by S. C. Monson
Leon drew a long breath, then leaned back as he exhaled. With his elbows propped on the armrests, he steepled his fingers. “We recently captured the young forester guilty of tax evasion and murder.” He eyed Merrick over his hands. “His miller friends, guilty of harboring said criminal, will soon be in our grip as well. And present or not, they will all be convicted this evening in a private hearing at which you will read their sentencing.” Merrick’s fist tightened around the coin as Leon continued. “Should you fail to appear tonight, as has been your habit in the past, I will be forced to treat your actions as insubordination. Is that clear?”
Merrick’s face flushed red and his lips barely moved as he spoke. “Perfectly. Your Majesty.”
“Good.” Leon dropped his hands and relaxed. “And if I were you, I would limit my time with our youngest guest. No more waiting on her hand and foot when she’s ill. In fact, I recommend avoiding extended interactions with her altogether.”
Merrick clenched his jaw. “You’re asking me to give up a friend.”
“I’m asking you to consider your future,” Leon said in a measured tone. “Remember your duty, boy, to Perabon and Salkar.” They glared at each other for a moment before Leon finally gestured at the door. “You are dismissed. Do not forget the hearing tonight.”
The prince heir’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “How could I, sire, when my father is king?” After another mockingly low bow, he stalked from the room.
The king massaged his temples. The boy was seventeen and a half and still as headstrong and lacking in propriety as he had been at age ten. Something would have to be done about that soon. Because phantom from the past or not, Merrick would inherit the throne. Leon would make certain of that.
23
Merrick sat against his chamber door, knees to his chest, arms folded across them. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. An hour had passed since his conversation with his father. Their interactions were hardly pleasant anymore, but Merrick usually found it easy to forget and move on. This time, however, was different. The king of Perabon expected much from his son, too much at times. Unquestioning obedience, blind loyalty, perfection. Merrick ticked the list off in his mind. A heart of stone. He pounded his knee in frustration. The man knew nothing of love. He rolled his coin over his knuckles, an action that calmed him and aggravated his father—a habit worth pursuing.
Again, he went over the arranged marriage, seeking fault in its logic. His union with the Salkaran empress-to-be had been planned years ago by Salkar’s reigning empress and King Leon, but Merrick had only just found out about it last year. At the time, he had protested, claiming a groom should have some say in his own marriage. That argument had sealed his fate. After a moment’s contemplation, his father had cordially agreed and offered him a choice: Join with Salkar, the kingdom south of Tilldor, or wed the queen of the Vahindi Isles in the Meraban Expanse.
Both unions would serve a similar purpose, but Merrick did not feel compatible with the Salkaran empress-to-be, and the Vahindi Isles queen was cruel. Merrick had heard tales about her from his Vahindan friends that made his skin crawl. So, he had chosen the lesser of the two evils, though it could hardly be deemed a choice in his mind. But it is my duty, he thought bitterly. That and sentencing the outlawed forester, and the miller and his daughter. At least they don’t have to marry Princess Imardia IV of Salkar.
The union would increase Perabon’s wealth and expand its trade. Salkar was rich in precious gems and considered the dye capital of Caderia. In addition, its shipbuilders constructed the fastest, sturdiest ships in the known regions, second only to the Vahindi Isles’ ships. Salkar also controlled a water passage through the Jagged Peaks. This wall of shipwrecking boulders stretched for miles in the Ky’alar Sea to the south. It was nearly impossible for traders to traverse on their own without smashing their ships on the rocks. So they either went around it, which cost more time, money, and supplies, or they paid Salkar. The union would come with free access to the passage and a guide through it. And the countries on the other end of the Jagged Peaks were brimming with rare spices, precious silks, and a host of other desirable trade goods. Besides that, the marriage could help heal the rift that had been growing between the two countries ever since Leon had married into power. It was a deal too attractive for the king to pass up.
