The Princess stood up, expecting to see her savior.
And in walked Derrick of Westfold.
Chapter 17
“Well,” said Derrick, his voice deep and foreboding, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this rare visit, my dear.”
Sarahain looked at him, her hope dashed like a vase against a stone. He was an uncommonly handsome man; his hair was dark and long, pulled back into a tight braid that hung down his back. His face was perfect, his beard clipped, his skin tan. He wore an elegant shirt that clung to his chest, which was well muscled. His leather breeches were tucked into the tops of his boots, which made clicking and scratching sounds as he walked across the stone flooring.
“I was praying,” she said quietly.
Derrick laughed. “This is not the church, my dear,” he said in a condescending tone.
“I was praying for the Council meeting tomorrow,” she said, thinking fast. “I pray that the One God’s will is done.”
“Oh, don’t worry, it shall be. In fact, Priest Hypok will oversee the council tomorrow.”
“That is good,” she lied.
“Well, I was just ensuring that this servant,” he indicated Evain, “wasn’t trying to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong. Shall I escort you back to your quarters?” He said, the last more of a command than a question.
Sarahain’s heart thundered in her chest. She didn’t know what her future held, but she decided at that moment to ensure that Derrick of Westfold understood exactly what he was getting in a wife.
“No, I will finish my prayers,” she said in a voice more firm than she felt.
“There is no need,” said Derrick. “I have already said that Priest-”
Sarahain interrupted him, “I heard you. I hold more confidence in my own prayers than that of your power hungry sycophant.”
“How dare you interrupt me when I am talking? You shall learn your place very soon,” he sneered. Then, spinning on his heel, he stalked out of the room.
Sarahain collapsed in the Queen’s seat. Evain rushed to her and hugged her tightly. The Princess was shaking.
“I am so sorry, my Lady,” said Evain. “He stepped out of the stairs just as I was about to come back in. I didn’t know what to do.”
“It’s alright,” said Sarahain.
“He is a pig. He has no respect for anyone but himself.”
“I doubt whether Derrick of Westfold even respects himself,” came a voice like sand being rubbed across dried parchment.
The girls both looked to their left, and, out of a secret compartment, stepped Tooles, followed by Devlyn, Kain, and Fairan.
Sarahain stood, looking at them. She knew him immediately; he looked like her father, the same hair, brown and billowing up thickly. He had a kindness in his eyes like her father, the same build as her brothers had. She stepped toward him and smiled.
“Elkain?” she asked.
Kain was so nervous his mouth was dry and his tongue felt twice its normal size. He had often wondered what his family would look like; now, staring at his sister, he was so full of emotion he could not speak. He nodded to let her know he had heard her. She looked familiar, partly because she resembled her mother, Queen Mirahain, whom he had met at the Monastery, and partly because looking in her eyes was like looking in a mirror.
“I am sure you both have much to discuss,” rasped Tooles, “but now is not the time. Have you secured the Royal Chronicles?”
“Yes,” Sarahain said, turning back to Tooles. “They are in my private chambers.”
“Good, then tomorrow, wait for Devlyn to come and fetch them. You must bring them down and stay with us in the Council tomorrow.”
“Alright,” was all she could think of to say.
“Now, return to your place for the night, we must not arouse suspicion before tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” Sarahain said to Tooles. Then turning to Fairan she said, “Thank you for bringing my brother.”
“It was my honor, my Lady,” Fairan said.
Then Sarahain turned and left the Council Chamber.
***
There were secret passages that led to every room in the castle. Since tapestries hung on nearly every wall, it was not hard to hide in a passageway and listen to the conversations going on in a given room. It was getting late by the time Kain and his companions left the Council Chamber, and Tooles left them to spy on Derrick. Kain and Devlyn followed Fairan to a small room, comfortably furnished. There were weapons hanging on the walls, rather than tapestries, and Kain guessed correctly that this was Fairan’s apartment in the castle.
