Sacrifice

by Cayla Kluver

  Galen and his wife, Tiersia, lived in the same section of the city in which my family dwelled, but thankfully his home was closer to the thoroughfare—I wouldn’t have to pass my own to reach it. Upon his marriage almost a year ago, Galen had gained control of the money his father had left in Cannan’s care—the Baron Miccard had died before Galen’s fourth birthday—and the house he had purchased was magnificent, with vines growing up the sides, a blessed sign of renewal in our drab times.

  Both eager and resigned, I went up to the door and rapped upon it. After a moment, the latch clicked and Tiersia herself stood in front of me.

  “Shaselle.” She said my name with relief, obviously aware that I had run away. “Come in.”

  She stepped aside, her skirts swishing the floor and her golden brown hair bouncing, and I caught a whiff of her scent—warm honeysuckle. Now that I considered it, most of the time I probably smelled like horse.

  The afternoon sun that streamed through the windows set high above the door lit up the entryway in which Tiersia and I awkwardly stood. I didn’t know what to say to her, a problem that was compounded by the fact that she and I had never before had a true conversation, for she was several years older than me.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked, breaking the silence. “I could get you something to eat right now, or you could stay for dinner.” She was soft-spoken and proper, but there was also warmth and concern in her eyes.

  “Please don’t fuss—I did come here without invitation.”

  “You’re always welcome here.” She was so kind, so willing to care for me, that I wanted to cry. I cast my eyes to the floor, no longer able to deny that I was, at my core, a pampered, wealthy, city girl who had no business being on her own.

  “Thank you. But really, I don’t need anything.” I prayed she couldn’t hear my belly’s rumbling opinion on the matter. “Is Steldor here?”

  She nodded. “Upstairs, in the guest room, although it’s more of a sickroom at the moment. It will take him a while to heal. Galen is with him. When my lord comes down I will ask if your cousin is in form for visitors.”

  “All right, thank you.”

  To my left, I could see the foot of the stairway, and I fought the urge to dart past Tiersia and find Steldor on my own. Such behavior would be rude and likely pointless, for I would only run into Galen.

  “Come with me, Shaselle, and I’ll find you something to eat. You may as well put the time you’ll be waiting to good use.”

  I smiled, for Tiersia would have her way; she would make a great mother when the time came. As if to provide further evidence of that, she led me into the kitchen and handed me a damp cloth. I wiped dirt off my face and hands, wondering how wretched I looked, then ran my hand down the plait that still captured most of my hair, recoiling at how stiff it felt.

  Ignoring my appearance, Tiersia set bread and cheese on the table in front of me, and I could no longer hide that I was starving. I tried to eat with attention to manners, especially since she sat opposite me, daintily sipping tea like the lady she was. I realized with a blush that, if I had to marry, I wanted to be like her, with a handsome husband and gracious home. I loved horses and riding, and hated the thought of giving them up, but maybe my mother was right; maybe the time had come to put aside my childhood.

  “Thank you,” I again said, having cleared my plate without trouble.

  “You’re welcome.” She ran her finger along the rim of her teacup, and I supposed she was having trouble coming up with a topic for conversation. With a wispy smile, she made an effort to engage me. “Tell me, how have you been?”

  “I’m sure you’re aware that I haven’t…I haven’t been home, so…I’ve been surviving.” I stumbled over my words, not certain what she thought of me and my recalcitrant ways.

  “We’ve all been worried about you.”

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, examining my hands, glaringly aware of my broken nails and the dirt that had taken up residence beneath them.

  She placed one of her hands over mine, and I met her sympathetic, soft green eyes.

  “You’re safe now, Shaselle, and that’s what matters.” It was clear that, to her mind at least, the past wasn’t important.

  Bold, unrestrained footsteps on the stairs announced Galen’s descent, and he came in search of his wife. He poked his head around the doorway, seeming almost to hop back when he saw me.

  “Shaselle!” he exclaimed. “Where did you come from?”

  I knew how to handle Galen’s forward, outgoing style much better than I did Tiersia’s maternal, forgiving attitude. I was used to him, for I had spent almost as much time around him as I had around Steldor.

  “I needed somewhere to go,” I told him honestly. “And I was hoping to talk to Steldor.”

  Galen ran a hand through his wavy, medium brown hair. “I don’t know, Shaselle. It’s not pretty. His injuries are severe. He needs much rest in order to recover.”

  “I guessed they would be.” I stood, waiting for his verdict. If I couldn’t talk to my cousin, I would leave.

  Galen studied me, knowing me well enough to infer my thoughts. At last he shrugged.

  “Come with me then. At least Steldor will know you’re safe.”

  “Dinner will be served at seven,” Tiersia said, and Galen gave her an appreciative kiss on the cheek before leading me from the room.

  The second door on the left in the upstairs hallway marked the guest room where Steldor was staying, and Galen knocked to announce us before we went inside.

