by B Lynch
Eliya, Mas, and the guards - who only addressed her as Madam, to ward off suspicion, much as it offended her - wound their way through the town, past the well-shaded houses, to a large, long house near the middle of Bram, where Eliya had assumed the town square would be. The house was not only longer than the others, but also wider from side to side, almost stretched to capacity. It seemed to be of poorer shape than the others, being built almost exclusively of mud and wood instead of the stone and mud that the other small houses used. Eliya figured that to make a house of that size, it would have been prohibitively expensive. She stayed close to Mas, and the guards, as they approached it; there were several men loitering outside the building, in groups, and they eyed her with knowing smirks.
She assumed them to be woodcutters, or trappers, by the look of them; they all looked dirty and disheveled. There was no distinguishing the two in her eyes. It was only when she drew closer that she could tell the difference. The woodcutters, who stood to the left of the door, smelled of pine and sweat; the hunters, to the right, smelled of piss and dead animals. She wrinkled her nose around both. They only laughed. Mas glared at them, thinking it would silence them; it was hardly effective.
The party walked inside the dank-smelling building, and found several tables set up, with wares on them - dried meat, soft furs, berries, mushrooms, all the bounty of the forest laid out for them to peruse. The man that waited inside was middle-aged - gaunt, by most measures, and his hair was a long pale yellow that faded into white. His eyes were a pale, unfriendly green, which seemed disinterested in customers. He reluctantly turned from the window to glance at them.
“What do you want?” he asked, gruff. Eliya stayed off to Mas’s side, nestled on the other by a guard. She looked around, and then back at the man. Mas spoke with an even, friendly tone.
“We wish to buy supplies,” Mas said. “We travel back north, to Kersik. We will need pelts, and dried meat for the journey. Enough to keep us fed, and warm.”
“Kersik?” the man asked. “What brought you down in th’ first place?” His tone was not curious, or welcoming. It was hostile.
“A family matter,” Mas said, adding nothing else.
The man rubbed his naked chin, back and forth, like the shuttle of a loom. “Five people. That’ll be twenty silver for what you need.”
“I will pay twelve, and an extra three if you tell us the best way through the paths ahead,” Mas said.
“Fifteen, and five,” the shopkeeper responded. “You’ll not find another shop around. Do you accept?”
Mas grumbled. “Yes,” he said, as he reluctantly fished coins from his purse, and handed them to the merchant.
“You’re lucky, I think,” the man said, holding the coins in his hand with bemusement. “Wouldn’t have had much left if the Erimeni that came by yesterday had bought anything. Three of ‘em. But Fin and Shann over there gave them a little fright, sayin’ the Prince were a good friend of our village, and we didn’t smile on Erimeni after they killed him. Fin was just playin’ the fool, but with Valric bein’ dead by their hand, I believe they weren’t takin’ no chances.” He pointed to the men outside as he spoke, with a certain satisfaction on his face. The trappers and woodcutters of Bram took pride in being prickly, it seemed. Eliya was flattered by his words; she was glad that other people held Valric in such high regard.
“That was very loyal of you,” she said, breaking her silence. It was as much as she was willing to say, without revealing who she truly was.
“Ah, wasn’t much,” the shopkeep said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “They steal our game from time t’ time. They move on. But with the King’s death and all, I’d wager it wasn’t a wise decision, giving them grief.” He shook his head with no uncertain regret. “They’ll come for us first, I think. Wish the damn Council would realize what problems we have, bein’ near the borders. First to know, first to fall, I say.”
“You could always run,” Mas said. “The woods are plentiful, and deep.”
Mas’s words sparked derisive laughter from the merchant. “We’re not the runnin’ kind,” the man said. “Born in the woods, die in the woods. Doesn’t matter who comes our way. But it’d be a sight better if they knew what trouble all of them prancin’ around in Castle Claine was causing us. We’ve been sendin’ more of our lumber south for spears and smithing, and not enough for us to sell. The taxes have gone up, and then those fools went and lost the axe. Yom above, have you ever heard such a thing? Eighty-five kings we’ve had with that axe, who’ve guided us through good days and bad, and it’s this Council that loses it. No wonder the Silenians have their eyes on us,” the man said. “Mark my words. They’re a bunch of corrupt, ignorant pricks, and if I ever met one, I’d give him a drummin’ like he’s never known…”
“It’s lost?” Eliya asked. No, she thought. That can’t be right. It was stolen.
