by John Marco
“Shhh,” he cautioned, putting a finger to his lips. He did not speak again until he was just before her. “My lady, you’ve come.” Unable to control his smile, he beamed. “Thank you.”
“Lukien,” she sighed. “This is . . .” She shrugged. “Wrong.”
“I know, but I had to speak to you. I swear, my lady, I couldn’t bear another moment of silence.” He glanced around. “This is no place to talk. Here, take my hand.”
“No,” Cassandra refused. “I can’t go with you. Say what you must, but say it here.”
“Cassandra . . .”
“I am the queen, Lukien. I am Akeela’s wife.” Cassandra’s eyes betrayed her misery. “Will you make a whore of me?”
The words cut Lukien. He sat up straight, summoning his remaining dignity. “I love you,” he declared. “I loved you when I saw you in Hes, and I love you now more than ever. And you love me. I can see it in you.”
Cassandra shook her head. “No . . .”
“Yes. It is too plain to hide, my lady. For both of us. Well, I will not hide it from you any longer. I confess it gladly.” Lukien looked at her, waiting for a reaction. All he got was an anguished groan.
“Don’t make me do this . . .”
Lukien thrust out his hand. “Take it.”
“I cannot!”
“I know you’ve tried to love Akeela.”
“I do love him,” said Cassandra bitterly.
“Like a brother,” said Lukien. “Yes, I know what that’s like. That’s not what I mean.”
She looked up at him, her expression shattered. “If we do this it will kill him. It will, and we will be to blame.”
Lukien kept his hand outstretched. He had already considered the pain it would cause his king. “He’ll never know,” he said softly. “I would die before letting him find out. Come now, before the light comes.”
Still Cassandra wouldn’t take his hand.
“If you don’t come with me, then you’ll be saying you don’t care about me,” said Lukien. “I will tell myself that what I saw in your eyes was an illusion, and I will not come to you again.”
A terrible expression overcame Cassandra. She took another look around the grounds, studying the fog for unwanted faces. When she was convinced that no one was about—that not a soul could witness her adulterous act—she took Lukien’s hand and let him sweep her onto the back of his stallion.
They rode. Heedless of the mist, they fled the keep and plunged into the gardens of Akeela’s estate, leaving the avenue for the rolling hills. Cassandra kept her arms wrapped around Lukien, and she did not speak or utter the smallest sound. She could feel the heat coming off his body, the strength of his shoulders as he pushed his steed further into the green fields. Morning was coming, slowly breaking the haze. Cassandra listened to the sound of horse hooves, bearing her away. Lionkeep and Chancellery Square fell off in the distance, replaced by wildflowers and fruit trees. She felt weightless, bodiless, and as Lukien rode she laid her head against his back, smiling. Ahead of them lay an apple orchard, inviting them into its private folds. Lukien hurried toward it. For Cassandra, the rest of the world dissolved away.
What she was doing was a crime. She knew it and hated herself for it. Now she thought of Akeela, sweetly ignorant and blindly trusting her with Lukien. But he appeared to her as a distant memory, something easily forgotten in Lukien’s embrace. More, she wanted to forget him. Just today; just for this morning. A giddiness overtook her, and she laughed with delight. The breeze struck her face and suddenly the sun appeared, warm and yellow. In the embrace of the apple trees they were alone. For a moment at least, she could be with Lukien.
“It’s so beautiful here,” she said in his ear. “Let’s stop.”
Lukien did as his queen requested, bringing his horse to a halt within the orchard. The cessation of riding heightened the silence of the place. Cassandra heard birds in the trees. She took a breath of the sweet air. It smelled of springtime.
“It’s lovely,” she said. She slid down from the horse, looking around, and all she could see were green fields lined with apple trees, like soldiers stretching out into the morning. Not another soul stirred amid the orchard.
“No one will see us here,” said Lukien as he got down from the horse. He stood before Cassandra. “Don’t be afraid, my lady.”
