“Indeed,” said the King, his eyes fixed on hers. He broke contact abruptly and went on speaking. “I met with Supmylo this morning. He did as we hoped. All is going according to plan. My men have been accepted.”
Aud let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Yet, I still do not like leaving Sitnalta’s fate to so much luck. Really, that is all our plan relies on. I am not happy about this,” she frowned.
King Gerald looked at her closely. “Well, if the ‘luck’ runs out, we’ll adapt. That is, after all, all we can do.” The King sipped his tea, and then put the cup down on the tray. He rested his hands on the arms of the chair.
“I have been plotting, planning, and strategizing for as long as I can remember. Even the best, most intricate, well thought-out plan relies to some degree on luck. Do not worry so, my dear lady. We will protect your princess.”
Aud wished she could be so confident. “You must understand, Sire,” she said to him. “I love this girl as a mother loves her very own daughter. I feel I must worry. I worried for her even when I knew where she was at all times. I worried every day of her life. Now, it is true that my concern for her is quite a bit greater than it was before, but I feel I have good cause.”
“I never said otherwise,” King Gerald told her.
“I know that. But she is all I have.” Aud bowed her head. “I feel so helpless.” Her voice was no louder than a whisper.
King Gerald rose from his chair and walked over to Aud. He gently put a hand on her shoulder.
“Do not feel so helpless,” he said to her. “You are doing all that you can. We both are. As for her being all you have . . .”
Aud looked up at him.
“You have me now too.” The King smiled at her. “Come!” he said, holding out his hand. “I have heard your gardens are lovely here. Shall we?”
Aud hesitated. Going out for a walk with a king? She felt unsure. If they should be seen—a woman in her position had no right being anywhere with such a man. It was risky enough, their meeting in the library. King Gerald saw her hesitation.
“Well?” he asked.
“I do not think so, Sire. I am only . . .”
“A lovely woman whose friendship I am honoured to have. Come. I insist.”
Aud sighed and relented. “Alright, Sire. If you insist.” She rose from her chair and the two started walking out of the library together.
“My dear lady, do me a small favour.”
Aud was wary. “What?”
“Call me Gerald. I never liked the word Sire.”
Aud looked away, her face was burning. “I—Sire—I can’t,” she stammered. “I’m sorry, but . . .”
Gerald looked at her obvious discomfort. He frowned. “I understand, My Lady.” This would take some time, he thought.
The gardens were lovely. The roses were in bloom among fountains of baby’s breath and mums. Colours assaulted the senses in vibrant reds, pinks, and yellows. Supmylo never went out here, so the gardeners felt it safe to grow what they pleased. Queen Learsi had always adored flowers, and so the gardens had become the staff’s way of keeping her presence alive in the castle.
That day, Aud and Gerald walked together along the many paths. Gerald was careful to keep a respectable distance between them. The air was warm and fragrant. Not a sound was heard save for the lazy droning of the bees. The silence between them was a comfortable one, and would have gone on indefinitely had Gerald not broken it.
“Tell me about yourself,” Gerald said. He hoped he was not intruding.
Aud was unsure of how to answer. “There is not much to tell, I am afraid.”
“Nonsense. I do not believe that.”
“It is true,” Aud insisted. “My whole life has been about the Princess—teaching her, protecting her, raising her. I have had no time for myself in fifteen years. Do not get me wrong, Sire—I apologize—Gerald. I would not have traded a moment of it for anything else.”
Gerald smiled. “That tells me a lot about you.”
Aud was surprised. “It does?”
“Certainly. It tells me you are a loyal, dedicated, and caring woman—one who takes her role seriously. But also, one who knows when it’s appropriate to go against the system, as you have done in trying to protect your Sitnalta.”
Aud blushed furiously, causing Gerald to laugh. Aud shot him a sharp look. He stopped laughing and smiled at her.
“I suppose it is my turn,” he said. “I am a widowed king. I have no children. My kingdom is called Sarrin. I plot with governesses to save princesses from tyrants. I enjoy brandy at the wee hours of the morning and tea at noon. Oh, and I play croquet. Quite well actually.”
Aud laughed, and immediately checked herself. She turned away, uncomfortable of the situation.
“You have a perfectly delightful laugh,” Gerald told her.
Aud was quite nonplussed. “Your Highness—I really do not feel such a comment is appropriate.”