“My father was rather generous to his General,” Kain said, his sarcasm obvious.
“He offered me more, but I refused. I didn’t want to grow soft on easy living.”
“Well, it’s much bigger than my cell at Aquista.”
The room wasn’t large, but it had a fireplace surrounded by wooden chairs. There was a bed in one corner, more of a cot than a bed, barely large enough for one person. Then there was a dressing mannequin, dressed in a suit of armor. There were rags and a small bottle of polish on the floor beneath the armor. The only other pieces of furniture were what looked like two wardrobes. Fairan went to one and opened it to reveal weapons of various uses. He began placing his own weapons in carefully assigned places in the wardrobe.
Kain approached him. “I guess you’ll be wanting these back,” he said, pulling out some of the weapons that Fairan had given him.
“No,” said the General. “Those belonged to your family. They are yours.”
“Oh,” Kain said, looking at his weapons with renewed interest.
The three men sat in the chairs around the empty fireplace for a short while, until Tooles appeared. He scurried into the room and tapped the fireplace with his walking stick, a fire leapt to life.
“I don’t like it when you do that,” Kain said.
“Neither did your father,” Tooles replied. “Next time start a fire before I get here, and I won’t have to. I sent for the surgeon, Fairan, he should be here soon.”
“Did you find out anything?” Kain asked.
“I learned that Derrick cannot sing. He seems as carefree as a bird in springtime. Now, let us get you prepared for tomorrow.”
“What do you mean?” Kain asked.
“Well, we want you to look like a king, if we are going to present you as one.”
“Hey,” Devlyn spoke up, his voice soft in the small room. “Do you really think it was wise to leave the Chronicles with those girls? You’re putting them in danger.”
“No more danger than they have been in since Belhain was killed. And considerably less danger than they will be in if we fail tomorrow. We cannot bring the Royal Chronicles with us, since they differ from the Chronicles everyone has read. We’ll be accused of changing them anyway. Allowing Sarahain to bring in the book will give it credibility.”
Devlyn only nodded and kept quiet after that.
“Now,” Tooles continued to Kain, “I’ve given orders for you to have a bath. The tailor is coming to fit you into some of your family’s clothes. Then you need to get some rest. Devlyn, come with us, you’ll need to stand watch.”
Fairan was slowly getting undressed when the others left. Tooles cornered one of the servants and said, “I need some mulled wine brought to me, and get the General some water to clean up with.”
“Yes, sir,” said the servant, who hurried back in the direction of the kitchens.
Tooles led the way down a long corridor to a room far from the kitchens. There was a lock on the door, but the door was opened and light was shinning inside. They entered to find a large fireplace, with a fire burning brightly. It was hot in the room and muggy, like a summer day after it rains. There was a curtain that hung in the middle of the room and on the other side of the curtain was a large pool, recessed into the floor.
“This is the royal bath chamber,” Tooles told them. “It should have been on the third floor, but some kind king di
dn’t want the servants trudging up and down three flights of stairs to fill his bath. For our purposes, it is good that it is here. When you are finished, you’ll find clean clothes out here, but leave the shirt off; we need the surgeon to take a look at your shoulder.”
“What should I do with these clothes?” Kain asked.
“Just leave them; you won’t be needing them anymore,” Tooles said. “Come along, Devlyn, you can guard this room from the outside, where it's cooler.”
As Kain slipped behind the curtain, his companions exited quietly. In the hot room, pulling his clothes off, Kain felt the pain and fatigue of his long journey and many injuries. When he stepped into the hot water, it was a luxury he had never dreamed of. Growing up at the monastery in Aquista, where warm days were rare, bathing was done more as a penitence, the water always cold. He sank down into the water, the heat penetrating his muscles, and he felt the fear and worry over the future dissolve in the sheer pleasure of his bath.