“I’m not,” said Cassandra. She had never been less afraid in her life. She reached out and took Lukien’s hand. “Come,” she told him. “We will . . . talk.”
Without a word she led him beneath a great apple tree bursting with pink flowers. There she sat herself down on the dewy earth, dragging him down beside her. He yielded to her easily. She saw pain in his eyes.
“Cassandra . . .” His voice was a whisper. “I don’t know what to say.”
He didn’t have to speak a word. Cassandra could read it all in his expression.
“You love me,” she said.
He nodded.
“And I you, I fear.”
Lukien stroked her face. His touch was warm, like the coming sun. Cassandra felt the stirrings in her body, dreading them yet following their lead. She lowered her head in offering.
“What are we doing?” she asked. “We will be damned for this.”
“No.” Lukien leaned in closer. “No one will ever know. Not ever.”
“Just this once, then.”
He didn’t answer. She was glad he didn’t. Once, she knew, could never be enough.
Will Trager rode through the field, plagued as always by a black mood. The sweetness of the apple orchard did nothing to soften his expression, for he was possessed this morning of a familiar hatred, one that had dogged him relentlessly since the tournament. He was tired of coming to the orchard in the morning, waking at the crack of dawn to practice in secret. And he was tired of not getting any better, and of losing every joust to his captain. But mostly he was tired of the laughter, still ringing in his ears these many weeks later. The endless chorus of catcalls drove him deeper into the orchard.
He was alone, as he always was when practicing, but had two horses with him: one, the black charger he always rode, the other a smaller beast of burden, laden with the equipment he would need for practicing. The smaller beast held his lance and jousting armor, and the quintain he would ride against. The quintain had a red target painted on a swing arm; when the target was struck, the arm would whip around, catching him in the back if he weren’t swift enough. Trager was very swift now, and was almost never tagged by the arm. But he wasn’t swift enough. Before the summer ended there would be more tourneys, more chances to best the Bronze Knight. He was determined to be ready.
The sun was barely above the horizon when he came to his usual practice place, a long strip of flat ground between the sentrylike apple trees. He stopped his little caravan, dismounted, then took a look around, confident that no one could see him. He was about to unload his equipment when he heard something echoing through the orchard. Trager froze, sure that he’d been discovered. His first suspicion was Lukien.
“Son of a bitch,” he spat. The captain would just love to see him practicing. The jokes would go on forever.
Trager tried to locate the sound. For a moment it disappeared, but then it returned, stronger, more urgent. It didn’t sound like a human precisely, more like an animal. A low groan. Trager decided on its direction and took a wary step forward. Sound carried far in the orchard, and the silent morning played tricks on it, making it louder. He stalked through the trees, examining each one, but saw nothing. The sound was louder now, definitely human. Trager recognized the noises of lovemaking. A mischievous grin swam on his face. Very quietly he picked his way toward the unknown lovers, careful to be quiet. He rounded a stand of trees, hid himself behind a stout trunk, and peered with one eye into the distance.
There he saw them, beneath a tree. Two lovers, more naked than clothed, their arms tangled around each other. The man was on top, his face hidden. Beneath him the woman squirmed, letting out t
he calls that had summoned their unwanted visitor. Trager snickered, putting a hand over his mouth. He didn’t recognize the man, but he was sure he was from Lionkeep. A Royal Charger, most likely. He thought about interrupting the couple and disciplining the man right there, but then he reconsidered. What harm was there in getting a leg over a kitchen girl?
He was about to leave when the man tossed his head back. A handsome head, unmistakably blond. A voice pealed from his throat, crying in lust, as recognizable as his pretty face.
“Fate above . . .”
Trager staggered back. It was Lukien, and it was no kitchen girl beneath him. His eyes bulged at the sight of Queen Cassandra, chest thrust out, mouth open in passion. The vision burned itself into Trager’s brain. He shook his head in disbelief, but when he looked again the couple was the same.
