by Neha Yazmin
The tailor, eyes wide, said, “Your Highness is very wise.”
Wyett waved away the compliment. “I want the names of everyone that was hired to redecorate this place. I want to talk to them as soon as possible.”
After an unexpected pause, the tailor answered his question. “I can give you the names, Your Highness, but they will not talk.”
Wyett had anticipated as much.
Seth snapped, “And why is that?”
“Because the dead can’t talk.”
“What do you mean?” Seth frowned.
“They’ve all been killed.” The tailor’s voice was small, scared.
“Killed? Killed by whom?” Seth demanded.
The tailor met his gaze and said, “The King, Your Highness. His Majesty killed them.”
Aaryana was probably unrecognisable when she finally wrestled her way out of the forest. There were thin scratches and cuts all over her face, blotches of dirt and mud peppering her skin. Twigs were nestled in her hair, leaves crusted to her boots. Her uniform was filthy. Her borrowed cloak was filthy. She was filthy. And sweaty and hungry and irritable.
When she looked up at the sky and saw that it was grey and hinting at rain, her mood soured further. There was no way she was coming back to these mountains. No wonder the Roshdanis stopped hunting the Nidiyans once they fled to the mountains. The horrible trek through the foothills just wasn’t worth it.
I’ll find out about my heritage some other way. Didn’t Wyett say that Quin knew all the stories about Nidiya? If she did, Erisa probably did, too. Aaryana would gather her answers by other means. She didn’t need to prove anything to Arzu.
Except, she’d found the mountains peaceful and pretty; she’d felt more at home there than in the Royal Palace. She wouldn’t say that she felt like she belonged there, but she hadn’t felt like she didn’t belong, either.
There was something about the mountains, something about the people that had shared their blankets and their food with her, that shot a pang of longing through her chest. But she wouldn’t return for a good while. Not until she was ready.
Her warhorse was exactly where the Nidiyans said he’d be—by a tiny stream that had kept him hydrated; plenty of grass keeping his hunger at bay, too—and climbed onto the saddle, murmuring apologies for abandoning him. She wasn’t looking forward to tonight’s shift in Wyett’s chambers, that was for sure.
If she hadn’t lost her job, that is.
Rebels weren’t being rebels all the time. They had family and friends, homes and jobs, a life. They were normal people that sympathised with the King’s nephew. Bakers or traders, painters or carpenters. Builders. And the group of builders that had worked on the Island’s most popular tailor’s shop had uncovered the secret door to its rear and relayed it to their leader. He had used that interesting piece of information to his advantage, used it to kidnap Rozlene without leaving a trace.
“We don’t know for sure that it was the rebels,” Seth insisted on their ride back to the Palace. “We don’t know that she’s been abducted.”
“So, she just decided to go for a walk through a secret backdoor without telling anyone?” Wyett snapped.
“Why would they kidnap Erisa’s mother?” Seth asked. Wyett didn’t speak. After riding for a few more minutes, Seth added, “Just remember, Father has forbidden you from going within a mile of Micah.”
“I wish I could forget.”
It was frustrating, the level of protection that his father had awarded that ungrateful bag of dirt. He couldn’t be touched. But his followers were fair game; his father had killed a few of them on the day the Adgari saved his neck. Amongst them were the builders that had fixed up the tailor’s shop last year.
“You don’t mean that,” Seth murmured. “You wouldn’t be able to… go through with it, would you?” He was referring to killing the rebel leader.
“I most certainly would,” Wyett assured his brother. “He is a traitor to the Crown, he commits treason on a daily basis just by waking up with the hope of killing our father, the King. He deserves to die by my hand.”
“But he’s—”
“He’s a dead man walking, that’s what he is.”
Perhaps her guard uniform was still recognisable, marking her out as someone that worked in the Palace. That’s why, as she rode towards the castle gates, a little boy called out for her to stop. His voice reminded her of the child from the docks and she couldn’t help but stop to hear him out.
