Queen of Savon

by Tricia Andersen

  Thomas stared at her for a moment. “Let me talk to Edgar. We will try a trial run with a couple of villages. But you are responsible, Cassa, for coordination of this assignment. Can you handle that with your studies?”

  “Yes, your highness.”

  “Good.” Thomas set the goblet on the small table nestled next to the chair. He rose before offering his arm to the girl once again. “Shall we go outside?”

  Cassandra accepted, pleased by his attention to her thoughts. She looked up to his eyes as he smiled down at her. Instinctively, without any thought, she pressed her cheek against his arm in a small embrace. He chuckled as he led her to the boys.

  They remained silent as Thomas strode away from them. Once alone, they spun towards Cassandra.

  “What did he say? Did he punish you? What were you thinking?” Victor spat. Matthew stared at her in disbelief.

  Cassandra laughed, her eyes twinkling mischievously. I couldn’t be happier right now. Hopefully, this will help my people. She softly kissed each boy on the cheek then ran off to her place at the maypole.

  * * * *

  Six months had passed since Cassandra had her talk with Thomas. She did as he asked, speaking to generals who only listened to her by orders of the king. In addition, she kept up with her lessons. It saddened her that she didn’t have time to play with Matthew and Victor. However, her people needed her.

  She sat at the large weathered wood desk in the room in the north tower. Her grandfather had left her to her studies that afternoon as he did every day. She rubbed her eyes then crossed to the window gently opening the shutters. She watched as Matthew and Victor engaged in a mock sword fight in the fallen autumn leaves. They were no longer boys but young men of fifteen. She nestled on the cushion beneath the window as a sigh escaped her throat. Before they would know it they would be fully-grown — hard, muscular, and full of life and desire.

  The door of the tower opened. “Cassandra?” one of the courtiers summoned.

  “Yes?” she answered as she reluctantly roused herself from her seat.

  “King Thomas wishes to see you.”

  She stood erect and followed the courtier down the stairs of the tower through the palace to the throne room. Inside, Thomas and Edgar stood over the easel that bore the battle plans pouring themselves over the new parchments that they had pinned up over the map. Beside them, two members of the Savon Royal Army stood at attention ready to report.

  “Ah, Cassa. You are here. The reports from the garrison posts are back,” Thomas greeted.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  Thomas turned to the soldiers and nodded for them to begin. The man of lesser rank stepped forward to begin his tale.

  “Your majesty, I was standing guard at the edge of my village. Your order left me in disbelief. I could not understand why you would send me and my brothers in arms home to our village when we should be serving you on the battlefield. We are all decorated soldiers of your army.

  We set up the garrison post as you commanded, yet did not understand the purpose behind your orders. We had only heard the rumor that this entire plan was the musings of a fifteen-year-old girl.

  Two days after the garrison was completed, several black-clad men on horseback approached me. The other five soldiers flanked me on either side, yet we were still outnumbered. In your name, I ordered Gorgon’s troops out of the village. At first, they laughed seeing us as no threat. The commander ordered an attack.

  However, when the men of the village joined our defense, armed with sickles, pitchforks and spears, Gorgon’s men were too terrified to strike. They retreated from our village, never to return. Your majesty, your plan worked. Our village has had plenty of grain to live on for the first time in years.”

  Edgar echoed the soldier’s thoughts. “Other than a couple of skirmishes, Gorgon's men have gone six months without an attack. They have not been able to overcome the villages. The soldiers' spirits are up. We are instituting the garrison plan throughout the kingdom.”

  “That is wonderful news!” Cassandra exclaimed.

  Thomas reached out for her. As she drew near, he clasped her hands in his. “I want you to go with me to inspect the garrisons,” he began. “I will take you and the boys with me. I want the whole kingdom to know you are responsible for the garrisons…that you saved their lives.”

  The delegation—Thomas, Edgar, Malicar, Matthew, Victor, and Cassandra—hurried to prepare for the journey to the posts. By morning’s light, they had packed the horses and carts and left the palace for the several month long excursion. For the young sorceress, it was a long, lonely trip.

