by CS Sealey
“At last, you’re awake!”
Angora turned and spotted the king in the adjoining sitting room.
“Miss, help her dress, if you will,” he said cheerily.
A maid appeared and scurried into the bedroom after curtseying low. She was wearing a simple light blue dress in a more modest fashion than the gown Angora had chosen and her hair hung in a long plait at her back. Once inside, the maid closed the door to the sitting room and turned to face Angora.
“I see you have already selected a dress for today, milady. A most gracious choice.” She moved forward and held the dress up in front of Angora. “Yes, very fine.”
“Excuse me?” Angora asked, frowning. “Is there something wrong?”
“No, not at all, milady,” the woman said, smiling. “It is an honor to serve the future queen. Are you ready to dress?”
“I have always dressed myself,” Angora said, crossing her arms protectively. “I do not require assistance.”
“Yes, milady,” the maid said, “but His Majesty has assigned me to look after you. I am to be your maid, then your first lady-in-waiting after the wedding. He explained that you might not be wholly accustomed to the idea, but I have my orders, milady. The healer says you must not yet wash your wounds, so you shall have to wait for a bath. If you would like to raise your arms, milady…”
Angora closed her eyes, utterly humiliated. She had not had help dressing since she was a little girl. She raised her arms begrudgingly and her nightdress was pulled up and over her head before she even noticed the maid reaching for it. She was uncomfortable standing naked in front of a stranger, and proceeded to cover herself as best she could. In quick succession, the maid helped her into a pair of thin, cream-colored stockings, which extended to the knees, then a loose-fitting underskirt.
“Up again, milady.”
The maid slipped the blue dress over Angora’s head and patted down the sleeves. She then drew the cords together loosely at her back, making sure she did not put too much pressure on Angora’s bandaged wound, then stood back with pride. “Yes, very elegant, milady.”
“What do they call you?” Angora asked as she studied herself in the mirror.
“Lillian, milady.’
‘Thank you, Lillian.’
‘A pleasure, my lady. Now, we must do something with your hair.”
After the maid had brushed and plaited her hair in a style similar to her own, Angora went into the adjoining sitting room and spotted Samian sitting at a table with what looked like the morning meal. He was clearly delighted with her appearance. As she approached the table, he rose, withdrew her chair, and helped her to sit before returning to his own seat.
“You kept these manners quite secret when you were on Teronia.”
He chuckled. “Had you sat at tables, I might have had the opportunity.”
The two of them ate in silence, though Samian constantly looked up from his meal as though to reassure himself that she was actually there. Angora listened to the sound of the trees in the castle gardens beyond the windows and the visiting birds that chirped happily in their branches. She heard the faint chatter of life beyond the castle grounds though could see nothing of the city itself through that window.
“What were you dreaming about last night?” the king asked, breaking the silence.
“Why do you ask?”
“Lillian heard you talking in your sleep this morning when she came in to check on you. ‘We must get out, he will beat us.’” Samian laid down his spoon and looked across the table at her.
Angora sighed. She had forgotten her dream but now knew what she must have been dreaming about. The chief of Teronia on one of his regular visits to her mother. She could not bear to meet Samian’s gaze. Instead she shrugged and picked at the remains of her breakfast until one of the manservants came in and cleared the bowls away.
“Come,” Samian said, rising, “let me show you around the castle.”
They left Angora’s quarters and walked along the carpeted corridor in silence until they reached a set of grand stairs.
“This is the main stairwell that goes all the way up to the top floor and all the way down to the dungeons below. It’s practically impossible to get lost in here, but if you do, head along one of the main corridors, they all look like this one, to this stairwell.”
“Have you lived here all your life?” Angora asked.
“Most of it. I’ve been abroad quite often, mostly to the western states with my father. Nildemar is living in Airgyl at the moment,” he explained. “I ordered a house to be built for him overlooking the sea.”
“So you were not lying about having a brother.”
“Half-brother.”
“Why is he so far away? Do you not like him?”
“Nildemar prefers it there,” Samian said. “I’m not sure why.”
“Surely somewhere closer would be safer. Is he protected?”
“He has a few guards, yes. Don’t look at me like that!” Samian exclaimed as Angora gaped at him. “Secrecy is better than a dozen sorcerers. The town is out of reach of the Ronnesians, so he’s perfectly safe. He was always different and, besides, there were questions about his…paternity.” Samian paused, before adding with a smile, “And he was such an annoying little brat when he was younger. The move did us both good. So it’s just the two of us here.”
The eagerness in his voice was more than a little unsettling. She would have to accept her fate as well as the man she had agreed to marry. Yet, the memory of her Sam was so strong in her mind and heart that she knew forgetting him would be hard.
“What happened to you after you left Teronia?” she asked.
