna had been, not at all uncomfortable that he remained on his feet. It was, and had always been, his duty to stay on alert.
“I still don’t know what happened to Mira,” I said, staring unseeingly at the rich and intricate rug beneath my feet, my chest seeming to squeeze my heart. “Maybe she’s spoken to Temerson or my mother, but neither has said a word to me about her condition. I hate to think she’s locked everything up inside.”
I looked at London, remembering the story the High Priestess had told me about his ten-month imprisonment in Cokyri nearly twenty years ago. No one in this kingdom other than me knew the full extent of what he had endured—he had repressed those memories and never shared them with anyone, but Miranna did not have his constitution. London could survive with those horrors buried inside, but I feared they might get the better of my sweet sister.
“She won’t speak until she’s ready,” he gently said. “And there isn’t anything you can do to change that.”
As usual, he had read my thoughts, and I waited for him to go on, but when he did, he spoke more generally than I expected. “You, Temerson and your mother and father are doing the right things. Be there. Don’t let her feel alone.”
I nodded, and London moved toward the door. I was keeping him from his leisure time.
A rattling from my bedroom caused me to jump, and I sprang to my feet, my thoughts flying to Narian and the potential repercussions of an encounter between him and London. In the next instant, I remembered that Narian was in Cokyri, but it was too late, for my bodyguard was eyeing me curiously.
“You know the wind can’t get us in here,” he wryly commented.
My cheeks pinked, affirming his suspicion. He shrugged in the direction of my bedroom door, drumming his fingers against his biceps. “Thinking of someone?”
“I… No,” I said haltingly, and my blush deepened. I had never been able to lie to London.
“Narian released me from Cokyri,” he reminded me, and I had the impression he had given the Cokyrian commander much thought. “He saved Miranna, and he saved your life. And I know you are in love with him. Because of all these things, I cannot begrudge you a relationship with him.”
His word choice was careful, as it often was, and I realized he was keeping his personal opinion—his preference over my
closeness with Narian—to himself, and that spoke volumes.
Caught between thankfulness and the slight offense I often felt when the topic of Narian came up with any of my countrymen, I asked a delicately pointed question.
“Are you ungrateful?”
“Not at all. I am extremely grateful to him. But there remain many issues on which Narian and I will always disagree. And many ways in which we might be obstacles to one another.”
My skin prickled with unease at his words; then I opted not to wonder in silence.
“London, are you planning something?” I hated how my wary tone seemed to pit us against each other, but he laughed.
“If I were, what would you do?”
“I would beg of you to stop.” I anxiously played with the folds of my skirt, for I did not view this as a laughing matter. “London—”
“Don’t fear, Alera.”
London definitely knew his way around words, for he had neglected to tell me there was nothing to fear. But there was nowhere else I could take this conversation, and so I sat back down, deciding to pursue his personal life for a change, something I rarely did.
“Tell me—how is Tanda? Have the two of you reconciled?”
His eyebrows shot up at my prying. London and Lady Tanda, Temerson’s mother, had been betrothed in their youth, shortly before he was taken prisoner by the Cokyrians. As he was believed to be dead, she had married another. Her husband had been one of the military officers executed by the Overlord, a tragedy that had strangely opened the door for old love to be rekindled.
“Lady Tanda and I are…well,” he replied.
“You were not at Miranna and Temerson’s wedding,” I went on, knowing I was treading into thorny territory. “Was it because of Tanda that you were absent? I know Mira wished you could have been there, and I’d hate to think you stayed away out of awkwardness, or—”
“I assure you,” London interrupted with a smile at my persistence. “Lady Tanda and I are well. I was sorry to miss Miranna’s wedding, but it was business that kept me away.”
“I see.” I considered him, then nodded, accepting his explanation. The wedding had been mere weeks after he had regained consciousness following the Overlord’s torture. In addition to coming to terms with the suffering he had endured, he would have been behind the rest of us in evaluating the city and our circumstances. And he would have been dealing with the loss of his friends and peers in the military, which included his best friend, Destari.
I came to my feet and walked with him to the door. He turned to give me a slight bow, and I blurted one concluding thought.
“You should take more leisure time, London. Things have settled down considerably in the Bastion over the last couple of months. I can do without a bodyguard at times.”
He shrugged, then noted cheekily, “I can see you’re quite eager to play matchmaker.”
“Just think about it, please?”
“I’ll keep it in mind. I promise.”
We bid each other good-night, and I retired to my bedroom, my mind still on London. I wanted him to have a chance to truly reconnect with Tanda. He had always seemed untouchable to me, able to handle anything, but during our experiences when we were in hiding, I had come to see in every person around me both their incredible strength and their humanity.
I crawled into bed and extinguished my lantern, knowing I did not want London to be alone; knowing I did not want to be alone; missing Narian so much that my chest felt hollow, and yet it ached unrelentingly.