  Cassandra huddled under her heavy cloak, staring at her boot clad feet as they crunched the new fallen snow beneath her. She looked over her shoulder to the temporary camp, never having seen so much of her native kingdom. However, the trip had been lengthy and cold. She wished for her bed in her grandfather's castle as well as her home in the palace.

  A gray eagle circled above her. Cassandra watched as it weaved a path in the sky before landing next to her. She looked down at her boots again as a sudden flash of light appeared in the winter grayness and her grandfather appeared beside her.

  “Why are you so far from camp, child?” Malicar asked gently.

  “I just needed some time by myself,” she whispered.

  “Well, you had better start back. The delegation is about to leave. They are waiting for you.”

  Cassandra pulled her cloak tighter around her as she followed in his footsteps. She looked up as she heard him croon softly, “Just a few days, my dear, and we can go home.”

  They walked between the tents toward the rest of their group already mounted proudly on their horses. She glanced up to Matthew and Victor then turned her eyes back to the ground.

  She could handle Victor's disapproval—they rarely saw eye to eye. But the scowl she received from Matthew's smoldering dark eyes broke her heart. He would not speak to her, angrily offended for her taking his place in his father's heart. She had not meant to—it was for the people's sake that she had made her plea. Did I not go to him first?

  “Let us go, Cassa,” Thomas called from the front of the assembly. “The garrison is expecting us.”

  Edgar beamed proudly at her as Malicar nudged her to the front of the band. With a sigh, she mounted the mare that was given to her and followed behind the king and commander. She watched her breath as the animal hobbled along with the other two steeds. She lovingly touched its chestnut skin, which was soft beneath her fingers. The horse had been her only companion this trip, her own friends deserting her in her newfound fame.

  The group dismounted at the border and walked the final paces into the town. Thomas gently took Cassandra's arm and led her to the leader of the village and the soldiers who had been protecting the people and the grain so diligently. Edgar clapped her on the back as the other men gaped in surprise that the whole garrison was devised by this young girl. Her grandfather, the king, and Edgar spoke to them proudly.

  Cassandra looked past the men for refuge, for retreat from her position as the prize of Savon. Her eyes met Matthew's. He glared at her with hatred that she had never seen him possess, his perfect masculine face hardened in anger. Tears rushed to her eyes, and she blinked, powerless to stop them. She struggled to swallow the sob in her throat as he turned on his heel and followed Victor.

  She rubbed her eyes, wishing she were home.

  * * * *

  Matthew peeked out of the cave, past the towering trees, and into the evening sky. The spring day was warm and the leaves began to sprout in the trees. He rested at the mouth of the cave, listening to Victor still exploring inside. They had spent the day searching in the caves that were buried among the forests near the palace. They had taken their lunch with them so that they did not have to return to their tag-a-long.

  “Cassandra,” he spat as he kicked a rock lying in the dust. His heart burned with anger at the young woman who held so much favor in his father's eyes. It seems t
hat I do not even exist to him. Matthew's heart went out to her. She was an orphan. But to steal his father was a betrayal to which he thought she would never stoop.

  Matthew looked into the clouds again, seeing the rays grow from the warm yellow to melon colors. “Victor, we should be starting for home. The sun is setting,” he called.

  “We have more time,” a voice yelled back.

  An uneasy feeling grew in Matthew's stomach. “We cannot return alone. We will have to find her.”

  “She is probably brooding by the horses.”

  Matthew sat for a moment longer and then rose to his feet. “I am going to go look for her.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Matthew trudged along the ferns that carpeted the floor of the forest. Victor was probably correct—Cassandra was most likely brooding. As the sky grew more brilliant in color, he quickened his pace. He kicked his feet free of leaves and branches as he reached the clearing. He gazed across the meadow, finding the horses grazing alone.