“Aye,” the man said. “Peacebringer went missing weeks ago. I told Fin out there, ‘No, mark me, it’s been stolen,’ but he says his cousin’s a guard, and were some fool taking it out for a shine who dropped it in the river.” The man cackled. “In the river, he says! I’ve never known Fin to tell me tall tales, no, he’s straight as a good blade and twice as sharp, he is. So you’ve the right mind, miss,” he said, pointing at Eliya, with a grin, “The Kersikkis never would’ve let that mess happen.”
“Excuse me?” Eliya said. She caught his meaning. She only wanted him to admit it.
“Marrying your way out,” he said, with a sly smile. “That’s good thinking. Walls on walls upon walls in the deep north, that’s what Kersikki has to offer you. Only a damn fool would march north to that. But Barra, oh, she’s a pretty sight to Silenia, believe me. Our quarries are richer, our fields are greener, and our wood’s sturdier. They’ve got the better fighters, they’ve got the Odrygi on their side, and I’ve heard tell of their war machines - taller than three horses stacked on end, and tougher than a Barrish oak. The moment they see weakness, they’ll be marchin’ north.”
“Surely, you do not worry,” Mas said. “You are the last place they will concern themselves with.”
“Nobody wants to be th’ last of anythin’ like that,” the man replied, sour. “Th’ last gets it the worst.”
Mas nodded. “Of course,” Mas said, somberly. “Now, you had mentioned the paths we should take?”
The man called in Shann, the hunter, with a shout. He was at first surly, until plied with coin; then, he was far more cooperative. The paths he explained were more complex than Eliya had expected, and she nudged Mas, asking him to consider hiring the man as a guide. It was something he was all too happy to do; it was not enough to be warm, and well-fed in the Rebonn Forest. Not getting lost was paramount.
Their party left the village of Bram quietly, and Eliya was glad to be gone from it, at first; but as she looked back behind her, riding deeper into the woods, she felt a pang of loss - for this was the last inch of Barra she would see for some time. How long, she didn’t know; months? Years, perhaps? If things continued as they were - if Marrol held on to the crown - she might never feel safe, returning to her homeland. Tears came unbidden from her eyes, and she began to cry in the woods. The riders stopped; Mas rode up alongside her, and put a calming hand on her arm. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes full of concern.
“I - I don’t know if I’ll ever return,” she said, She could feel the worry, anxiety, and trepidation overtaking her. “I know we must leave, but… I don’t know if I can.”
“We have to,” Mas said, gently. “Eliya, we must. Breathe deeply, my dear. This will pass. You are brave, you are strong,”
“I’m not,” Eliya said, hesitant. “I’m scared. I don’t want to be brave, Mas… I just want to be anywhere else.”
“As do I,” Mas replied. Eliya felt his hand caress her chin, lightly; her hand met his, and folded over it. She wanted to keep his hand there, for the warmth it brought to her heart “But we must keep going. I cannot make this journ
ey without you. You are not the only one who is scared. I need you to give me the strength, for without you, I am lost.”
“I know,” Eliya said. She stifled a sniffle; if the men could do it without a single tear, so could she.
“We must be strong. For each other,” Mas said, reassuring her. “Can you do that?”
Eliya hesitated, at first, but then, nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I can try.”
Mas smiled, and leaned in, kissing her on the lips. “Thank you,” he said. His hand fell gently from her face, but clutched her own hand - and they rode alongside each other into the woods, behind the guards, behind the hunter, away from Barra for what could be the rest of her life. She squeezed Mas’s hand tightly; it was the only familiar thing she could hold on to.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
As Marrol lay in a strange bed with another man’s wife, he wondered when his shame had been lost. He took another swig of wine from the almost-empty bottle at his bedside; the blonde beauty that shared his bed draped a hand over his chest, and traced absent-minded circles with her finger.
“What is it?” Ostre asked, with inquisitive brown eyes.