Merrick sighed. Everything about the union seemed perfect. Everything except her. True, Imardia IV, daughter of the reigning empress, was beautiful. Even Merrick had admitted as much when they first met. But her response to his romantic advances had been cold and unfeeling. On his last visit a few months earlier, she had called him a homely, immature twit in front of her entire court and half his entourage. She had even gone so far as to insult his beard hair. Stubbly wisps, she’d called them. And, ghastly little sprigs.
At the memory, Merrick felt his cheeks grow hot. He pulled the coin into his fist and squeezed. She was pompous, proud, and selfish. All three, a bad combination for any marriage. Besides that, he didn’t relish marrying a woman who slandered his beard growth in front of his friends. He spread his thumb and forefinger over the narrow strips of hair on his upper lip. They swept down his cheeks in an elegant arc to meet the narrow sideburns trailing his jawline. The sideburns joined up on his chin, forming a triangle, the tip of which jutted up toward his bottom lip. It had taken him months to find the right look, let alone grow enough hair to suggest it. And still, most people barely noticed the fuzz.
As he got to his feet, Merrick grumbled aspersions at the empress-to-be. Allinor was far preferable. She was beautiful, smart, honest. A year older, perhaps, but that was nothing. They had been friends for several years now. Surely his father would see the benefits of a union with Tilldor. If he could just convince Allinor in the matter…
He wrapped himself in a night-blue cloak and made his way out of the castle. Fresh air made it easier to think, and there was plenty of time for that before the hearing. He pulled up his hood and walked, head bowed, shoulders hunched, trying to be inconspicuous. It worked until he neared the soldier’s barracks.
“Plotting something dangerous and exciting, I hope.” The cheerful voice came near his ear. Merrick spun to see Allinor leaning furtively toward him. She smiled and straightened. “Mind if I join you?”
The prince glanced about, hoping his father wasn’t watching. “You know I’m in trouble for helping you.” It was a statement more than an accusation. This was the first time he’d seen Allinor since her return from the outing.
She tensed and her words tumbled out in an anxious whisper. “He knows I left the castle? But if he knows, then my mother will know and she’ll never let me—”
Merrick held up a hand to waylay her fears. “No, no. He thinks you were sick. He just—” He cut off, not wanting to delve into the real reason. “He’s just my father. You know.”
“Ah.” Allinor nodded in sympathy and Merrick offered her his arm.
“Did you find your flower?”
She nodded—“Just outside the village”—but didn’t say more.
Merrick turned back to continue walking as Martt appeared around the barracks.
“Prince Merrick. Lady Allinor.” He bowed. “Out for a walk, I see.”
Allinor nodded pleasantly, but the prince stiffened and did not respond. The commander had always treated Merrick as a man worthy of consideration and respect, unlike the other officers and nobles, who still regarded him as a child. Merrick had always appreciated this. But Martt’s staunch loyalty to the king and fierce dedication to his duties made him Leon’s eyes and ears.
All I need now is for him to report me to my father. He lifted his chin to glare at the man.
Martt seemed to understand the silence, and the look. Chuckling, he patted Merrick on the shoulder. “Not to worry, Prince. This will remain our little secret.” As he spoke, his gaze flicked briefly to Allinor. Then he winked at Merrick, bowed again, and strode away.
Merrick started off once more with A
llinor on his arm. They passed the barracks and the stables before she finally broke the silence.
“I saw Martt yesterday on my way back to the castle. Had to hide in a bush. He’s a confident man, isn’t he?”
“Mm,” Merrick agreed. “Has a good handle on the soldiers. They trust him. Makes him an excellent spy for the king.” He glanced at her and, for the first time, noticed a bundle under her arm. He nodded at it. “What’s that?”
She smiled slyly. “I’ll tell you once you tell me where we’re headed.”
“There's a little garden spot—”
“This late in fall?” Allinor asked, interrupting.
“—over there,” Merrick finished and pointed. Across the meadow before them was a high, crumbling garden wall that curved around and rode up against the castle grounds’ outer ramparts.
Allinor raised an eyebrow. “Looks more like a wall to me.”