  “Cassandra?” There was no reply. Fear gripped his heart as he searched for her. Without hesitation, he raced back into the forest.

  Horrifying thoughts filled Matthew’s mind as he investigated behind every tree, bush, or brush he came upon. What if one of Gorgon's men captured her for his slave? What if a wolf dragged her into the forest and tore her flesh apart? What if a mythical beast took her—?

  A pained cough interrupted his worrying and led him to a small clearing ahead. He drew his sword to slash at a thick wall of branches that weaved together between the trees. In one stroke, they fell at the feet of a limp body, which was lying on a mattress of white blossoms.

  Matthew sank to his knees next to Cassandra's still form, her slim figure wracked with each breath she struggled to take. He shook her furiously to consciousness. Her eyes opened to dim slits.

  “Matthew?” Cassandra whispered hoarsely. The simple name sent her into a convulsion of coughs. He cradled her in his arms, every hateful thought he harbored against her melting into guilt and fear. He touched her face as her eyes fluttered closed once again. Her flesh was as cold as death.

  Matthew laid Cassandra down gently then stood to run for Victor. Less than a hundred feet away from her, he stopped suddenly, shouting to get Victor's attention. After a few moments of futile screaming, he returned to her side.

  Matthew smoothed back her hair as his heart raced in panic. He gathered her in his arms again, gently lifting her off the ground. Cassandra groaned in pain as she buried her face against his chest.

  He stumbled through the forest toward their horses, clasping her close to his heart. He laid her across his saddle long enough to mount then held her close once more. Her weak fingers clung to his shirt as he dug the heels of his boots into his stallion’s flesh, urging it to a full gallop.

  Matthew pulled the horse to a stop in front of the palace steps, gently leaning her limp body against its silken mane. He slid off then carefully picked her up. He raced up the stairs, shoving the door open with his shoulder.

  “Father!” he shouted.

  Thomas opened the door of the library with Malicar following. He crossed the entrance hall in only a couple of strides, taking the lifeless girl from the arms of his terrified son. Thomas sprinted up the stone steps to the living quarters. Malicar glided after him, his ancient face filled with anguish. Matthew watched as the men raced across the balcony and disappeared.

  Matthew hugged his arms tightly around himself as tears streamed down his cheeks. Seconds later, he traced his father's footsteps up the staircase and down the hall. He peeked through the crack of the door to the nearest bedchamber, finding Cassandra lying on the bed. Malicar sat at her side with his palm on her forehead.

  After a few moments, he pulled back his hand as he worriedly shook his head at Thomas. The two men spoke in whispers over her limp form. She suddenly came to life in another convulsion of coughs, the spasms jolting her body into violent retching. Thomas tugged her carefully from the vomit-soaked spot on the mattress then twisted to bark out commands.

  A courtier rushed past Matthew as if the young man were a shadow. Matthew turned back towards the door. Cassandra looked at Thomas and then at her grandfather through weak eyes before they fluttered shut again.

  Matthew bowed his head as he silently prayed for her life. He turned to find Cook and four servants marching across the stone floor. Each set of girls balanced a heavy wood pole against their shoulders that bore a large cast iron pot of boiling water. They flung open the doors and entered. The two men excused themselves as Cook began to disrobe Cassandra.

  Matthew stared at Thomas wide-eyed as he walked into the hall. Malicar spun toward the north tower and rushed away, his ash-white robes whispering along the ground.

  “Father?” Matthew asked softly.

  “Where were you?” Thomas demanded.

  “Exploring in the caves. We thought she would be alright.”

  “I have told you to protect her. Where is Victor? He is supposed to watch out for both of you.”

  “Is she…going to die?” Matthew whimpered.

  Thomas sighed. “No. But she is gravely ill, and she will be for several days. The plants you found her in were nightshade—perfectly harmless to you and I, but poisonous for those with sorcery in their blood like Malicar and Cassandra.”

  “Can Malicar not heal her?”

  “No, son. The poison is too deeply engrained in her blood. She will have to fight it herself. She will be staying here, where she can have constant care.”