  Steldor lay on the bed, chest to the mattress, medicine-soaked bandages covering his shirtless back. The wrappings, though fresh from his best friend’s last visit, were dappled crimson and yellow from his body’s efforts to cleanse the wounds, and I could see shadows of long lines of stitches crossing his skin.

  “Steldor, Shaselle is here,” Galen said.

  My cousin lifted his head to squint at me.

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Outside,” I answered dryly, recognizing on its second asking just how inane the question was.

  Steldor was not amused.

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” Galen said, backing out of the room.

  When the door clicked shut, Steldor propped himself up on his elbows, wincing with the movement.

  “I wanted to see you,” I told him.

  “Could have guessed, since you’re here. Well, what have you been doing?”

  I considered his inquiry, scratching the back of my head. “I got attacked by a butcher.”

  The incident was still on my mind, not one easily dismissed, and part of me wanted his reaction.

  “A butcher?” he repeated, concerned. His eyes roved over me and he pronounced, “You appear to have survived.”

  “The same can be said of you.”

  “Thus far, anyway,” he responded with a self-deprecating chuckle. “You don’t have to tell me how smart that flag stunt was. My father has covered that.”

  I quickly countered his sarcasm. “I thought it was brave.”

  “The captain thought it was daft. And, in the aftermath, I’m tempted to agree with him.”

  Steldor motioned vaguely to his injured back and I drew nearer, half out of morbid curiosity, half to prove that I wasn’t afraid to look. For the first time, I noticed his damp hair and the sheen of sweat across his brow—he was fevered, and no doubt miserable.

  “Why did you do it? I know it was to honor the men who died, but…but
it’s over now, isn’t it? The revolt, our chance at freedom. The Cokyrians stopped it.”

  “Because we gave the Cokyrians something to stop.”

  I furrowed my brow, confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Yes, what I did was to honor the men who died.” Steldor laid his head back down on the pillow. “But it was also to show the people that we’re not defeated.”

  “That’s a bit optimistic, isn’t it?”

  Agitated that I wasn’t catching his subtle hints, he propped himself up once more.

  “Narian, the High Priestess—they know we’re not the type to sit still and take what they hand us. They were expecting a rebellion, so we gave them one. Those men knew they were dying before any of this started.”

  Somehow the prospect of people willingly walking to their deaths made the executions of just a few days ago all the more horrifying. His revelation was so shocking that my stomach lurched, my hand flying to cover my mouth.

  “Shaselle? Are you all right?”

  “Yes. But—but I don’t understand. Why would they do this, if they knew they were doomed?”

  Steldor, realizing he had upset me, tried to clarify, his voice gentle. “For Hytanica. For the kingdom.”

  “But what did their deaths accomplish?” I demanded, near tears.

  “I shouldn’t have brought this up. Forget what I said.”

  “No, I can’t. Please, you have to explain this to me.” I was struggling to comprehend not just the sacrifices of these men, but of Steldor…and of my own father. Papa had proudly, defiantly, told the Overlord who he was, even though he knew it would make his suffering that much worse.

  Relenting, Steldor motioned for me to come closer and took hold of one of my hands.

  “Our enemy expected us to wage one more fight. Now, thanks to those men who gave their lives, the Cokyrians believe we have, and that we’ve been cowed. They’re wrong.”

  What had flitted through my mind at his first hint now took hold. “You’re planning something else.”

  “And we’re going to succeed.”

  “But how? You don’t have weapons, and the Cokyrians have forbidden Hytanicans even to assemble. How can you plot a rebellion?”

  “Just trust me, Shaselle.” He smirked. “Things are in place.”

  “It’s not funny! I don’t want to watch you die and not know—”

  He released my hand, exhaling in aggravation. “This isn’t why you came here. We’ve talked about it enough.”

  I shook my head. “No, we haven’t.”

  “You already know far more than you should. Be content with that, and for God’s sake, keep your mouth shut on the matter.”

  I bristled. “I wouldn’t tell anyone. And if I know too much, what would be the harm in telling me the rest?”

  “Because you’d want to be involved. And you can’t be, because you wouldn’t have survived what I just went through, the punishment I suffered. Everyone with a hand in this game is at risk for the same or worse.” He paused, letting his words sink into my brain. “Now, tell me why you’re here.”

  “Perhaps coming was a mistake,” I huffed, starting for the door.

  “Shaselle, come back,” Steldor drawled, tired and somewhat apologetic. “I don’t want you on the streets.”

  I turned and looked at him, my resolve slipping at the depth of feeling in his dark eyes. I scuffed the toe of my boot against the edge of the rug, my irritation dissipating.

  “Where should I go?” I asked, knowing the answer that made sense, the one he would provide.

  “Home.”

  I nodded, inexplicably sad, then walked out the door. My head was spinning, and yet it felt dull after all I had learned. Galen appeared at the first-floor landing, watching me descend the stairs. He had probably been listening for my footsteps, not wanting to lose me again.

  “Everything well?” he inquired, and I wondered how he could so effectively pretend that all was normal.

