by S. C. Monson
Together they admired the drawings and flowers, she on the railing, he standing beside her. Carefully, she turned to the last page and held up a flattened, shimmering blue flower with a green stem. “It hasn’t finished drying yet, but I wanted to show you.” For a moment, she let him hold it, then placed it back in the book. “The petals help with memories,” she said, handing him a few that had been tucked in the pages. “If you hold an item related to the memory, you’ll recall it more strongly and clearly.”
After studying the petals, Merrick stuffed them in a pouch for later. “Sounds like your quest was fruitful. Wish I could have come.”
“I needed you to cover for me, and you’ve had your own excursions often enough. Besides, you wouldn’t have liked it. I had to climb a pretty sizable tree once.” Merrick glanced at her curiously, but she shook her head. “Don’t ask.” She fell silent, staring down at the sketches, then giggled.
Merrick eyed her. “Mind sharing the joke?”
In an obvious yet futile attempt to suppress her mirth, she bit her lip and looked at him. “I was just imagining you, Crown Prince of Perabon, on your way to your wedding.”
“That’s not that funny,” he muttered.
“In my mind it was—you were sitting on a horse with a wreath of juniper berries on your head and a look of terror on your face because your feet couldn’t touch the ground.” Another giggle. “And then I thought maybe a short-legged pony would suit you better. One small enough so your feet could tickle the path as you rode,” she said, unashamedly bursting into laughter.
Merrick rolled his eyes and spoke over her. “It’s the bride who wears the juniper wreath,” he said sulkily. “And I’m not that afraid of heights.”
“Yes, you are.” Allinor nodded ardently. “Remember that time you climbed the tree by the healer’s hut and couldn’t get down?” Another giggle. “You were only two handspans from the grass, but you insisted I go to the healer’s hut and fetch Atlar for help.”
“My foot was stuck,” Merrick protested.
Allinor grinned mercilessly. “What were you doing in that tree anyway, if you were so afraid of heights?”
Merrick jabbed an accusing finger at her. “You said I’d turn into a chicken-footed pig if I didn’t.” He tried to sound indignant, but couldn’t keep a straight face.
As their laughter finally subsided, Allinor said, “When you get married, I’ll give you your pick of Tilldor’s prized miniature ponies.”
Merrick grew serious. “And what if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll choose for you.”
He shook his head to correct the misunderstanding. “No, what if I don’t marry that princess from Salkar?” Allinor stared at him. “What if I could choose…someone else?”
She giggled and elbowed him. “Either way, you’re getting a pony.” Merrick didn’t laugh and she grew quiet. “You’re serious. But your father—”
“I can handle him,” he said, more severely than he’d intended.
“Fine, fine,” she said. “Let’s suppose for a moment that you did manage to break your engagement to Imardia. Who else would you choose? Don’t tell me you prefer the Vahindi Isles queen.” She eyed him. “Do you?”
Merrick shook his head and gave her a meaningful look. At first she stared, blank-faced, then her eyes grew wide. Slowly, she shook her head and chewed her lip.
Before she could verbally reject the idea, Merrick plunged ahead. “We’ve known each other a long time, Allinor. Our kingdoms are compatible—we are compatible. The union would have so many benefits. You have access to certain trade routes with the Vahindi Isles that would open doors for us—”
“Merrick—”
He kept going. “And your relationship with Salkar is much stronger—”
“Merrick, we can’t.”
“Why not?”
“You— I—” She fumbled over her words and concluded weakly, “We just can’t. If you broke off the marriage, both our kingdoms would suffer. Salkar would raise its fees or close trade with us altogether and we’d lose access to their passage through the Jagged Peaks.”
“Blast the passage and blast our trade,” Merrick said, kicking at a pebble. From the corner of his eye, he saw Allinor reach a hand toward him, then hesitate and drop it to the railing.
“It’s for the best,” she said at last. “Besides…” There was a forced note of cheer in her tone. “Romance would only complicate our friendship. Maybe ruin it altogether. Your father is doing what’s best for Perabon. And you.”
