Sacrifice

by Cayla Kluver

  I rolled onto my side, becoming more restless as I racked my brain for an answer. They could not assemble, so had to be using some furtive form of communication, one the Cokyrians wouldn’t detect. But this raised an additional question: how long had this plan been in place? It had to have predated the posting of the High Priestess’s regulations because our remaining military leaders had been separated since that time, which put its origin almost simultaneous with the formation of the province. If I was right, I had underestimated these men right along with the enemy.

  That still left the subject of arms. All the plotting in the world couldn’t change the fact that Cokyri had disarmed our citizenry. The men involved in the failed revolt had managed to retain and hide some weapons, but those were now in Cokyrian hands. Steldor had made it sound like the coming rebellion would be on a much larger scale. How and where could they have hidden enough weapons to arm an entire kingdom?

  I curled up tighter. The weapons could have been smuggled in from outside—perhaps from the surrounding kingdoms? Sarterad, Gourhan and Emotana might have been alarmed enough at Cokyri’s new proximity to lend us aid, in spite of the neutrality all three had maintained during the war. Hytanica alone had incited Cokyri’s wrath, and the other kingdoms had preferred to keep it that way, but I suspected they felt differently now that the warrior empire had a foothold in the valley.

  If the other kingdoms had supplied armaments, and they had been smuggled into the city, where were they stored? I struggled against my inability to fit the pieces together. Then it struck me. Steldor, Galen and Halias had been put in charge of the reconstruction. What if the weapons were hidden inside the structures, built right into the walls?

  I got out of bed, snatching up the lantern and tiptoeing into the hall, not wanting to draw anyone’s notice. When I reached the first floor, however, I threw caution aside and scurried into the eastern wing. This side of the house had amassed the most damage during the siege, and intuition told me where I would find the weapons, if indeed there was a cache.

  The door to my father’s study swung open silently, thanks to new hinges. The entire office had been decimated, but Galen had painstakingly restored it, carefully putting the few things that had survived back in their rightful places. Papa’s desk had been destroyed, but it had been replaced with an almost identical one; other than the fact that the scent of my father—and the feel of years of joy—could never be returned, all was as it should be.

  Except for one bookcase. I hadn’t noticed because no one entered this room anymore, but Galen would have known where the replacement case belonged—on the inside wall, adjacent to the door. Now it was on an outside wall. My heart thudding, I curiously approached it.

  Setting the lantern on the floor, I took hold of the bookcase and pulled, but it would not shift. Odd—it had always been freestanding, but was now anchored to the wall. My excitement mounting, I grabbed armfuls of books, haphazardly strewing them on the floor. The back of the case was solid wood, but I pushed between the shelves, trying to make something budge. Nothing yielded. I paused, listening for movement from upstairs, then stuck my head and shoulders into each and every section to knock softly on the backing. With a tiny, exhilarated laugh, I realized the bottom section was hollow.

  Determination revived, I shoved with all my weight against the wood, kicking over some of the volumes piled behind me as I grappled for leverage. My hands slipped, and my shoulder hit the left side, earning a groan—not from me, but from the bookcase. The right edge shifted toward me, just enough for me to fit my fingers behind and force it open.

  The gap I had created was large enough for me to squirm through, and I found myself sitting on the dirt floor of a small room behind the wall. It was partially below ground, cool, but not drafty; in fact, it was difficult to breathe in the small, dark, dusty space. I leaned back through the opening in the bookcase and grabbed the lantern. When I could at last see what the room contained, I grinned.

  Before me were stacked weapons of every sort—daggers, long-knives, swords, bows and arrows, lances, whips—legions and legions of glorious weapons.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:

  MARTYRS AND SAINTS

  ALERA

  I had departed when the doctor came to Cannan’s office to minister to Steldor, and I heard word the following morning that Cannan was removing his son from the Bastion, a decision I thought wise. The number of Cokyrians within the structure had substantially increased since the attempted revolt, and with Rava literally across the hall from where Steldor lay, I worried for his safety. He had not made friends for himself among the enemy officers by his actions. Nor had he endeared himself to me.

  Although I tried to understand his motivations, I was frustrated with him, especially since his actions had only led to his own pain. I had seen many sides of Steldor during our brief and difficult marriage and was familiar with his bravery, his pride and his tendency to follow his instincts despite what anyone else had to say, but I was through abiding his perniciousness. And the more I thought about his conduct, the more convinced I became that his insolence was as much directed at me as at the Cokyrians.

  I continued to ask Cannan about Steldor’s condition over the next several days, learning as I did so that the captain had not refrained from sharing his opinion on the incident with his son, but Steldor had yet to hear from me. Perhaps it was presumptuous, but I believed I might be able to make an impression on him when others could not.