He grinned. “I’ll show you.” After crossing the meadow, they ducked into a wide section of undergrowth growing against the wall. Merrick was nearly bent double in the tangle of plants as he held them back for Allinor, revealing a craggy gap in the stone. “My lady.” He gestured at the hole. “The garden.”
Gathering her skirts in one hand and clinging to the bundle with the other, Allinor climbed through. Merrick followed and found her rooted to the grass, wide-eyed and gaping at the scene.
The garden was brimming with meticulously trimmed, miniature trees and shrubs. Rare flowers bloomed everywhere. A crystal-clear stream snaked its way through it all and several footbridges provided passage over it. Carefully placed stones formed a path through the lush carpet of grass. The colors were deep and vibrant, ranging from crimson red and orange to flaming gold, magenta, and ivy green. Pools of water steamed throughout the garden, producing a pleasant, humid heat.
“Not bad, eh?” Merrick asked, pushing back his hood and smiling at Allinor.
She looked at him. “Not bad? Merrick, it’s lovely. Like a fairytale.” With that, she gathered her skirts again and ran to the nearest bridge. Merrick followed and leaned back against the railing to watch her.
Beside him, she bent over the chipping, burgundy handrail and stared down at the stream. “We’ve been friends for years. I thought you would have shown me all your secret spots by now.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “How much longer were you planning to keep all this from me?”
Merrick chuckled and glanced around. “Nice, isn’t it. My mother used to bring me here. It’s one of the few memories I have of her.”
At the words, Allinor’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
He brushed this off with a wave of his hand. “You’re not.” Then, cocking his head to one side, he met her gaze with a crooked, boyish grin. “She would have liked you to see it.”
Allinor smiled and gazed around the garden. “How do you care for all this, especially in the cold?”
“There are heated pools bubbling up into the stream and located around the garden. Keeps the whole place warm and humid, even in the winter. The consistent temperature is just right for keeping plants and animals alive. A few gardeners live on the grounds. They’ve sworn not to talk about it with anyone except the king…and me. They take care of it all.”
Allinor looked down at the stream and Merrick turned to lean over the railing to her left. Below, a school of fish circled the snow-white water lilies. Their feathered fins and shimmering scales made them look like exotic, underwater birds. Allinor pointed one out among the golds, reds, and oranges that was an ethereal glowing white. “I’ve never seen fish like these.”
“They’re kotai.” Merrick said the name almost reverently. “The Nalkaran monarch gave them to my mother as a condolence gift when her first husband died. He was a northerner, so I’m told.” The white kotai swam under the bridge and a pale blue fish followed.
Merrick leaned out over the railing to watch until they disappeared from view. “Those two have been following each other around for quite some time now,” he said.
From the water, Allinor’s reflection rippled up at him as she swept her free hand out in a theatrical gesture. “The beauty of a thousand sleeping gardens is a thousand times more beautiful with the dawning of a new love.”
The prince chuckled. “The Silver Rose.” Then, trying to slip into the conversation he wanted to have, he asked casually, “You think they’re in love?” He stared down at the fish.
“Who? Adalet and Tuncer? You know you really should read the story.”
Merrick glanced at her. Her mouth twitched in a smile. She was teasing. He knew that she knew he had meant the fish.
“I don’t need to read it,” he said, teasing her back. “You recite it so much I practically have it memorized.” He laid a hand over his heart and launched into a falsetto, mimicking Allinor’s version of the heroine and horridly mispronouncing the names. “Tuncer, my love, though the wraiths of Taurussi threaten to tear me asunder, my heart will be yours forever…”
Allinor winced. “It’s Toon-jerr, with a flutter on the r and a zh on the c. Not Tun-kir.” She shuddered. “And they’re wraiths of Tah-ruh-sigh, not Terra-see. Forget reading it yourself. I’ll read it to you.”
“Don’t bother,” Merrick said, grinning. “I know the ending.”
She gave him a severe look. “You may know how it ends, but it’s the beginning and the middle that really count.”
At this, Merrick raised an eyebrow, folded his arms across his chest in a challenge, and leaned back against the railing again. He’d always enjoyed their banter.