Merrick winced. The words stung. He bent to gather a few scattered pebbles. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew him.”
“I’ve known him as long as I’ve known you,” she said, then sighed. “I know you aren’t as close to your father as you’d like to be, and he’s a hard man—a hard ruler, but surely not as bad as you always make him out to be.”
“No?” Glancing sharply at her, Merrick turned to face the railing. “Come to the hearing tonight and see.”
She jumped eagerly at the change of subject. “What hearing?”
Merrick shrugged, rolling the pebbles around in his hand. “It’s more a sentencing than a hearing. For some forester we’ve been after for years. Keeps himself hidden away in the Timberland most of the time.”
Allinor stiffened. “The Borwood Timberland?”
Nodding, Merrick threw a pebble at the stream. “He doesn’t give everyone the same attention, you know—my father, that is. Only the most infuriating criminals.”
“Criminal?”
Again, Merrick nodded. “This particular hermit has been hiding in the forest for years, evading taxes. Can’t say I blame him. I would run from the king, too, if I could,” he said, dropping the pebbles one by one into the stream. He watched the fish dart toward them, then casually turn away when they discovered the rocks weren’t food. “I almost wish I could trade places with the man. Even if he is wanted for murder. At least he doesn’t have to endure my father’s presence his whole life.”
Silence.
The prince let out a mirthless chuckle as a thought struck him. “Suppose I eliminated someone. Do you think the king would put me out of my misery too?” He glanced at Allinor to see if she was enjoying his dark humor.
She was pale and her lips were pressed together in a thin line.
“I’m joking, of course,” he added hastily. “Well, partly.” He grinned, but her expression remained unchanged. “Are you alright?”
“Did you say murder?” The words were barely a whisper.
Merrick eyed her in concern and nodded. “I’ve—distressed you. I’m terribly sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” The apology came out in a rush.
“No, I’m glad you did.” Allinor smiled, though Merrick could see it didn’t reach her eyes. She glanced at her vellum parcel and began to tidy the sketches, working her way back to front. “When do you have to go? To the hearing, I mean.”
“At sunset.” Merrick looked west.
The garden wall nestled up against the castle grounds’ higher outer wall. It was overrun with vines, flowers, and undergrowth. The sun looked poised on the ramparts above, bathing the garden in a golden glow. Beyond were the cliffs and the open sea—freedom from responsibilities and duties. Sighing, he dropped his gaze to Allinor’s book as she turned back to the first pages. There was an etching along the inside bottom edge of the vellum cover.
He pointed it out. “What’s that?”
Allinor turned the book upside down to make out the faded, uneven letters, and read haltingly. “In the wake of despair, charm will bring victory.” She wrinkled her brow and looked up, mulling over a word. “Charm.”
Merrick drew closer to study the sentence. “Charm… Isn’t that something you have down in Tilldor?”
“Ha!” She scoffed, then replied with feeling, “We have a lot more of it than Perabon, that’s certain.”
He chuckled. “I mean, isn’t charm a thing you have?”
She raised an eyeb
row and opened her mouth.
Before she could make another snarky comment, Merrick added, “I have a friend outside the castle—met her on one of my excursions. She mentioned it. Said no one else really believes in charm because it’s rare, so it isn’t talked about much. I only just found out from her that charmers come from a specific line in Tilldor. She didn’t go into much detail, and I couldn’t find any parchments on the subject. Pity. I’d like to know more.”
“What are you talking about?” Allinor said, suddenly sounding confused and tense.
Merrick eyed her. The teasing twinkle was gone from her eyes. “You know—charmers, magic?”
She stared blankly at him.
“Huh.” He grunted and raised an eyebrow. “I’d have thought you of all people would know, being a Tilldoran princess and all. I’ve been meaning to ask you about it all week. Don’t your royals, at least, keep records on it?”
“We keep records, but I’ve never read anything in them about charmers.”
Feeling sheepish, he glanced away. “Then it’s probably nothing but an old wives’ tale.”