After he had enjoyed the bath as long as his conscience would allow him, he wrapped himself in a long robe and walked to the fire, which now made perfect sense. He stood drying himself in the warmth radiating from the hearth. He pulled on the breeches that had been laid out. They were slightly too large. He cracked open the door and was suddenly very self conscious of his soft stomach and even of the grapefruit sized birthmark that so strongly resembled a falcon.
“Is it safe to come out?” he asked Devlyn.
“I guess so. Tooles said we should go across the hall here.”
“Alright,” Kain said, grabbing the shirt that had been laid out, but not putting it on, as Tooles had instructed him.
Across the hall the room was again different than any Kain had ever been in. The floors were covered with thick, luxurious rugs, which overlapped each other and gave the floor a supple feeling to Kain’s bare feet. The walls were hung with ornate tapestries, and the candles, which lit the room with a magical brilliance, were hand carved into beautiful figurines. There was a bed angling into the room from one corner, it was piled with pillows and furry skins of exotic animals. There was a couch and several chairs, all with thick cushions that accented the extraordinary craftsmanship of the hand carved wooden frames. There was a large painting of King Belhain and Queen Mirahain that hung over the fireplace.
“What is this place?” Kain wondered aloud.
“This is one of the Royal Chambers,” said Devlyn, very matter-of-factly.
“Have you ever seen a room like this before?”
“No,” replied the archer, “but I’m not a Prince.”
“Well, I’ve never seen anything like it,” Kain said. He walked around the room, examining each artifact, each fixture.
The door opened and Tooles walked in, followed by a rather fat man with a black satchel, which he seemed to hold between himself and Tooles.
“This is the surgeon,” said Tooles. “He has come to inspect your shoulder.”
Kain sat in one of the chairs and waited for the surgeon to make his way across the room. But the surgeon merely stood, rooted to the spot where he had first seen Kain’s mark. The man’s hands trembled, his bag shaking, the contents rattling lightly within.
“What is it?” Kain asked.
Tooles turned and noticed the man’s hesitancy. “Vicnay,” said Tooles rather sternly, “go ahead and inspect him, he won’t bite.”
The fat surgeon slowly approached Kain, extending his hand toward the Prince’s chest. “Who are you?” he asked in whisper.
“He is Elkain, son of Belhain, Third Prince of Belanda,” said Tooles, his raspy voice filled with authority. “He is your King.”
The man fell to his knees and put his face on the floor by Kain’s feet. “I did not know,” the man said.
“Enough of this,” said Kain. He grabbed the man’s arm and lifted him to an upright, kneeling position. “I am a man, just like you. Get a hold of yourself.”
“Forgive me, my Lord,” stuttered the man.
“You may not speak of him,” said Tooles, “until after tomorrow’s Council.”
“Yes, of course.”
“He was struck with an arrow, in the shoulder,” said Tooles.
The Surgeon rose quickly and moved around behind Kain. He prodded the wound lightly. “It looks clean,” he said mostly to himself. He moved a candle even closer, then produced a needle and thread.
“Is it necessary to stitch it?” Tooles asked.
“Only to keep the scarring from leaving an abscess,” the man replied, not proceeding until he had permission.
Tooles nodded for him to continue, and the stitching began. It took only a couple of minutes, and then Kain was allowed to put his shirt back on. The Surgeon bowed again as he left the room, Tooles shooing him like he was a feisty chicken.
“I hope that man can keep his mouth shut,” Tooles said.
They waited only moments before the tailor arrived and took Kain’s measurements. He looked haughtily at Kain as Tooles instructed him to prepare clothing for a Prince. Then he, too, was shooed from the room.
“He’ll be up all night,” Kain said, feeling sorry for the tailor.
“I doubt that,” said Tooles. “He’ll have the makings of clothes he will have started for your brothers that he will adapt to your measurements in a few hours. Here, drink this,” he said as he held out a goblet to Kain.
“Is it made with wine?” asked Kain.
“Yes, from the Royal winery. It is excellent.”
“I’d prefer water,” said the Prince.
