by K. A. Linde
The men of the High Order sat in hard-backed oak chairs around a matching table that appeared to be coming out of the largest painted tree in the room. It was an unbelievably big oak that stretched beyond the wall and into the ceiling.
The most striking aspect of the mural was that the leaves only grew on one half of the tree. It gave the appearance of the tree being perpetually stuck in both summer and winter seasons—forever half alive and half dead. She could feel the power coming off the mural. It spoke of caution, the duality of nature, and perhaps the duality of the human condition.
She shook off the thoughts that had come over her and tore her eyes from the mural. Thus far, no one had noticed her appearance in the Consort’s chambers. She hated to interrupt the few people who were deeply involved in their work.
Suddenly, a door materialized out of thin air, peeling back one of the larger trees as it sprang open against the far wall. Consort Daufina stood regally in the open doorway. She was as majestic as the last time Cyrene had set eyes on her. She wore a gown with multitiered skirts beginning at her waist with the palest of lavenders deepening to the darkest amethyst at her feet. The tight corset dress interwoven with amethysts rose to a sweetheart neck, and soft sheer lace covered her arms and buttoned at her neck. Her midnight-black hair hung loose over her shoulders.
“Affiliate Cyrene,” she said cheerfully. She waved Cyrene into the alcove she had just vacated.
Her study mirrored the outside forest, and the Consort reclined in a cushioned chair placed at a small circular table. As Cyrene took the seat next to her, as directed, she realized there was no head to the table. The thought made her smile.
“Would you care for some tea?” Daufina’s bracelets jingled on her arm as she motioned toward a teapot sitting over a burning fire.
“No, thank you, Consort Daufina.”
Consort Daufina chirped with laughter. She seemed much more relaxed than any time Cyrene had seen her outside of these walls.
“Please, no need for formalities. This is my sanctuary, my escape. I refuse titles here. You will simply be Cyrene, and I will simply be Daufina.”
“Of course, Daufina.” It felt strange to say her name aloud.
Cyrene had only ever been around the Consort at her Presenting, on feast days, and during the Ring of Gardens ceremony.
“See? We’re already close friends,” she said. “I’m sure you are wondering why I requested your presence this afternoon.”
“I am, Daufina.”
“If you keep saying my name like it’s a title, then I’m going to make you call me Daffy for the rest of our meeting. You’ll get over the title quite snappy then.” Daufina smiled.
Cyrene giggled into her hand. “Has someone really called you Daffy?”
“I’ll have you know that my father did until I was seventeen. It was nearly impossible to get him to cease once I made Affiliate. He still starts all his letters to me with ‘Dear Daffy,’” she said with dismay. “At least he addresses me as Consort while he’s at court.”
Cyrene had never thought about what the Consort’s past had been like—whether she was happy or how her friends and family treated her before or after her title.
“I think I’ll stick with Daufina. It’s rather beautiful, if I do say so.”
“Thank you. It’s a family name. Every first daughter across the generations has it. Can you imagine what it is like to get the entire clan together?” She rolled her eyes.
“No wonder your father called you Daffy.”
“Yes, I suppose that was one reason.” Daufina laughed along with Cyrene. “But enough about my embarrassing history. I would like to make a request from you.”
“Oh?” Cyrene lifted her eyebrows.
“I’m not sure if you are aware, but I ride alongside Edric during the procession. It is part of my duty as his Consort to entertain him. I’d heard the chore was burdensome, but I find it delightful. Edric is a wonderful man and ruler to his people. He cares for each one of them, and he makes it easy for me as he has many interests. And I believe you are one of those interests,” she said with a smile reminiscent of a feline.
“Me?” Cyrene gasped.
“Indeed.” Daufina examined Cyrene rather closely. “For instance, that cloak you are wearing on your shoulders, where did you get it?”
Her mouth went dry. “It was a gift.”
“I’ve seen that craftsmanship before.” She reached out and touched the soft material between her multi-ringed fingers. “It is the work of none other than a royal seamstress. Edric sent you that cloak himself, if I had to guess.”
Cyrene’s stomach dropped. It was one thing for Kael to have suggested that the King had sent her a gift, but it was quite another for Daufina to confirm it.
“You must be mistaken, Daufina.”
“I am not,” she stated simply as a matter of fact. Her tone suggested she should not be second-guessed again. “Now, I’ve made accommodations for you to be on board upon Edric’s craft destined for Albion. Do you find this suitable?”
“What’s in this for you?” Cyrene couldn’t help but ask.
Daufina’s green eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly and then returned to their congenial nature. “I would tell you that it is only to procure Edric’s entertainment for the trip, but I can see you are a woman of reason. I’ll be frank then. You have not been afforded the privilege of being around Edric nearly all his waking hours. I have that privilege, and I believe I know him better than anyone else. Probably better than he knows himself. I see the way he looks at you, and I can see how he feels about you.” Her eyebrows knitted together.
Cyrene’s mind flashed back to when she had been so close to him last night, certain he was going to kiss her. Did he always look at me like that? How many others had noticed?