She closed the vellum cover on the sketches and dried flowers. “I’ll ask my mother,” she said, running a hand over the book’s cover.
The book’s soft flowery scent mingled with hers and wafted up to Merrick. His mind went back to the arranged marriage. He was just reaching for her hand to try and convince her that his union with Tilldor—with her—would be just as useful for both of their kingdoms, when her hair blew in his face. He reeled back, coughing as he accidentally breathed it in. Oblivious to his intentions, Allinor quickly tamed her loose locks, and the playful breeze died as suddenly as it had risen.
Embarrassed, Merrick turned away, rubbing the back of his fingers against the palm of his other hand, trying to pretend nothing had happened. He tipped his head in the direction of the garden hole they had climbed through. “I should probably head back to prepare for the hearing.”
Allinor buckled the latch on her book and hopped down from the railing. “Your beard scruff could use a little attention,” she said lightly.
Merrick’s hand shot to the wisps on his chin, but as she grinned, he recognized the jibe. “Ha. Ha.” He dropped his hand as she walked past. “Always the beard,” he muttered. “Why does no one appreciate the beard?”
24
Kor groaned, in the throes of yet another of his strange fight dreams.
A borlan stood before him in the crowded space of the interrogation chamber. Kor ran, but fetters yanked him back and he sat, arms hanging limply from the chains above his head. The borlan swiped at him, cutting a long gash in the underflesh of both forearms. It burned, spreading fire through his veins.
A gentle voice called to him. “Rise, Kor. Remember your blood, remember me.”
Kor looked up and saw the woman from his fight dream, beckoning to him.
Fur began sprouting through his skin. It felt like needles. He tried to rise and tear free of his bonds, then crumpled back to the floor as the pain overwhelmed him. “I can’t.” The sprouts of fur retreated into him, but the restless stirring in his bones remained.
The woman spoke again as her lighted form began to fade. “In the wake of despair, charm will bring victory. Find the girl.”
Another face came into Kor’s mind. It was the same smudged, earth-stained face that had appeared under the influence of chlorweed and spicer venom. And he had a feeling it was the same face that had flashed before him in the cell before that. This time he saw clearly.
It was Len.
Kor woke with a start. A voice shouted down at him. “On your feet.”
Hands manacled, but no longer suspended from the hook on the wall, Kor curled up on the moldy stone floor of the interrogation chamber. He didn’t want to move.
A soldier kicked him. He grunted and struggled to his knees, then collapsed. Two soldiers lifted him to his feet. A stale, bitter drink was forced down his throat and he was dragged from the chamber. They passed the guards in the guardroom busy with a game of Shapes, and took the steps up and out of the building.
Outside, the soldiers dropped Kor to the cobblestones. They slipped a spear shaft through the crooks of his elbows, behind his back. Then, each taking hold of an end, they propelled him forward. His wrists, still shackled in front, pulled taut against his torso.
As they continued on, Kor felt his mind sharpening and his focus returning. He tried to make his feet obey, but he stumbled and fell on the steps up to the castle. They passed through the entry and down several marble hallways before stopping at a set of carved double doors. The guards there pulled them open to reveal a long, narrow chamber with a domed ceiling.
At the far end of the room was a raised platform with a set of steps at its center. The king sat there on his throne, reviewing a parchment and ignoring Kor’s entry. Commander Veen stood on the ground before him, beside the dais steps, and an empty throne sat on Leon’s left. A tall, gangly youth leaned against it, idly rolling a copper over his knuckles. On Leon’s right, beside the platform, sat a short, skinny scribe on a tall stool. He hunched over a podium, scribbling notes in a tome with a quill pen. The soldiers released Kor and he sank to the marble at the foot of the dais steps. He sat on his legs with his back arched to relieve the pressure of the shaft on his back. A long silence followed, broken only by the scritch scratch of the scribe’s pen on paper. At last there was a rustle of parchment, as the king spoke.
“It is time. Merrick?”