As fast as he could Trager turned and went to his horse, mounting the beast and dragging its little sibling after them. He rode quickly but quietly, not wanting to be seen or heard. He had a great prize now and didn’t want it discovered, not until the perfect moment.
“Oh, Captain,” he chirped gleefully. “You’ve really gotten your hands dirty this time!”
12
When Akeela arrived home, it wasn’t in triumph. There were no musicians to greet him, no fanfare of any kind. As always, the streets of Koth were busy with commerce, but were almost oblivious to the return of the king. His royal carriage, flanked by honor guards, rolled into the capital without announcement, having sent only one herald ahead to Lionkeep. Akeela himself reclined in his carriage, alone. It had been an exhausting trip and he was glad to be home. To his great surprise, his goodwill tour had been disastrous. He’d been greeted warmly in Marn and Ganjor, but in Norvor he had been shunned, a reaction that had shocked him. Because he hadn’t sent emissaries to Norvor before his arrival, he hadn’t known of King Mor’s anger over the Reecian treaty, and had borne the brunt of the old ruler’s ire. Now, instead of returning to Liiria in celebration, Akeela stole into Koth like a criminal, ashamed to show his face. Tonight he would have to deal with the consequences of his trip. He would have to summon a meeting of his chancellors and explain what King Mor had told him—that there might be war between their countries.
“Stupid,” he chided himself, closing his eyes against a burgeoning headache. “Too fast . . .”
He had done everything too fast, and his eagerness had made an unwanted enemy. Norvor had always sided with Liiria in the arguments with Reec, sure that their own claim to the river Kryss would be honored in any eventual deal. But Akeela had been too anxious for peace with Reec, and had barely considered Norvor in his plans.
And now they threaten war, he thought miserably. What a fool I am.
He opened his eyes to look at the city. In the distance he saw the foundation of his library, slowly rising from its hillside. Akeela sighed, wondering if his cathedral would ever be built. Seeing its foundation reminded him of himself—incomplete, even rash. It was a trait he was only now starting to recognize, but he was sure Baron Glass would remind him of it. He dreaded seeing Glass, almost as much as he savored seeing Cassandra. Weeks of traveling had withered Akeela’s good mood, making him hungry for companionship. He imagined the smell of Cassandra’s dark hair. Tonight, after his council, he would take her to bed.
She makes a man of me, he thought.
That evening, Akeela supped with Cassandra alone, telling her what had happened during his tour. She listened distractedly, hardly touching her food. Akeela commented on her lack of appetite, but the queen laughed off his concern. Still, she seemed preoccupied, and was unconvincing when she simply told Akeela she was glad to see him. Akeela didn’t mind her awkwardness. He was with her again and he was glad, and he used the quiet supper to prepare himself for his meeting with the chancellors, who were presently gathering in the council chamber. According to Warden Graig, Baron Glass had already arrived, and was anxiously awaiting Akeela’s presence. But Akeela didn’t rush his meal. He explained almost everything to Cassandra, including the dangers of a war with Norvor. His new queen merely nodded.
“You will deal with it,” she assured him. Her face was hidden behind her wine glass. The room was very quiet.
“You are my good luck charm, Cassandra,” Akeela told her, reaching across the chamber to take her hand.
“No,” said Cassandra. “You don’t need me.”
“If you were with me in Norvor you would have charmed that arrogant ass, Mor. No man can resist you, Cassandra.”
Cassandra’s eyes widened. “What?”
“You’re a jewel, that’s all,” said Akeela. He got up from the table. “But now I must go. I can’t keep Glass and the others waiting too long. I’m sure they’re anxious to crucify me.” He bent down and kissed his wife’s forehead. There was a chill on her skin. “Good night, my love. Don’t wait up for me. This meeting will take some time.”
He made to leave, but Cassandra stopped him.
“Akeela . . .”
“Yes?”
She hesitated, then said, “I’m glad you’re home.”
To Akeela, the words were like music. “We’ve been apart too long, I know,” he replied. “But now I’m back, and I won’t be going away again.”