“I am sorry, Aud. Have I overstepped?” Gerald looked crestfallen. “I just wished to favour you with a small compliment. You seemed uncomfortable laughing in front of me. You should not.”
“Well—no—I suppose I should not—I . . .” Aud stammered, unsure of how to respond.
“Have I overstepped?”
“No,” Aud decided. She favoured him with a small smile. “I am flattered.”
Gerald grinned at her, and she gave him a small smile in return. He decided this was a step forward and offered her his arm.
“May I walk you back to the castle?” he asked her.
Aud hesitated a moment. “I suppose so, Sire.”
She gingerly took his arm and the two of them began to make their way back.
“Shall we meet again tomorrow?” Gerald asked.
“What?”
“To discuss our plan,” Gerald clarified.
“Oh,” Aud replied. She thought it over. “I suppose so, Sire. In the library?”
“Definitely.”
With that settled, the King of Sarrin and the Princess of Colonodona’s governess walked back towards the castle in a companionable silence.
Chapter Fifteen
Days passed peacefully in the forest. Najort decided to not bring up Sitnalta’s past again, unless she would be the one to do it. He cared for the Princess deeply, and he never wanted to see her hurting like she had been that night. Instead, they spent their days together doing everything to keep their little home a comfortable place to live. Sitnalta had never learned how to do most things that many others in the Kingdom would think came naturally. With Najort, she saw a whole new way of living. He had been shocked to find out that she had never learned how to brush her own hair, clean her own clothes, or lace her own boots. He decided to take it upon himself to teach her all of these things.
For some of these tasks, Sitnalta had been a quick learner, picking them up after only the first couple of tries. Her hair was now brushed every morning until it was gleaming. Her clothes were cleaned until there was not a single spot to be found on them, and yet, her boots stubbornly refused to remain tied. Sitnalta would spend good chunks of the day sitting in the clearing, staring stubbornly at her boots, cursing them under her breath as she held the laces in her hands, willing them to form knots and bows. Yet, despite her most valiant efforts, they remained loose.
One such day, Najort came out to see how she was faring.
“I shall be resigned to go barefoot,” she told him as he approached.
Najort smiled and shook his head. “That is not very practical.”
A frown spread across her face. “You don’t wear boots.”
Najort stared down at his feet. Indeed, they were bare. “I am a troll,” he told her. “Trolls don’t wear boots, or shoes, or any coverings at all on their feet.”
“Well, neither shall I,” Sitnalta informed him. And that was that. From that day forth, Sitnalta refused to wear her boots. The slippers she had brought were of no use either. They had fallen apart long ago.
Despi
te her problems with some things, Sitnalta had a great surge of joy whenever she succeeded in conquering a new task. Najort watched her in wonder as she burst with pride in performing the most menial of chores. She would be beaming as she swept out the cave. She would hum and whistle to herself when helping him prepare a meal. She felt she was becoming truly independent for the first time in her life. She did not need anyone to fetch for her, nor to tend to her. She could finally take care of herself, and she enjoyed that feeling. With Najort, she was not a princess. She felt she was his equal.
~ ~ ~
Najort decided that since the nights in the forest were getting cooler, he should wash out his stock of warmer blankets. He had hung them to dry on the trees surrounding the clearing, and now with Sitnalta’s help, he was folding them back up to place on the shelf for when they were needed. Sitnalta wanted to fold half of them by herself, and he had acquiesced to this demand. He paused in his work and stood watching her a moment. Her hair had been tied back with a strip of fabric. But some of the strands kept stubbornly escaping and flying into her eyes as she worked. Sitnalta was continually blowing them out of her way, only to find them drifting back into the very same spot once more. The blanket she was working on was folded in a haphazard manner. None of the corners met, the sides were uneven. It resembled more a crumpled ball than a folded square. When she deemed herself finished, Sitnalta handed her work to Najort with a self-satisfied grin on her face.
“There!” she told him.
“Very nice,” he said to her, and took the blanket to place on the shelf.
Sitnalta immediately plucked another from her pile and set to work. She tackled it in much the same manner as the previous. Najort shrugged and began folding his once more. Suddenly, Sitnalta paused and looked at Najort.
“Why do you live here alone?” she asked.
Najort looked up startled. “What?”
“Why do you live here alone?” Sitnalta repeated.
“I don’t,” he answered. “You live here too.”
“I didn’t always. You lived here a long time before I arrived. I want to know why you lived here alone. I mean,” she amended, “if that’s not prying too much.”