“Nothing of consequence,” he said. “A little devil in my head.”
“Indulge it,” she said, with a smirk. “Enjoy my company. Kells is at the castle, arranging the guard detail for the meeting tomorrow.” Their room was secret, on the far end of Alton - a half-decent bed in a traveler’s inn, normally trafficked by merchants, itinerants, and the like. Enough silver changed hands that he was assured of both privacy and anonymity.
“And Porthan, and Ibhaen?” Had he been sober, he’d have known better than to ask Ostre that. But he wasn’t – and he didn’t care. This was a celebration in and of itself; he was King Regent. He had her, and there was a joy in his heart he hadn’t felt in some time. That meant wine.
She stiffened. “With my servant,” she said, as she mustered a fake smile. “I told them I was visiting my sister.”
“Good,” Marrol said. He finished the bottle with a long drag. “Then we have a great deal of time, don’t we?”
“We do,” she purred. “We do, we do.”
He glanced over at Ostre; she was beautiful in ways Patta wasn’t, and warm like morning sun in summer. Those eyes, that hair, that godly bosom - that smile…It made him wish to Yom he’d demoted Kells when he had the chance. But, then again, knowing Kells had thrown in with that leech Sophine made stealing Ostre all the sweeter. Marrol slid his hand along the length of her body. His fingertips enjoyed every alabaster inch; his mouth devoured hers. Would Patta care? He asked himself, as he pressed his body upon Ostre’s, and drew affection from her lips. Or would she think this was inevitable?
He did not want to think of his wife, and yet, thoughts of her came to him unbidden. How little she cared for matters of the heart, but how greatly power concerned her. Had she not seen great promise in me when she married me, and boasted of me to her parents - her husband, the brave Minister? He thought. And had she not always pushed aside concerns that we had not borne a child, until they became nothing?
“Right there,” Ostre said with smoky words, as an easy smile spread on her face - and her eyes took on a new intensity. “Again. Harder, lover. Harder.” His body responded on instinct, savoring the moment, but his mind drifted. Perhaps it was the wine; his thoughts were blank, and his concerns disappeared. So did the hours, as he lost himself in her.
It was not until the morning that he was roused again, by a knock at the door. Ostre still slumbered; Marrol decided not to wake her, and let her dream in peace. Marrol stumbled out of bed, bleary-eyed, dazed, with a faint pain at his temples; perhaps, still a bit drunk. He felt the cool touch of the hard wood floor on his bare feet, and swayed slightly as he made his way to the door. The stiff morning air wrapped around his naked skin. The knocking came again, persistent. “What?” Marrol said. “What do you want?”
“Your escort to the castle is here, Your Majesty,” Kells said, his voice muffled, yet identifiable; there was no question it was him, and for him to be on the other side of the door as his wife was in bed… it chilled Marrol’s blood. “As you requested.” I made no such request, Marrol thought, as a sinking feeling emerged in his stomach. No one was to know I was here.
“Of course,” Marrol said. “I’ll… I’ll be ready in a minute,” he said, as he went back for his small-clothes.
“You must hurry, Your Majesty,” Kells said. “We’ll be late for the meeting if you take much longer. I brought the change of clothes you suggested, and a man to dress you.”
“Then let him in,” Marrol shouted back. “Stay out in the hall, and guard the door.”
“I’m to brief you on the topic of the meeting,” Kells said. “It regards our relationship with the Kersikki, in light of Prince Mas’s escape.”
“Who is it?” Ostre mumbled, half asleep.
“It’s no one,” Marrol said to her. “Go back to sleep.” He eyed the door nervously.
“Have they brought us breakfast?” Ostre asked, as she leaned up on the bed. Kells opened the door for the servant, who entered; Marrol let him in, but opened the door too far, and regretted it immediately. He watched Kells’ expression change in an instant. It filled with anger, and rage, and if Marrol were a lesser man - or a wiser man - he should have been frightened.
“Ostre?” Kells said, starting to push his way past Marrol. “Is that you?” Ostre jolted upright in fear, and her eyes widened in terror.
“You are dismissed,” Marrol said, attempting to push him out of the room. “I’ll meet you downstairs once I’m dressed.”