“I reached the mainland and headed north,” the king said. “The provisions you gave me lasted a week and, by that time, I had procured a horse. I rode all the way up to the Divide then sold the horse for passage across the river. From Kilsney, I was escorted back to Delseroy, where I learned that my father was dying and had been asking for me. He was in a terrible state. He ordered me to continue his work with the war but I broke my promise the moment he was dead. I was alarmed to discover where the armies had been sent and ordered them to withdraw immediately from the islands. I even sent Lhunannon personally with the orders, to make sure they got there quickly. Unfortunately, the army had already done their worst to Teronia.”
“Why do you continue with the war now?”
“Queen Sorcha’s actions following my offer of marriage made it clear that I cannot trust the Ronnesians. They would abide by no truce I could offer. The only chance of peace is if one empire were to fall, and I will work until my last breath to ensure it is not mine.”
“Who commands your forces now that General Carter is dead?”
“That honor has gone to Archis.”
“Varren is your general?” Angora asked, surprised.
“He did not ask for it,” the king said, “but he has done sterling work so far. My father always said he could be relied upon to step up to any challenge.” The king smiled absently and began to ascend the great staircase.
A couple of floors above, he led her to a pair of double doors and pulled them open, letting in a crisp breeze. They stepped onto a balcony high above the city. Angora gazed in awe. She felt a shiver run down her spine. The city was vast and beautiful. Even though she had become accustomed to Te’Roek, she had never once thought the buildings grand or aesthetically pleasing. Taking in the scene, she realized Delseroy’s magnificence greatly surpassed Te’Roek’s. There were more trees and the public avenues were wider. The upper city houses, those closest to the castle, were magnificent three-story structures, highly decorated with reliefs around the doors and windows. There was a vast courtyard bordered by trees beyond the castle wall and a few civilians walked leisurely across it, looking up at the castle with awe and some pride.
“What do you think?” Samian asked. “Imagine, you will soon be queen and all of this – gardens, buildings, streets, people – will belong to you.”
>
“People do not belong to their princes,” she reminded him. “They may be subject to your demands but they will never be property of the crown.”
The king was silent for a moment, then rested his elbows on the balustrades and sighed. “Galenros showed me your fight with Sorcha when I went to see him yesterday evening. You ripped up your oath with such fire. Your temper has grown fierce, my love. You were always so quiet and gentle with me.”
He ran the fingers of one hand along her jaw and rested them on her neck. Then he inched closer, so that Angora could feel his warm breath on her skin.
“Had you only been older…we might have been bound together much sooner, perhaps in an imitation of your Teronian moon rites. But I’m glad we waited. You’re a young woman now, more beautiful than I imagined in my dreams.” The king looked her up and down, smiling. “Oh, Angora, you’ve grown so fine.”
Angora stiffly folded her arms across her chest and looked away.
“You can’t tell me you don’t appreciate my compliments.” He traced the line of her sides, drawing her body closer to his. “Do you harbor none of the feelings you once had for me?”
“You are not the man you were, nor am I the innocent girl.”
“No?” Samian murmured in her ear. “Do you remember what we whispered to each other in the caves?”
Angora did remember. His arms were around her now and he pulled her into a tight embrace. She rested her head on his chest, feeling tears stinging her eyes and a lump rising in her throat.
“I remember the way you looked at me the night you first let me kiss you. I remember the way you held onto me when you knew I was leaving and begged me not to go – ”
“Then why did you?” Angora drew away from Samian and stared up at him with watery eyes.
“It was only a matter of time before I was discovered by your father. You and I both knew that I had to leave.”
“You broke my heart!”
“And mine too.”
“Then why did you not take me with you?”
“I had my reasons. You wouldn’t have understood why I lied about who I was. You would have felt deceived. My father would have forbidden our engagement and sent you away or, worse, he may have had you executed! I couldn’t risk anything happening to you, so I decided to wait.”
Angora cried openly then but Samian gently kissed her forehead. She looked up at him and found that, suddenly, the king had disappeared, leaving behind that lost young man in the stormy sea. She clung to him as she had done the day he had left in the little canoe. Despite what he was, what he had become, she could not deny that she had loved him and, perhaps, still did.
CHAPTER 33
“Get up, it’s time.”
The bleary-eyed mayor rose from his uncomfortable crouch on the floor and watched as Varren passed his hands across his manacles, breaking them open with a spark. Challan nursed his wrists and shuffled cautiously toward the cell door, as though expecting Varren to attack.
“We don’t have all day,” Varren muttered, pushing his fingers into the man’s spine. “Move! And don’t forget what you promised.”
It was near dawn and, despite the serenity of Ammentide, Varren felt agitated. King Samian had urged him to finish his business with Challan and deliver him to Te’Roek and to Queen Sorcha’s judgment.
“Write her a letter to accompany his safe return,” the king had advised. “Let her know that, should she neglect her duties, you will take matters into your own hands. You have my full support in whatever manner of discipline you find necessary. I don’t want Challan to escape justice.”
“You have my word that he will not,” Varren had assured him.