The boy was running as fast as his short legs could carry him, waving an envelope in the air. The paper flapped in the wind that warned of a rain shower readying to fall, and she was equally disappointed and relieved that the clouds hadn’t opened yet. The rain could have washed the dirt and gore off before she entered the Palace.
Would they let her in? Had Wyett or the Head of the Royal Guards instructed the men at the gates to forbid her access or even have her arrested? She wondered if the King had been told about her absence and what he made of it.
The little boy skidded to a stop by her horse and panted, “A message for the King! A message for the King!”
As far as Aaryana knew, children weren’t deployed to send letters to Kings and Queens. Unless the sender didn’t want to be traced... “Who sent you, child?” Aaryana asked as the boy raised himself onto his tiptoes and held up the letter.
She bent down to collect the envelope and the boy spun on the spot and sprinted away. He was probably told not to say anything; most likely, a well-disguised, cloaked figure that had given him a coin to deliver the envelope to the guards at the gate.
The envelope wasn’t marked or addressed to anyone but it was sealed very well. Something about the envelope screamed out that it was indeed for the King. For his eyes only. Something about it made her think it was from the rebels.
As she trotted up to the gates and jumped down from the saddle, the guards didn’t even bat an eyelid as she walked towards, and then through, the gates, her warhorse sticking close beside her. Maybe no one had noted her absence, after all?
Once inside, however, Aaryana could feel that something was wrong. The atmosphere was charged. The guards stood straighter, more alert than she’d thought possible. The servants bustling about wore anxious expressions on their faces. Seth. Maybe he’d taken a fall from his horse, his sickness making him more vulnerable to such injuries. Maybe he was going to die…
No. The scene would be different if that was the case. She willed her rapid heartbeat to slow. Seth was fine. Well, he wasn’t dying. He might have taken a slight turn for the worse. He would recover. It might not be Seth at all. There might have been a rebel attack, if not on the King, then on someone close to him. She clutched the envelope tighter. Was it linked to the way everyone was behaving?
She hurried to her chambers before someone noted her scruffy appearance. Yes, she had to bring the letter to the King as soon as possible, but it would be disrespectful to turn up in the Throne Room looking like she’d been wrestling in puddles of mud.
Thunder clapped and rain pounded against the glass of her windows when she entered her bedroom, no Jeena in sight, though the usual pair of guards were still posted outside her quarters. The day had darkened considerably and the downpour obscured the view of the Nidiyan Mountains in the north. Throwing off her uniform, she washed up as best as she could with the water that was in the bathtub. Jeena must have drawn it for her on Saturday evening, expecting Aaryana to return to her rooms by nightfall to freshen up before her shift.
The water had gone cold, of course, but she was lucky that it was there. She was in a hurry, wasn’t she?
Dressing in the same brown jacket and pants from a few days earlier—it had since been washed and pressed—Aaryana set off towards the Throne Room, hoping the King was free to see her. She didn’t know if she wanted Wyett to be present or if she hoped to never see him again. She wasn’t afraid of him, of his wrath, but she wasn’t in the mood for putting up with his antagonism right now.
To the guards outside the Throne Room, she said, “I have a letter for His Majesty.” She held up the envelope.
The two men didn’t respond.
“It’s urgent.”
Still nothing. She pulled herself to her full height and used that authoritative Princess tone and added, “I was led to believe that it’s from the rebels.”
The taller of the two guards said, “His Majesty is in his private office.” He pointed to the female guard standing by the wall opposite him and ordered her to take Aaryana to the King’s office.
The woman set off immediately, knowing that Aaryana would follow. Had it been Aaryana’s tone or the word ‘rebels’ that had spurred them into action? She quickly caught up with her escort and they walked silently but briskly to a door on the topmost floor of the eastern tower. The landing was brimming with guards. She recognised quite a few of the men and women outside the office door—Wyett’s guards—and a handful of them looked vaguely familiar—had they been with Seth that day he’d given her a tour of the castle?