Daufina continued, “I saw it the first time he set his gaze on you in the Presenting hall. I voted for your acceptance as an Affiliate because of that, whereas Kaliana voted against it for the same reason. Kaliana saw you as a threat, but I saw you as an asset.”
“Yet Kaliana is my Receiver and not you,” Cyrene spoke boldly.
“Yes,” Daufina said with a sigh. “I believe Kaliana wanted to keep tabs on you.”
So, Cyrene had been right about the Queen all along. She liked Daufina better than Queen Kaliana, yet they both wanted to use her in some way.
“You suspected some of this?” Daufina asked.
“It is hard to mistake the Queen’s dislike,” Cyrene told her.
“Yes, Kaliana is one not to be reckoned with, even on her best day,” she said through gritted teeth. “She is infuriating, that one. I’d steer clear of her if you can.”
“Easier said than done.”
“I could have you moved into my duties,” Daufina offered, seemingly offhand.
As much as Cyrene wanted to work with the Consort, she couldn’t accept Daufina’s offer. She would just be switching hands from one woman to another, and both wanted to control her. At least Daufina was open about it, but it still didn’t excuse the fact that the women had similar agendas.
“While I appreciate the offer, I think I will stay with the Queen—at least until I finish my latest assignment.”
“As you wish. The offer is always open to you. Now, the matter with Edric. I think his interest in you goes beyond your physical beauty. He does not dole out his affection lightly, and if you are important to him, then you are important to me.”
Cyrene had no idea what to say. I’m important to the King?
“You will join us on his vessel?”
She knew that she couldn’t actually refuse, but Daufina wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important, which meant she had some bargaining power.
“Can Maelia come with me?” Cyrene asked.
“Maelia? My Maelia?” Daufina asked in surprise. “I did not realize you two were acquainted.”
Cyrene could never figure out how no one ever saw Maelia when they were together. “Yes, we’re together al
l the time.”
“Well, I don’t see why not. I’ll change it to two rooms then. Is there anything else you’ll require?” Daufina asked dryly. A note in her voice said Cyrene was pushing her luck if she kept trying to negotiate.
“No, Daufina. Thank you for considering me.”
“No, Cyrene, thank you. I cannot wait for our procession together.” Daufina clasped their hands together.
Even though Consort Daufina had given her much to think about, especially regarding what entertaining the King would entail, the only thing on her mind was how to let Jardana and her minions know that she was going to be seated with Edric on his vessel while they trailed behind on the Queen’s ship.
Cyrene laughed to herself as she thought about Jardana’s comment about Cyrene being on a smaller vessel than the Queen’s.
A smaller ship indeed, thanks to my newly acquired position.
With a sigh, Daufina watched the girl leave her office. Cyrene was too young to be dealing with this sort of court maneuvering. Though she wore her strength like Edric’s cloak around her shoulders, she had so much to learn. Daufina worried about subjecting her to this, to breaking the innocence of a girl who had just come into adulthood, but she would do what was necessary for Byern, for Edric. She always had done so, even when he had been the King at only fifteen and lost and confused without his mother or father.
Well, he was not that child anymore. When he had come of age, he had shaken off all his father’s advisors, who had attempted to take control. She was the only one he’d let in, and she would rest the weight of that on her shoulders to make this country run.
Exiting through a secret passage in her study, she walked directly into Edric’s war room. She could have taken the same route to his bedchamber, but she was certain she would find him buried under a mountain of paperwork as he prepared for the procession.
His head snapped up at her entrance.
“Ah, Daufina, come in,” he said distractedly.
She floated across the room and then stood next to his desk, taking a peek at the trade negotiations he had before him. “News from Eleysia?” she asked.
Edric ran a hand over his face and then leaned back in the chair. “They will close the borders to all Byern citizens if we do not comply with their demands. Queen Cassia is sending her son as an emissary for me to meet with once we arrive in Albion.”
“Are they still requiring that import taxes be lessened?”
“Yes. They’re also asking that there be no goods searches. I can’t stomach it. These safety measures have been in place for two hundred years, and they levy similar taxes on our goods.”
Daufina clasped her hands behind her back and stared off in thought.
“What do you counsel?” he asked.
“Speak with their Prince. Perhaps you can come to an accord. If no compromise is available, then severe action will be necessary, Edric.”
He pushed the papers away from him. “This is not the reason you came to see me.”
“No, it is not.”
He sent her a questioning look, urging her onward.
“You sent the Affiliate a cloak.”
“Would you like one?” he asked.
His eyes were bright, and she saw a trace of the boy she had once thought she would love. Their relationship had lapsed into more of a casual affair when she realized that she had only ever loved the throne.
“You know that is not why I mentioned it.”
“Then, why did you mention it, Daufina? I have a thousand things to do, and you’re concerning yourself with one Affiliate.”
“You have made it my business to concern myself with her.”
“I’ve done nothing of the sort,” he said, standing to his full height and looking down upon her.
“I see the way you look at her, Edric. Your eyes follow her, you dance the longest dances with her, and now, you’re sending her presents. I’ve known you too long not to know that this is unlike you. You’re not Kael. You don’t fraternize with the Affiliates who parade themselves in front of you, hoping for a scrap of your time. Yet here you are with this Cyrene. What is she to you?” Daufina asked.