  I rose with the sun the next morning, well before my customary meeting time with Cannan. Believing this afforded me sufficient opportunity, I dressed and sent word to have a horse prepared for me, a decision that would see me in breeches for the first time in months.

  With the hood of my cloak obscuring my face, I rode to the western residential area of the city, the clacking of my mount’s hooves on the stone streets one of the few sounds in the early morning air. The sky was still gray and the ground was moist with morning dew as I pulled my horse to a halt in front of Galen’s manor house and dismounted. I looped the leathers around the hitching post and walked to the door, which was opened by a servant upon my knock.

  “Queen Alera,” she said, unusually collected, her poise leaving no doubt in my mind that she had been attending royalty. Most people stuttered and stumbled over their words in my presence, but not this young woman.

  She curtseyed, then stepped aside, ushering me into the foyer.

  “The lord of the house is not at home, Your Majesty,” she informed me. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “I actually came to see Lord Steldor, if you would escort me to his room.”

  Now she seemed intrigued, for the reasons behind the annulment of my marriage to the former King had been kept quiet. I could read on her face her desire to eavesdrop.

  “Certainly, although I don’t know if His Majesty has risen.”

  “He has,” I said without thought. Not once during our marriage had I woken before him, and I doubted his sleep patterns had changed.

  With a puzzled glance, she led me up the stairs and into a hallway, stopping before the second door. She knocked on my behalf, and gave another small curtsey when Steldor’s voice invited entry.

  I opened the door, waiting for her to return to the first floor before entering, catching her regretful glance that she could not dally. Steldor was sitting up on the bed across the room, his legs swung over the side, pulling a shirt carefully over his head.

  “Shoul
d you be doing that so soon?” I asked, for it had only been a week since the lashing.

  The garment fell over his muscular chest, and he ran a hand through his dark hair. He came to his feet with the hint of a wince.

  “Making sure I’m cared for is no longer your worry. I’m not certain it ever was.”

  His mood was a bit dark, and I wondered if I should have given him more time to recover before paying him this visit.

  “Perhaps what you need is someone to keep you from coming to harm in the first place.”

  He smirked, turning his back to me to idly straighten his bed coverings. “What is it—did you come here to coddle me or lecture me?”

  “Both, I suppose.” I was frowning, amazed at how swiftly we had fallen into our old patterns. “I’ve come to talk—and to give you this.”

  He swiveled to face me as I removed his silver wolf’s head talisman from the pocket of my cloak.

  “I never expected to see that again,” he said, sounding awed. “Did you face the bitch yourself or get it from Narian?”

  I smiled at his word choice. “I approached Rava myself—I’ve been known to face down a bitch or two.” He stepped forward to take the pendant from my hand and immediately slipped the chain over his head.

  “Thank you. I feel better already.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, what is the significance of the talisman? When I reclaimed it from Rava, she remarked that it might provide power and protection, and that started me thinking about its purpose.”

  He chuckled ruefully. “I hate to admit it, but Rava’s right. The wolf brings strength and protection. Depending on the mix of herbs and flowers put inside the talisman, other properties can be added, such as health and healing. The captain gave the pendant to me when I was four, following the death of Terek, at the time I was sent to live with Baelic and Lania. He didn’t want me to think he’d abandoned me or that I was in danger. It was originally his, and his father’s before him. I’ve worn it ever since.”

  “Then I’m very glad I was able to secure its return.”

  His eyes met mine, and the color rose in my cheeks, for I was still affected to some degree by his handsome features and soldier’s build.

  “I suppose that concludes the coddling,” he finally said, crossing his arms and watching me expectantly.

  “Yes, I suppose it does.”

  “Then let the lecture begin.” He spread his hands, giving me a slight nod.

  “You were part of that revolt,” I accused.

  “Yes.”

  I hesitated, his honesty taking my words away, and he sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, his back obviously ailing him.

  “Why can’t you trust what I’m doing, Steldor? Why can’t you share my goals?”

  “You’re asking me to trust Narian,” he said with a condescending laugh.

  “That’s the reason? Because you can’t stand being on his side?”

  Steldor rolled his eyes. “This had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with our freedom. We fought too hard and lost too many good men to let this kingdom perish without one more battle. Now the battle’s been waged. Just be satisfied with that.”

  He was bitter, and in many ways, I didn’t blame him. But this was my chance to impress reality upon him.

  “Will you be satisfied with that? I’ve been advising you, advising everyone on the course that makes the most sense for our people. If you had listened to me, not tried to undercut my efforts, you wouldn’t be hurt right now, London wouldn’t be hiding in the mountains and Halias and his men wouldn’t be dead.”