So, the Crown Prince was ensconced in the King’s office, along with Seth. Seth must be alright, after all.
Aaryana had been in the eastern tower just once, when the Head of the Royal Guards had shown her around. He told her that the King’s private office was out of bounds to everyone apart from members of the Royal Family—if they were summoned by the King. The tower was only accessible via the large door on the ground floor and had a locked door on each level—small apartments, all unoccupied.
Aaryana’s escort whispered something to one of the men posted directly outside the office. He nodded before stepping up to Aaryana and holding up his hand. He was asking for the letter, she knew, but she acted oblivious and placed her empty hand on his, twisted it a little so that they could shake hands.
“An honour to meet you,” she said brightly.
The man glared as he freed his hand from hers and growled, “The letter, now. And then be gone.”
Unflinching, she told him, “At least ask His Majesty if he wishes to speak to the guard that intercepted this message.”
“I will not. And His Majesty will not. The envelope, now.”
He must be one of the King’s personal bodyguards. He seemed possessive enough, and fierce, not to mention arrogant. With a long sigh, she parted with the letter. The man slipped inside the office, knocking just once. If he was a personal bodyguard, he could probably enter at any time if he feared that the King was under threat.
Aaryana’s more civil escort spun on the spot, jerking her head to her to follow. She had no intentions of leaving just yet, but she nodded and walked after the woman.
Just as they approached the stairs, Aaryana halted and blurted out, “Wait. Sorry.”
She bent down to do the laces on her boots. They weren’t undone, so she took her time to set them loose before tying them up again. She heard an indulgent sigh—the woman knew what Aaryana was up to and wasn’t going to stop her. Aaryana smiled to herself. That smile widened when her escort didn’t say anything as Aaryana turned to her other perfectly laced-up boot.
She rose to her feet only when she heard the office door open behind her. Turning around slowly, she smirked at the rude guard. His eyes were narrowed in her direction already. She gave him a little wave. He clenched his jaw.
Then, he told her to enter the King’s private office.
Wyett hated it when his father gave him diabolical orders. Stay away from the rebel leader. Don’t kill him even when he’s trying to kill your father. Never ask the Adgari about her banishment. “Keep quiet and let me speak to Aaryana.” That was the latest of the King’s orders, just moments before the girl in question joined them in the office.
Seth hadn’t been ordered to stay silent, but then Seth wouldn’t say anything disruptive. The three of them had been discussing the secret door in the tailor’s shop before they were interrupted with the delivery of the anonymous letter. Seth had been insisting that they shouldn’t assume that the rebels had taken Rozlene without evidence and his face fell when they saw the contents of the envelope delivered by the Adgari.
A lock of Rozlene’s raven-black hair.
And an order.
Return what is mine, the note demanded, and I will return what is yours. Your beloved nephew, Micah.
“Rozlene won’t be harmed,” their father had assured Seth.
“But he can’t seriously be asking for you to abdicate the Throne for Rozlene’s safe return,” Wyett said to his father. “That’s preposterous.”
“That’s not what he’s asking,” Seth said. “But what do you have of his, Father?”
“Indeed,” was all his father said before asking for the Adgari to join them.
As she straightened up from her bow, the girl said, “Your Majesty summoned me?”
Wyett gritted his teeth. She was lucky to even be in the Palace after disappearing and missing her shift last night.
“Yes,” his father said. “I would like to know how this letter came to be in your possession.”
She explained in short, concise sentences.
“And you were on your way back to the Palace from where?”
“Exploring the Island, Your Majesty.”
The King clearly wanted to ask her to elaborate further, but decided against it. “This message was indeed from my nephew. Your hunch was correct. Would you like to hear what it says?”
“If Your Majesty wishes it.”
When Wyett’s father read the letter to her, the girl’s eyes widened. Then, she noticed Rozlene’s hair on his father’s large oak desk. Her lips parted.