* * *
When Narian returned the following afternoon, he brought rings from Cokyri, knowing we could not go to a jeweler in Hytanica, and we decided to meet that evening in the Royal Chapel located on the first floor in the East Wing. I arrived before him, having dismissed London for the day, and told the priest what I desired.
“I would like you to perform a betrothal ceremony.”
“Of course, Your Highness, a betrothal is always a happy event. But when? And between whom?”
“Right now. My intended will be joining us shortly.”
Before I could say anything more, Narian entered the chapel, and the priest’s aged face registered shock, then disapproval. I stared at the clergyman, my jaw tight, daring him to refuse me. When he did not speak, I turned to Narian.
“Do you have the rings?”
He reached into a pouch on his belt, then placed the pair of rings in my hand. I gasped, for their splendor was matchless—gold bands with rubies, emeralds, sapphires and diamonds inset around them.
“These are beautiful,” I murmured, beginning to lose hold of my emotions.
I held the rings out to the priest, who reluctantly accepted them, his reservations evident.
“Proceed,” I edgily commanded. “And remain silent on the matter.”
The priest looked askance at me, then he conducted the simple ceremony in which both Narian and I pledged before God that we would wed. We sealed our vows with a kiss in the near darkness, for only a single candle lit our secret rite.
Narian said nothing as we walked down the corridor from the chapel, but I could sense his dismay at the priest’s attitude toward him. He was accustomed to the way people received him, but familiarity did not erase the hurt it caused.
We climbed the stairs to the second floor, then parted ways, and I wasn’t certain he would come visit me in my quarters. He would be exhausted from travel, after all, and the ceremony was of less significance to him than it was to me. I went to bed, joy at the step we had taken mixed with sadness that people didn’t really know him, didn’t know his heart. I silently railed at the unfairness of the world, eventually falling asleep, feeling almost lost in the large four-poster bed. But when I woke in the morning, he was beside me, dozing with his arm draped across my waist. His thick blond hair fell over his forehead, and I pushed it back, tracing a finger along his handsome cheekbone. I rarely saw him like this, so peaceful, so vulnerable. I also knew that I was the only one who ever did. He breathed softly and steadily, all guards down, and had not the duties of the day called to us both, I would have been content to stay with him like this forever.
CHAPTER SIX:
A TERRIFYING SORT OF SYMPATHY
SHASELLE
Morning broke chaotically, and I tossed caution aside to investigate the noise coming from the street. It didn’t take long to determine what was causing the commotion—word traveled fast, through Cokyrians and Hytanicans alike, when waves were being made. Every enemy soldier’s face darkened at the news that the pranksters were at it again, just as our people’s spirits lightened at the mere thought of what Steldor and Galen might have come up with this time.
I hurried onto the thoroughfare, rushing north with countless others toward the training field, which had been vacant since the abolition of our military force. I fought through the boisterous crowd and saw that the bowl-shaped field was certainly not vacant anymore, its new occupant a rather unsightly scarecrow dressed in a Cokyrian uniform, framed against the tranquil green of summer grass.
I gazed down the hill, ignoring the shoving and jostling of the people around me, brimming with pride. This was the work of my cousin. Only he and his friends would have had the nerve to do something like this.
Cokyrians were preventing Hytanicans from descending the slope, pushing us back like cattle and trying to make us disband. When one of the soldiers passed close to me, I spat on his boots, jumping back so the blunt end of the swo
rd he thrust at me ticked my temple and nothing more. I grinned at him, then tensed as someone put their hands on my shoulders from behind.
“It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” the person said in a lazily irreverent tone that I knew well. “Whatever befell the poor soldier who lost his uniform to that creature?”
Before I could turn around, Steldor tugged me backward through the crowd, out of harm’s way. Releasing me, he strode toward the thoroughfare, forcing me to jog in order to keep pace with him.
“How did you manage it?” I breathlessly asked, scrutinizing his handsome profile. He stood several inches taller than me, and it was difficult to look at him, keep up and dodge people all at once. Quite the opposite, the throng parted for him, his height and build such that he could not pass notice, and his recent actions earning him a few hardy pats on the back.
“You really shouldn’t be out here, Shaselle,” he responded, sidestepping my actual question. He glanced at me, and despite his next words, there was bemusement in his dark brown eyes. “And you certainly shouldn’t be spitting on Cokyrian boots.”
“You laugh in their faces—why shouldn’t I spit on their boots?” I countered, earning a smirk and a shrug.
“Perhaps…because home is a better place for you?”
Despite the tease in his voice, there was seriousness behind what he said.
“You agree with your father then?” I concluded, shoving my hands into the pockets of the breeches I had again donned, my humor waning. I had never worn trousers this regularly before, but I felt a need to wear them now, despite the fact that they were standard attire for Cokyrian women. To me, they represented horseback riding and time with my father, memories to which I desperately clung.