“As you wish,” said Tooles in his gravelliest voice. And then he swept from the room, returning moments later with another goblet of steaming drink.
Kain sat in the chair, cuddled it seemed in plush cushions, listening as Tooles gave Devlyn instructions.
“No one is to come into this room tonight. If the nobles approach, call for me, then lock yourselves into the room.”
“Are you expecting something like that?” asked Devlyn.
“No, but I am trying to anticipate anything. Now, Fairan will relieve you in the night. When he does, come in and sleep on the couch. I will come for you both in the morning.”
“Where are you going?” asked Kain.
“I have some final arrangements to make. By this time tomorrow, all of Royal City will know they have a King.”
Chapter 18
The next day, Kain woke with butterflies in his stomach, long before Tooles came to fetch him. He slipped past Devlyn, who was sleeping on the couch, surrounded by pillows. Just outside the door, he explained to Fairan his need to stretch his legs and clear his head, the other room was just too rich for him. He crossed back to the Royal bath and paced in front of the now cold fireplace. Tooles found him before long and gave him another cup of the medicinal drink, which was all he was able to get down; food just wasn’t a good idea. He was nervous, wondering how the nobles would accept him. Would they really believe he was Belhain’s son? He hardly believed it himself. He pondered again the possibility that he was on the wrong side, that he had been deceived into thinking that Derrick was evil. But then he remembered his sister, remembered that they had overheard her servant girl calling Derrick a pig. And at the memory of his sister, the obvious connection they had had with just one look, despite the fact that they had never before in their lives seen each other, that was the ultimate proof that he was who Fairan and Tooles claimed he was. He looked forward to seeing the Royal Chronicles, to hearing what it said.
Tooles returned before long with new clothes, the tailor lurking behind the elderly councilor, waiting to see how his work would look. Kain slipped off the clothes he had slept in, and washed his face in some cool water, behind the curtain in the Royal Bath. Fairan, Tooles, and the tailor were joined by Devlyn. Kain’s new clothes were a perfect fit. The tailor, unable to control himself any longer, joined Kain and helped him dress. There were breeches of a material Kain had never seen before. It was both thick and sturdy, while being soft and supple a
t the same time. They tucked neatly into the tops of a glossy pair of boots that rose up to just under his knees. The shirt the tailor had designed was open in the front and folded across his stomach. The shirt was secured with a golden, silk sash. The collar of the shirt was open, ending in a V at the middle of his chest. His falcon shaped birthmark showed just slightly, a fact Kain was sure that Tooles had designed. The tailor seemed not to notice the mark at all, and Kain was sure that he had been informed.
Once Kain was dressed and presented to his companions, they left the Royal bath. They utilized the secret passageways as they had the night before and waited just outside the Council Chamber. The nobles were already there, talking among themselves.
“How are we going to do this?” said one voice. “I mean, who is going to moderate the council.”
“We do not need a moderator,” said a deep voice. “We will only be hearing my proposals.”
“But proposals must be approved,” said another voice. “How will we vote without a moderator to ensure fairness?”
“The King always assigned someone.”
“We do not have a King,” said the deep voice again. “And he has left no heir, that is why I am proposing that this council endorse me as the new King of Belanda.”
There was hushed whispering among the people in the council room. Kain’s heart was thundering away, and he had to force himself to wait for Tooles to reveal their presence.
“Lord Derrick will be taking Lady Sarahain as his bride,” said a rich voice, smooth with the practiced ease of a professional orator. “I have given my consent to move the ceremony forward to this afternoon, at which time I shall join them in the sacred bonds of marriage and crown Lord Derrick King of Belanda.”
This announcement was like a bomb being dropped, the talking was no longer restrained to hushed tones. Some were applauding, others spoke of outrage and betrayal. It was at that same moment that Gorton appeared behind Devlyn in the passage, with another man wearing armor, his face grimy and lined with fatigue.
Third Prince (Third Prince Series) Page 16