“Is that someone’s hair, Your Majesty? Was that in the envelope?” Her grey eyes narrowed at the black hair.
The King nodded. “It is Lady Rozlene’s hair. She went missing yesterday.”
He filled her in on Rozlene’s disappearance and what Wyett and Seth had discovered at the tailor’s shop. Wyett had to press his lips together to keep from saying that the Adgari didn’t need to know any of this. His father should have dismissed her as soon as she’d finished explaining about the letter. But no. His father had more to tell her.
“Aaryana, my nephew is under the impression that I have something of his. He wants to trade Lady Rozlene for that something. Do you know what he might want—”
Wyett couldn’t take it anymore and cut off his father’s words with, “What could she possibly know about this? Just because she—”
“I have it, Your Majesty.” The girl only looked at his father when she said this. “I have it. It is safe. It is yours to do with what you wish.
She lowered her head to the King; Wyett thought she seemed apologetic. If he hadn’t been so confused by her words, the guilt on her face, and the secret smile on his father’s lips, Wyett would have barked at her for interrupting him.
As though she’d read his mind, the Adgari turned to him and bowed her head. Also apologetic. “Forgive me, Your Highness, for interrupting you. I didn’t—I’m sorry.” Shifting to face the King again, she said, “I am truly sorry, Your Majesty. I didn’t know that Micah would… Lady Rozlene… How is Lady Erisa? I am… I am just so sorry.” She hung her head, swallowing.
Wyett couldn’t believe it. She seemed genuinely upset about Rozlene, worried about Erisa, guilty about… something. But what?
“Aaryana, what is it that you have of Micah’s?” Seth asked, his brows furrowed at her.
She lifted her head to look at him, eyes full of remorse. “I have his sword, Your Highness. I have your cousin’s sword,” she explained, voice soft. She kept glancing at Rozlene’s hair as she went on. “I brought it with me from the forest. I’d disarmed him and he left it in the grass when he ran. He didn’t even look twice at it before he took off.
“I didn’t know—if I’d known that he’d kidnap someone in order to get it back, I would have left the sword in the forest. I feel horrible.” She really did. That was clear.
Wyett would have been enraged by what she’d don
e if she wasn’t in so much turmoil over it. And if he were to think about it rationally, be honest with himself, he was sure that the girl hadn’t meant to cause trouble by claiming the weapon of someone she’d defeated. He wasn’t going to admit that out loud, though.
His father said, “I would like you to return my nephew’s sword to him and bring Rozlene home.”
“Yes, Your Maj—”
“What? Her? But that’s—”
“Yes, Wyett,” his father cut him off. “She took it, so must she return it. And you will go with her. You know where to find him.”
Wyett’s eyes widened.
“You’ve been dying to see him,” the King added with a humourless smile, “here’s your chance.”
Wyett couldn’t argue with that. But why did she have to go with him? That wasn’t how his father had phrased it, though. Wyett was the one going with her, not the other way around.
“The same rules still apply, however,” his father told him sternly. “Micah is not to be touched.”
Of course. It had been nice to imagine, just for a second, that he could make the rebel leader pay for his betrayal. Wyett nodded at the King, who nodded back.
“Are we to go immediately, Your Majesty?” the girl asked quietly. She looked down at her attire and said to Wyett, “I am ready if you are, Your Highness.”
The King said, “Yes, go now, and be quick about it. We don’t want Lady Rozlene to be in their clutches for much longer.”
“I’ll come with you,” Seth said as Wyett and the girl straightened up from their bows to the King.
“No, you will not!” Wyett, the King, and the Adgari said simultaneously.
The girl added, “Your Highness.”
The King added, “I know Micah didn’t mention it in his concise letter, but I’m quite certain that he doesn’t want more than two people making the trade.”
Before Seth could argue, the Adgari murmured, “Your Majesty, I can go alone if the Crown Prince will not be accompanied by his bodyguards. It will not be safe for him—”