“What’s my wife doing in your bed, you bastard?” Kells replied. No longer was he polite; he shoved Marrol backwards, into the room - all but toppling the servant who stood near the entrance. “What is she doing here?” Kells said, furious, jabbing a finger towards his wife.
“You are dismissed, Captain,” Marrol said, firm. “I order you to leave this room.”
“Kells, please, be calm,” Ostre said, her voice frightened but steady; she’d pulled the covers up over her bosom, to cover herself. “Don’t be rash.”
“‘Don’t be rash?’ ‘Don’t be rash?’” Kells said, as he pushed past Marrol, towards Ostre. “Everything you’ve done before has been put in the shade by this. This is unforgivable. You betray my trust, and our children - for what? For what?”
Marrol marched forward, and pulled Kells away. “That’s enough,” Marrol said, “Leave now, or be stripped of your position.” But Kells shoved back, and puffed his chest out.
“By you? A traitor? That’s a laugh,” Kells said, as he began to circle Marrol. “I know what you are. And your men downstairs won’t be here fast enough to stop me from running you through.”
“No!” Ostre shouted. “Please, Kells. Don’t kill him.”
“And why not?” Kells replied, seething with anger. “He stole the Axe. He sent the Sparrows to take Royth’s life... now, he’s stolen you. That’s all he is - a thief.”
“Maybe I haven’t been stolen,” Ostre said. Marrol looked back, and saw her back stiffen up; her fear had given way to stubborn defiance. “Maybe I’ve come willingly.” Marrol’s eyes turned to Kells, and he saw the damage done. The anger simmered, and gave way to something colder. It was then that Marrol knew Ostre should’ve kept quiet.
“Keep her,” Kells said. He glanced at Marrol. “She’s fit for a whore, not a wife,” he said, before storming out.
“Kells,” Ostre said, as she started to get out of the bed, the sheets clutched about herself. “Kells!” But the Captain of the Guard wouldn’t listen; his bootsteps stomped down the hall. Ostre started after him; Marrol grabbed her by the arm.
“Where are you going?” Marrol said.
“I need to talk with him,” Ostre replied. “I’ll get him to calm down.”
“He’s beyond that, now,” Marrol said. He noticed, however, the letter that Kells had with him had fallen to the floor; the one clutched in his ha
nd. “Dress yourself first,” he said, as he bent down to pick it up. Ostre went back to her clothes, crumpled in a pile on the far side of the bed, and dropped the sheets. Marrol glanced briefly at her shapeliness, then turned back to the letter. It bore his seal, but not his signature. He recognized the handwriting immediately. “Yom damn it,” he said, as he felt sick to his stomach. “She knows.”
“Who?” Ostre asked, confused. “Who knows?”
“My wife,” he said. “About us.”
“I thought you said you were careful,” Ostre said, bitterly, as she speedily put on her undergarments. “You said that she wouldn’t find out.”
“I was wrong,” Marrol replied. “She must have intercepted my letters.”
“This is your fault,” Ostre said. She had a frenzied pace about her, and her words hardly resembled the soft, gentle ones of the night before. They were sudden, and cutting. “All of this. I was careful. I took precautions, and you’re the one who gets us caught. And what price do you pay? Hmm?”
“Ostre,” Marrol said. “Calm down. I will talk to her. It does you no good to panic. If I can get her to understand -”
“Understand what?” Ostre said. “You lose a wife’s good favor. That doesn’t matter, when you’re the King. Patta would be a fool to give up a crown, just because you’ve been in my bed. But do you know what I lose, Your Majesty?” she said, as she pulled on her dress. “My children. My life. I lose everything.” She lowered her head and focused on lacing up the back. “I should’ve never given you that letter,” she muttered.
“Ostre,” Marrol said, “This will pass. Don’t make assumptions. You don’t know that he’ll -”
“Don’t tell me what I don’t know about my husband,” Ostre interrupted. “I’m going back now.”
Marrol was silent for a time. “I’m sorry,” he finally said; no other words seemed right. Ostre stopped, and closed her eyes, and quietly nodded in agreement. But her features were twisted up in sadness; she was on the verge of tears.