At her question, Edric paced the long room. She watched him through the silence and wondered what he was thinking.
“You told me once that you would inform me if you wanted to take a mistress—”
“I do not want to take a mistress,” Edric snapped.
Daufina straightened in surprise. He never raised his voice with her.
“I apologize,” he said with a sigh. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Just talk to me.”
“Would you believe me if I said that I didn’t want anything to do with her?” His eyes were pleading.
“No,” Daufina admitted.
“No,” he agreed. “No, I wouldn’t either. I keep telling myself that I’m acting like a fool, Daufina, but then I see her again.” He stroked his chin as he tried to find the words. “She has this pull. When I’m with her, the throne slips away, and I’m just a man with a beautiful woman. It both intrigues and terrifies me.” He splayed his hands before him. “I can never be anything but the king…but when I’m with her, I want to be.”
Cyrene shielded herself from the harshness of the blazing summer sun and hurried toward the shade of the booths in the Laelish Market. Many of the foreign merchants were missing from their shops, and she worried that Basille Selby might have already come back from Levin and then gone on his way. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found the tent still up. The flap draped over the entrance, indicating that it was closed but not empty.
As Cyrene drew closer, she heard raised voices inside, and she sighed in relief. Someone is here.
“Excuse me,” she called. “I’m trying to find Master Basille Selby.”
The voices suddenly broke off, and then she heard rustling, followed by a crash and cursing. The flap flew open, and a man’s huge form filled up the space.
“Who’s askin’ fer Master Selby?” He fixed her with a sharp look.
She recognized the man from the day she and Maelia had come down to the market all those weeks ago. She had just forgotten how big he was.
“So nice to see you again,” Cyrene said.
“We met?”
“I was here several weeks ago, trying to locate Master Selby about a book he sold me.” She shot him a charming smile.
“I thin’ I do ’member ya now.” He scratched under his stubbly chin with one scarred leathery hand.
“Wonderful. Has Master Selby returned from Levin?”
“I ’aven’t seen ’im.”
“I heard you arguing with someone before I arrived. If that was not Master Selby, then who was it?”
“It wa’ nobody. Now, clear out. I gots work ta do.” He shooed her away.
“I can’t leave. I have to speak with Master Selby about a book. I’m leaving on the procession in a week, and I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to speak with him again,” she desperately told him.
Gather’s eyes bulged. “Youse one of dem-dem people? An Affiliate?”
“Yes. I’m an Affiliate, so I won’t have another time to get down here.”
His jaw set, and he spit off to the left. Cyrene reflexively stepped back at the fire in his eyes.
“Basille don’ deal with youse kind,” he growled. His already daunting figure reached an additional height.
She gaped at the fierceness of his scowl. No one had ever reacted so negatively to her title.
“I’ve no idea why you despise Affiliates, but I don’t mean you or Master Selby any harm. I merely want to ask about a book.” She reached inside the small bag she was carrying and pulled forth the book. “This book. Please, if you could, take this to him and tell him I have questions about it. That’s all I’m asking. I swear by the Creator, I’ll never bother you again.”
He seemed to be weighing his mistrust of the situation with what she was saying and the book in her hand. “Youse people
’ave broke promises before.”
“I don’t.” She looked him dead in the eyes as she shoved the book into his burly chest.
“I’m ’a regret this,” he mumbled, taking the book from her and closing the flap in her face.
She huffed irritably as she baked in the afternoon heat. His reaction worried her. Every other time she had uttered her position, she had been shown much respect and deference. Her parents were always shown similar esteem. In fact, she had become accustomed to it. But this man had not only been angry with her, something in his face had shown that he was actually scared of her.
What could an Affiliate have done to that man to make him scared of me?
Cyrene mopped her forehead with a handkerchief and waited.
A short while later, he returned, looking none too pleased. He suspiciously eyed her up and down. “I dunno why he’s lettin’ ya in, but if ya cause any trouble, I be throwin’ ya out,” he warned her. “Here’s ya book.”
After tossing her cloak off her head, she grabbed the book out of his hand and followed him inside the tent. Under the confines of the tent, the drop in temperature was startling. She gazed around and saw that more than half of the books were missing from the tables, and a large portion of the remaining knickknacks was gone, but a few Levin-made products were on display.
“He’s in da back.” He pointed to a back room covered by a magenta curtain.
“Thank you,” she responded politely. She braced herself and walked through the curtained wall.
The back room hosted a mountain of half-empty boxes on top of a surprisingly clean brown rug. A small desk stood off to the side, covered in rolls of parchment, a few pouches—one that had toppled over and spilled a handful of gold Byern pences—and two large maps Cyrene couldn’t make out. The back flap of the tent opened to reveal a covered wagon hitched to a pair of brown steeds.
In the corner, rifling through one of the boxes, stood the man she had been looking for. He was exceptionally tall with an almost stringy, lean body.
“Excuse me, Master Selby.”
He swung around to face her with a flourish. He wasn’t exactly what she was expecting. Some might have considered him handsome with his slicked back dark hair, manicured beard and mustache, skilled long fingers, and general fluency of his movements.