  Matthew nodded quietly. Thomas grasped his shoulder and tugged him close, hugging Matthew as a sob escaped his son's throat.

  Thomas softly continued, “Cassandra needs all of us, and she does not need your anger. Especially over something I have done. I love you, son, and I am proud of you…even though at the moment I am angry with you for not obeying me.”

  Matthew wrapped his arms tight around his father. “Maybe I could read to her.”

  “When she is well enough to stay awake, yes. She would love that. Now, I need to go find more blankets to warm her while Malicar mixes something for her pain.” Thomas strode past him towards the servants quarters.

  Matthew walked to the balcony, still shaken by the evening's experience. He watched as the front door opened, and Victor slipped inside.

  “What is happening?” Victor asked as he noticed his friend's swollen eyes.

  “Cassandra is very sick. Very, very sick. She was poisoned in the forest,” Matthew whispered.

  “Is your father upset?”

  “Yes, but do you not care about her? She is so weak. I cannot believe you are worried about yourself.”

  “Of course I am worried,” Victor stumbled out. “I think I am going to my room.”

  Matthew watched in disbelief as Victor disappeared beneath the balcony. He clenched his fists in anger then released them hopelessly. Then, he turned and slipped down the hall into the darkness.

  Two day passed with Cassandra remaining unconscious. Finally, on the second night she had woken to Cook hovering over her fragile frame with a pot of soup. This afternoon Matthew wanted to distract her from the illness that plagued her by reading to her. He gently pushed the bedchamber door open as he clutched the book to his chest. Glancing inside, he found Cassandra asleep.

  Matthew tiptoed over to the side of Cassandra’s bed, gazing down at her. Her ivory skin was still pale against the soft cotton of her nightdress. Her long brown hair cascaded in curls against her pillow and across her bare shoulders.

  Matthew sat down in a nearby chair. As he settled back, he looked up into her hazel eyes. She rubbed them tiredly as she slowly woke. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Weak,” she whispered. The simple word set her into a spasm of coughing. She buried her face into her pillow, clearly fighting to control the convulsions and capture her breath. After several moments, she trained her stare on Matthew's stricken face.

  “I…I have come to read to you,�
�� he murmured softly.

  Cassandra smiled as she snuggled deeper into her blankets. Matthew opened the book and began to read. He was immersed in the story until he was interrupted by another series of coughs. He looked up, finding her face once again turned into her pillow. In panic, he reached out and began rubbing her back.

  She gasped for breath, her fit quickly ending. Glancing at him, she forced out, “Thank you. That helped.”

  “Good.”

  Matthew began reading again, occasionally eyeing her. He caught her smiles, her laugh. His heart thundered in his chest as he watched her. Every time she coughed, he stopped reading to stroke her back. She smiled appreciatively each time.

  Matthew read to her for hours, unaware of the passing of time. He looked up as night spread across the sky, finding her asleep. He stood to leave and took a step for the door before pausing and returning to her side.

  Bending over, he gently pressed his lips against her cheek. “Sweet dreams,”

  Matthew said quietly and then slipped out of the room.

  * * * *

  Thomas stared out the heavy glass window in the library, gazing at the stars as they dotted the deep blue sky. He found comfort here—comfort to remember, to grieve, to miss Anna.

  On warm spring nights like this, they would walk in the garden, her small, soft hand in his. He would brush her golden hair from her shoulder and press his lips to hers, feeling his heart skip with her gentle giggles. He would pick her roses and sit next to her on the stone bench amongst the bushes.

  They would watch the stars appear one by one as the air was blanketed in the strong perfume of the surrounding blossoms. Then, when he could hold back no longer, he would take her captive in his arms, and she would surrender to him, opening her lips eagerly to accept his kisses…

  He immersed himself in his memories, plunging himself so deeply into his past that he never heard the door open. His eyes wandered across the books to a ghostly figure in white. He jumped, startled.