  “Steldor and I had a good talk.”

  “Glad to hear it. Tiersia told me that you ate earlier, but you’re welcome to stay for dinner. Even if you’re no longer hungry, we’d enjoy your company.”

  “I don’t want to impose.”

  In truth, I was suddenly so exhausted that if I didn’t leave soon, I wouldn’t make it home tonight. And I needed to be home tonight. I’d been selfish and unfair to my family for long enough. Galen, like Steldor, thought the same.

  “Then let me take you home.”

  “It’s not a long walk—I can make it on my own.”

  “But I’d like to stretch my legs.”

  Smiling at his transparent desire to make certain I didn’t wander off, I yielded. “If you insist. But won’t you be late for dinner?”

  “Dinner doesn’t start without me,” he joked. “It’s impossible for me to be late.”

  He put a hand on my back to escort me to the front door, pausing to inform Tiersia of what he was doing.

  The evening was brisk—cold enough to remind me that I’d left my cloak and canvas bag in the church ruins on the south side of the city, no doubt a welcome donation to one of Hytanica’s street dwellers. Galen and I didn’t talk much as we traversed the short distance to my home, but the closer we came to our destination, the more thankful I was that he was at my side. Especially once the manor house came into view, for my mother’s anger seemed to radiate from it.

  Galen escorted me all the way to the front door. I looked pleadingly at him before I opened it, and with an understanding nod, he followed me inside. The voices I could hear coming from the parlor quieted, and I could almost feel the curiosity in the air at who had entered. Swallowing hard, I moved into the hallway and into sight.

  “Shaselle!” Mother cried, standing so abruptly that her sewing slipped from her lap onto the floor. My sisters and brother, all of whom were present, stared at me, faces mixed with shock and elation.

  “You came back!” Celdrid hopped to his feet, trailing Mother, who had hastened to embrace me.

  “Where in heaven’s name have you been, girl?” She held me at arm’s length, inspecting me. “What were you thinking, disappearing like that? You had me scared to death.”

  “She stayed with me,” Galen unexpectedly supplied, and I glanced questioningly at him.

  Mother stepped around me, and displeasure would have been a charitable description of her emotion. Now I understood Galen’s tactic—he was bringing her anger at my conduct down on him; he was also keeping from her the knowledge that I had been alone on the streets, vulnerable to butchers, the enemy and the cold.

  “Galen, you had better not be lying to me.”

  I went over to my siblings, all of us wary of her harsh tone.

  “I would never lie to you, Lania. You know me better than that.”

  “I know you well enough.” She was considering him shrewdly. “You kept my daughter at your house for four days and didn’t tell me? You didn’t send her home?”

  “You and Baelic never sent Steldor and me home when we showed up here,” he said with a shrug and a surreptitious wink for me that did not pass Mother’s notice. He and my cousin had been a bit wild during their teenage years, and had found a place to sleep at our house when they’d been too afraid to face Cannan.

  Mother shook her head, trying to hide her affection for the young man behind a frown. “You’re fortunate you have a charming smile, Galen.”

  “That’s why I practice,” he
said with a slight bow. “If you’ll excuse me, my wife is holding dinner.”

  He bade us farewell and departed, leaving me to stand awkwardly among my siblings, waiting to see what Mother would do next. She took a deep breath, smoothing her skirts.

  “Off to bed with you—all of you.”

  Relieved, I rushed past her with my sisters and brother, who were probably thankful they didn’t have to witness an argument. Reaching my bedroom, I washed off what seemed like twelve layers of dirt and put on a nightgown. Deciding my hair could wait until morning, I snuggled beneath my warm, soft covers, ready to fall asleep, thinking I could easily stay put for days. Before I could snuff out the lamp on my bedside table, there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” I called with trepidation.

  Mother entered and I hurriedly pulled the bedclothes up to my chin, afraid of what she might say. She sat down beside me and took hold of the quilts, easing them from my grasp, her expression sad rather than angry.

  “You’re not in trouble, Shaselle. I wanted to tell you how happy I am that you’re home where you belong. I missed you, and I was terribly worried that something might have happened to you.”

  Her hazel eyes glistened with the light from the flame, and she tenderly brushed stray strands of hair away from my face.

  “My darling child,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss me on the forehead. “I love you beyond measure. Sleep well.”

  She stood and went to the door, prepared to leave without a word from me.

  “Mama? I love you, too.”

  “Good night,” she said, her tone brighter, then she departed, closing the door behind her.

  I lay quietly in the dim light, one arm above my head, thinking for once that I had done the right thing. Home was not a terrible place, despite the memories of Papa. Home was where I was loved, and maybe the memories weren’t such a bad thing.

  Despite how tired I was, I left my lantern burning while my mind wandered back to my conversation with Steldor. Apparently he and whoever else was involved—definitely Galen, possibly my uncle, the men who had been executed and certainly London, who had not been seen in the city since the failed revolt attempt—had barely begun. Steldor had sounded confident. But what could they do?