She hastened to prove her point. “You see, it’s how the characters get to the end that draws the reader in. How they fall in love. Not just the ending itself, though it is romantic and exciting all on its own. But if you don’t read the middle, you can’t appreciate how beautiful the ending really is. Besides, the middle is full of sword fighting and peril, prison pits and wraiths. There’s even a fire-breathing wyvern. It’s like—” She hesitated and lowered her voice. “Like sneaking off castle grounds and having your own adventure, making friends and meeting people. People like—”
“Princes and princesses, millers and foresters who fight all kinds of evil and fall in love?” Merrick finished. The hearing was still on his mind. “People who get themselves captured and tortured by people like my father on beautiful days like today?” He glanced lazily up at the sky and held back a mischievous smile. “I think I’ll just let you tell me about it.” He braced himself for the punch he knew was coming.
“There are no millers and foresters,” Allinor said, sounding irritated. She didn’t punch him.
“What were they then, poppers and peacocks?” He grinned, still bracing.
Allinor didn’t smile. “Princes and princesses, peasants and slaves. No millers. No foresters. And your father isn’t in the story.”
“Millers, foresters, peasants, slaves. It’s all the same,” Merrick said, shrugging. To my father, at least.
They eyed each other a moment and Allinor stared more intently at his eyes. For an instant she seemed startled and confused. Then she quickly glanced away, hugging her bundle more tightly and staring intently down at the stream.
Merrick cocked his head at her. Generally, she was an amiable banterer, except when troubled…or heartsick. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’re in love. Again.” It was a good-humored accusation.
Allinor furrowed her brow as a warm flush crept into her cheeks. “No, I’m not.”
Merrick dropped his chin and raised his eyebrows. Over the past years, she had been forthcoming about her heartthrobs. He had often listened patiently, wondering if he would ever fall into the category of her Admired. The fact that she was balking at the topic now gave him hope that this was finally the case.
Perfect timing, he thought, mulling over arguments for an arranged marriage with Allinor. Surely Tilldor had as much to offer as Salkar.
She was still studying the stream. “You are in love,” h
e said, turning sideways to face her. He rested one forearm on the railing and leaned into it. “Question is, who’s the fellow?” A grin spread over his face. “A fine strapping young man in the vicinity, perhaps?”
Allinor glared at him. “I’m not in love.”
“Come now,” Merrick coaxed. “You can tell me.”
“Alright.” She held his gaze, without smiling. “Since we’re being so open about pretend loves, tell me—how is Imardia?”
Merrick narrowed his eyes at her, his suspicion growing at the abrupt shift in focus. Perhaps this time, he really was the fellow. At the thought, his insides prickled anxiously. She had been so open with him about all her other heartthrobs even while refusing to tell her own mother. Just as he opened his mouth to probe the subject further, however, a thought struck him and he shut it again. If the fellow was him, he could hardly expect her to be open about it, what with his recently announced marriage arrangement. He groaned inwardly at his insensitive blunder.
“That bad, eh?” Allinor said, answering her own question.
He plastered a false smile on his face and turned his gaze to the stream. “What’s in your bundle?” he asked, changing the subject.
Allinor grew instantly enthusiastic, all irritability from the past conversation gone. “It was my father’s.” She thrust it at Merrick, then turned her back to the stream and hopped up to sit on the upper handrail. When she momentarily lost her balance, his hand shot out to catch her. But she waved him off, looped one foot through the middle railing to steady herself, and snatched the bundle from him.
“Maybe you could tell me down here,” he suggested.
“Why? Afraid I’ll fa-all?” She dragged out the last word as she let herself drop back.
“Don’t—” He grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut, then cracking one open. His heart pounded in his chest.
With a cheerful laugh, she hoisted herself upright and patted the chipping wood beside her in invitation. Merrick, however, declined.
Shrugging, Allinor unbuckled the strap holding the bundle closed and folded back the vellum cover. Inside were layers upon layers of loose sketches and dried flowers. “My father collected these. He drew the pictures and painted them.”