A peculiar expression flashed in Cassandra’s eyes. “No,” she whispered. “Well, off with you. And don’t be afraid of Glass.”
“Afraid?” said Akeela. “Cassandra, I’m not afraid of him.”
“All right,” said Cassandra. “Good luck, then.”
When Akeela had gone Cassandra waited in their chambers for a very long time. The servants cleared away the remnants of their meal as she watched them, politely questioning her about her uneaten food, a very fine pheasant one of the keep’s huntsmen had snared. Cassandra did not answer the question, instead smiling and asking the woman to find Jancis.
“Have her come to my reading room,” said Cassandra, then drifted out of the chamber.
In the reading room was a large window cut into the turret, ornately fabricated with panes of stained glass that painted patterns on the opposite wall when the sun was strong. Tonight, however, moonlight put on the show. Cassandra sank down into a plush velvet chair and watched the pale beams as she waited for Jancis. Seeing Akeela again had increased her guilt a thousandfold, and she could barely lift her head or even think of herself without the deepest self-loathing. Such a good man, with so much on his shoulders. Yet she had betrayed him easily, and continued to do so almost every night, stealing ecstatic moments with Lukien without the slightest regard for her husband. What kind of monster had Akeela married? She had no answer to that question, and she cursed herself. She had always thought of herself as clever.
But it’s dreadful to be clever, she thought. It was like a revelation suddenly, as clear as any of the moonbeams. To be clever was to be a bitch, or a betrayer like Lukien. Akeela wasn’t clever. He was moral, and moral men were never clever. It was why they were better than everyone else, and why Akeela was a better man then Lukien. Even Lukien knew it, and the truth of it tormented him.
Yet despite the torment they hadn’t stopped. Now Cassandra feared nothing could ever stop them, or save her soul from her own crimes.
It took long minutes for Jancis to arrive. When she did she found Cassandra staring pensively into the stained glass, out toward the muted city beyond. A tear was rolling down Cassandra’s face, but she didn’t bother wiping it away. She wanted Jancis to see how truly bad she felt.
“I’m not a monster, Jan,” she whispered without turning around. “I’m just . . . trapped.”
Jancis came closer and placed a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. To Cassandra’s great relief there were no chiding words this time, only mildness. Cassandra thought she would sob.
“You should have seen him,” she went on. “He has so much to deal with, maybe even war, yet he brightens like a firefly when he sees me.”
“He’s a good man,” said Jancis.
“Better than I des
erve.”
Unable to face her friend, Cassandra waited for the counsel she knew would come. Jancis kept her hand on the young queen’s shoulder, until the gentleness of the touch grew firm.
“You have to stop, you and Lukien both,” she said. “Akeela’s home now. It’s time to give yourself to him, and no one else.”
Cassandra shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Cassandra, you must.” Jancis went around the chair to face her. “Enough, now. The two of you have enjoyed yourself, but it has to end, right now. Tonight.”
There was no way for Cassandra to explain it, so she didn’t try. How could one explain love? Everything Jancis said was true, but love like this didn’t yield to logic. It was beyond the sensible. It was like lunacy.
“I don’t want to end it, Jancis,” said Cassandra. “I’m not strong enough.”
And as she spoke, the tear trailing down her face fell at last into her lap.
There was a strange quiet to the castle as Akeela made his way through the halls. His council chamber was on the other end of the keep, near the main gate and easily accessible to travelers. Unlike his father, who always held council in his throne room, Akeela shunned the throne as just another trapping of authority. He preferred to deal with his chancellors as equals, even if they really weren’t. He was king by blood-right, had authority over all the ministers in Chancellery Square, but that didn’t mean he would abuse his station—not even against men like Glass.
Akeela was halfway to the council chamber when he saw Trager. The lieutenant was leaning against a wall, alone, his arms folded over his chest. The torchlight revealed an odd expression on his sharp face. Akeela slowed but Trager noticed him, coming quickly to attention.