Once Mayor Challan was out of his cell, the Ayon sorcerer turned to face him. He looked a mess. His once perfectly trimmed hair was scraggy and reminded Varren of the fur of a wet dog. His face was caked with sweat and dust from the cell floor where Challan had been sleeping and graying stubble covered his jaw and upper lip. His eyes were wide with fright and deep shadows rimmed his lids. The heavy perfume that had clung to him upon his arrival was no longer present, having been replaced with the stench of old sweat, stale urine and damp stone.
“Follow my instructions,” Varren said, “and you have my word that I will not harm you. Divert from our plans even by an inch and I will end your life in a fraction of a breath. Do not mention that I am with you. Do not attempt to alert the queen to my presence. Are we clear?”
“Very.”
*
Standing invisibly before the great gates of Te’Roek castle a short while later, Varren recalled his last visit. On that occasion, he had killed the guards and door wardens for a challenge, but he would not do so this time. Mayor Briel Challan was still looking a little queasy from his unnatural journey from Manthis. Varren had deposited them in an alcove beneath the raised forecourt in front of the castle gates, and had followed as Challan climbed the stairs slowly and unsteadily. Varren watched him closely as they crossed the forecourt, ready to silence him should he try to cry out. The guards recognized him instantly and were looking anxiously at each other, noticing the man’s state.
“Do what I told you,” Varren whispered in Challan’s ear, “and remember, I can see everything but cannot be seen.” And, in truth, his invisibility charm was stronger than he had ever made it. It would have to be if Challan faced the queen with Emil Latrett, Markus Taal or Kayte Heron by her side.
“My lord mayor!” one of the guards said, moving forward, neglecting his post. “We heard you had – Forgive me, do you need our assistance?”
“Get rid of them,” Varren whispered harshly.
“No! No, I know my way perfectly,” Challan said, his voice shaking. “I must see the queen directly.”
They passed through the gates and approached the nearest staircase. Varren had never been this far into the castle and looked eagerly about him, taking in every detail. He had little doubt he would return one day. He noticed Challan looking uneasily over his shoulder and smirked. He moved forward and grabbed the mayor’s round face in his hand, producing a quiet yelp.
“I am still here,” he said quietly. “Don’t forget it.”
He released the mayor with a jerk and followed him in silence, stepping as lightly as he could upon the stairs as they climbed to the floor above. The open corridor that looked down into the courtyard was of a style he had never encountered before in all his travels. The structure was so open and trusting. If not for the enchantments woven into the stones, protecting the walls from any kind of magical attack, it would be less like a fortress than a public forum. However, even the strongest spells could not guard the air, as Vrór had proven when he had flown over the walls into the castle courtyard.
Challan paused outside one room, shook his head absently and then moved on to the next. Varren wondered whether the action had been of any significance. He frowned and continued after the man, who had now stopped in front of another door. Challan took in a deep breath, then knocked.
The door opened almost instantly to reveal the tall figure of Markus Taal. Only a second passed before the mage recognized the mayor and uttered a surprised cry. “By the Spirits!” He staggering forward and grasped the man’s hand. “Briel! You’re alive! Come in and sit down at once!”
Varren slipped in through the door as Markus closed it and watched the man’s face closely to see whether the wizard detected his presence. He thought he saw an inkling of distraction on the man’s face but was not convinced of it.
“Briel!” the queen cried, standing up from her chair at the head of a long table. “You look terrible.”
“I feel it, Your Majesty,” the mayor said, sweeping down on one knee and bowing his head. “I fear this will not be a pleasant meeting.”
“Oh?”
“Please sit down, Your Majesty, and you too, Lord Taal. I…” He glanced at the door, not realizing that Varren was standing right beside him. “I have some grave news for you.”
“What is it,
Briel?”
The queen returned to her chair and sat anxiously, her eyes expectant. Challan stood uncomfortably as Markus moved to stand beside her, his brow etched with a frown. The mayor glanced once more at the door. Varren came up close to him and pressed his fingers into the fat of his arm. Challan visibly flinched but then cleared his throat and began.
He told the queen everything. He did not look at her but kept his eyes firmly on his ruined slippers. When he paused, Varren pressed his fingers into his arm once more. It took ten minutes or more for him to tell his story in detail, leaving out nothing, not even the state of the Ammentide cells. He related everything that had happened, apart from Varren himself being there in the room.
The queen looked horrified. When he had finished, she shakily rose to her feet, her hands clenched, and stormed across the room. She slapped him hard across the face and he crumbled before her, whimpering and cowering.
“How dare you!” she shrieked, her face growing red. “I told you not to do anything and you deliberately betrayed me! Do you realize what you have done?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, and I humbly beg forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness?” the queen exclaimed. “Forgiveness? Now Varren knows for certain you were involved, the Ayon Empire will launch a full-scale assault! By the Spirits…How can I ever forgive you for this? Markus – ”
“Yes, Your Majesty?” the wizard asked, hurrying to her side.
“Summon the guards and take this man to the cells.”