Kor lifted his head and saw the king holding out the parchment to the youth—Merrick. Kor had seen the prince on occasion, usually from a distance. Leon waved the parchment at the prince. Merrick cast the paper a disdainful glance before snatching it from his father’s hand. He began reading in a bored monotone.
“Kor of the forest, you have been brought before the king to answer—”
He broke off and all eyes turned to the door at the back of the dais as two gowned ladies burst through it. One was half a head shorter than the other, and younger. Kor tried to shake the remaining fog from his mind and squinted at the younger woman, wondering why she looked familiar. Her reddish-brown hair was plaited around the crown of her head and decorated with silver hair vines studded with miniature pearls. Her face was powdered and her cheeks and lips were brushed with purple-tinted rouge.
“Your Majesties.” The prince bowed as he greeted them. The younger woman curtsied back, but avoided eye contact.
Leon was standing now, staring at the women. He hesitated, then bowed. Addressing each in turn, he looked from the older woman to the younger. “Queen Rhoswen, Lady Allinor. To what do we owe this pleasure?”
“Forgive the informal entrance, King Leon, but my daughter insisted,” said the older woman. “After all, the pomp and circumstance of our position grows a little tiresome after a while, don’t you agree?”
“Indeed.” Leon sounded unconvinced.
The younger woman, Lady Allinor, met Merrick’s gaze. “Thank you for the…invitation. I have been looking forward to these proceedings with great interest.”
At the sound of the voice, Kor sat up straighter. It, too, was familiar. He saw the pair exchange a look, then Merrick bowed his head to acknowledge her thanks. Kor stared at the girl, but she did not meet his gaze.
Leon cleared his throat to speak. “Our hearings are often quite tedious and dull.” His voice sounded strained. “This particular case is no exception. I’m afraid my son has invited you to a mundane ordeal. I’m sure you have other pressing matters to attend to.”
Queen Rhoswen seemed to hesitate before speaking. Kor saw her glance at her daughter, but when she spoke, her voice was confident. “On the contrary, Your Majesty. I find this part of politics quite engaging. It often provides insight into the inner workings of a kingdom and its ruler. And such observations help me improve my own methods.”
The tension in the room was palpable as Kor took in the group on the dais. Leon stared at the two women. Rhoswen gazed back.
Lady Allinor eyed the floor. Merrick looked like he was trying to catch her eye. Finally, the king shook himself and gestured at the empty throne beside him. “Very well. Please, be seated.” His voice was still strained, but he bowed graciously as the queen passed to take a seat. Kor saw him shoot Merrick a withering glance that seemed to say, I’ll deal with you later.
Merrick dropped his gaze from his father’s and stepped aside, letting Lady Allinor through to stand beside her mother.
“Proceed, Prince Merrick,” Leon said, and returned to his seat.
Merrick stared at the parchment. Kor could see that he was shaking. The prince glanced at Lady Allinor, and began reading again in a weak voice. “Kor of the forest, you have been brought before the king—”
“Step forward, boy.” Leon cut him off as he waved him forward. “Speak so the accused can hear.”
The paper crumpled in Merrick’s fist as he stepped closer to the edge of the dais and continued. “—before the king to answer for your crimes. The allegations are as follows: You are hereby charged with tax evasion and murder.”
Kor’s jaw went tense. “I didn’t kill him.” He was surprised at how hoarse he sounded.
“The prisoner denies the charges,” Leon said. “Perhaps we can refresh his memory.” He gestured for Merrick to continue.
“The accused fought with soldiers on the king’s errand—”
“Is it the king’s errand to starve his people by taking food and taxes when they have nothing left to give?” Kor staggered to his feet and lurched forward a pace before the soldiers forced him back to the floor. He grunted as his knees, still raw from being dragged through the village earlier, smashed into the unforgiving marble.
Merrick hurried on. “After starting a brawl with the soldiers, you fled into the forest. A king's official, eager to fulfill his…duty,” he hesitated and glanced sidelong at his father, “pursued. The man was found later—dead.”