  He glared at me, his anger beginning to simmer, which only increased my fervor.

  “Look at you.” I gestured toward him, for he could not disguise his pain, nor hide the fever that brought beads of sweat to his forehead. “You did this to yourself, Steldor. You punished yourself with your actions, but nothing else was accomplished. You just wanted to be a martyr.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” he shot back. “You want to be a saint! You want to be the one who brings peace to these people. You’re the one who brought war, Alera. You’re the reason Narian didn’t leave for good when he fled Hytanica. He loves you, and that’s why—”

  He stopped talking, unable to make himself complete that sentence.

  “You’re right about one thing,” I whispered in the dead silence. “Narian loves me, but what you won’t acknowledge is that he’s the reason any of us still have our lives. He’s the reason you weren’t killed for that show you put on.”

  “Extend my thanks,” he said, tone laden with sarcasm.

  I threw up my hands. “This is pointless, us dancing around in circles. You still won’t listen to anyone, let alone me. I may as well go.”

  “But you won’t—you aren’t yet ready to leave.”

  I didn’t move, hating that he knew my threat had been empty, and he stood. He drew closer to me until I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

  “Hytanica and Cokyri will always be different worlds, Alera. Before this is over, one of those worlds will be destroyed. We can’t coexist like this.”

  “Not when people like you refuse to believe any different.”

  “At least I’m not hiding from the truth. You’re so wrapped up in Narian that you can’t see the situation for what it really is. Cokyri is a godless, brutal, warrior empire that despises the very way we live. Now that they are in power, they have no need to honor our traditions or tolerate our beliefs. Don’t you see, it’s not just the Kingdom of Hytanica that will no longer exist. It is our entire way of life.”

  I stared at him, shocked and confused. Narian and I had always been able to work through our differences, so I had assumed our countries could, as well. But he and I wanted to be together, we wanted to be joined. Our countries did not.

  “Cokyri is interested only in obtaining certain things from us,” I argued, although a bit of doubt now nagged at me. “As long as we follow their regulations, we can live in the manner we always have.”

  “Then I’d keep an eye on their regulations, Alera. They’re already changing our educational system, what we are permitted to teach our sons. Religion will come next.”

  “Change isn’t necessarily all bad.”

  “It is when it’s forced down your throat. And in case you haven’t noticed, the Cokyrians overseeing the work crews have not allowed us to rebuild our churches. They have been reconstructed, but for different, more practical purposes. The Cokyrians are quite enamored with practicality.”

  Not knowing what else to say, I turned to depart, only to feel his hand on my arm.

  “It doesn’t have to be like this, Alera. Between us, I mean.”

  He was looking at me with those dark, intense, fiery eyes—eyes that held love I had never reciprocated.

  “Things are what they are, Steldor,” I replied, decisive but desolate. “We’re separated by too much. We always have been. Just please, give yourself time to get well.”

  Before he could stop me a second time, I stepped out the door, feeling the weight of frustration lifting from my shoulders with each step I took away from him. I had been foolish to think he and I could communicate in spite of our differing beliefs. Neither of us wanted to cause the other pain, but that was all we had ever been good at doing.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:

  INCORRIGIBLE

  SHASELLE

  I’d closed the secret entrance to the weapons room to the best of my a
bility and replaced all the books on the shelves before leaving Papa’s study in peace. Though my cleanup had not been perfect, I wasn’t worried about someone else making the same discovery—I suspected I was the only person to have gone into that room in months.

  I felt smug, however, at having taken a souvenir—Hytanica was a dangerous city, but rather than stay at home, I’d decided a sheathed knife strapped to my calf would be practical. Even though I knew it was silly, it also made me feel a part of something bigger. I could never tell Steldor, Cannan or Galen what I had found, but with a secret dagger, I felt like a member of their ranks.

  My mother and siblings were quite observant of me over the next several days, though they consciously gave me space. It was strange, being treated so differently—in fact, the younger children were even bickering with less frequency. It was as though they all recognized that our less-than-ideal circumstances had driven one of us to the edge and were afraid of what another instance might bring.

  When the walls finally closed in on me, I went to Mother for permission to go to the market. The simple fact that I was asking would put me in good favor, so I was hopeful of the result. And I had donned a traditional skirt, knowing it would please her. Even though I had thus created the perfect conditions, she hesitated, wanting to say no, but leery of holding on to me too tightly.

  “Don’t go alone,” she at last said.

  “I’ve been alone on the streets before,” I unthinkingly argued, and her expression grew cautionary. “But I’ll bring a friend.”

  I had no intention of honoring this promise, but it was the best I could do to repair the damage from my callous remark.