“No,” Najort sighed. “I lived alone here because people just don’t seem to be very tolerant towards trolls. They fear us. Some of us went to live in the mountains; others went to faraway lands. I decided to stay in the forest. I always loved it here. I just couldn’t see myself leaving.”
“Oh,” Sitnalta replied. She chewed on her lip a moment. “How old are you?”
“You are full of questions today,” Najort laughed.
“Well?”
“I am two hundred and thirty two years old,” he answered.
“Were you ever married?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why did you not want to marry whom your father chose for you?”
Sitnalta looked taken aback by the question. Then she paused and considered a moment before answering.
“I did not love him,” she answered.
Najort nodded. “What kind of man would you see yourself marrying?”
“He would be a kind man—a man with imagination—a man who would let me speak for as long as I wanted, without him ever getting bored. He would love music and creative things. He would love animals and let me have a whole menagerie. He would never laugh at my dreams, no matter how farfetched they would be. He would also have the kindest eyes in the world.”
Najort smiled at her and did not say a word.
“You think I’m silly,” she pouted.
“No. I think you’ll find him someday. Keep looking.”
Chapter Sixteen
It was well into the afternoon before Sitnalta finally woke up, yawning and stretching. She had spent the past day running wildly through the forest, climbing anything that stood in her path, and she had thoroughly tired herself out. She lay in her bed for a little while longer before deciding to get up. Her bed was tucked away in a hollowed-out section of the cave’s wall. It was far in the back, where the rock formations around her area afforded her all the privacy she could ever need. Her mattress had been made for her the day after she had arrived in the glen. Najort had fixed it out of collected leaves and feathers sewn into a large sack. It was unbelievably soft and comfortable to sleep on. A pillow had been made in much the same way for her. To Sitnalta’s surprise, Najort had amassed quite a collection of blankets and quilts over the years. Some he had made, others he had collected. He kept them on a shelf not far from the area in which he slept. The shelf was a large stone slab, wedged into a groove in the wall. He had told Sitnalta to take whatever she needed for her bedding. She had picked out a lovely green quilt with pink flowers embroidered on the edges. She didn’t know if it was one Najort had collected or made. He did not tell.
That day, as Sitnalta made her way out of the cave, she passed by Najort’s sleeping area. She intended to check if he too had overslept. His bed, however, was made, a sign that he was up, and about. Sitnalta decided to search out some breakfast. Her stomach was growling in hunger. As she walked past Najort’s bed, she noticed a crack in the wall. Her mind began thinking out the possibilities that this crack presented. It was more of a passageway than just a mere crack, she decided to herself. It appeared to have been hidden by a boulder, but there was still a space between the rock and the cave wall. Sitnalta figured that if she held her breath, she could just squeeze through. She thought briefly that maybe she should not do this. That perhaps she should find Najort and ask him about this passageway. But her curiosity was too strong. There was probably nothing even on the other side. So technically there was no harm in her exploring, was there?
Sitnalta sucked in her breath and began pushing her way into the space between boulder and wall. She screwed her eyes shut as she inched her way in. The wall was squeezing her from the front, and the boulder was an ever-present pressure in the back. She shuffled her feet inch by inch, her hands guiding her along the stone.
For a brief moment, she found herself stuck. Panic threatened to overwhelm her. She considered calling out for Najort, but she did not know how far away he was. She could not suck in enough breath to call either. She feared she was going to suffocate. The air around her felt stale and useless, but she would not give up. She did not intend to die there.
She pressed ahead, twisting and turning, contorting her body in order to get free. Red spots danced before her eyes. She felt as if her chest would burst. Suddenly she popped free out the other side, landing in a heap on the floor. She lay there, gasping, and sucking in grateful mouthfuls of air.
Sitnalta shook her head in an effort to clear it and picked herself up off of the floor. She looked around, trying to see where she had landed. The place was a cave within the cave. The ceiling was high and rounded, as were the walls. She felt as if she were within a globe. The sphere was lit by a warm golden glow that flickered and flitted around, never staying the same from one moment to the next. Sitnalta stood rapt with wonder. The very air seemed charged with magic. Her eyes came to focus on the one thing in the place. Fixed to the very center of the floor was a pedestal. It was crudely fashioned from stone; chipped and gouged as if it had been made in haste. Displayed on top was a coin. The coin stood atop the pedestal, balancing on its edge. Sitnalta realized that this small thing was the source of all the light that had so entranced her. She slowly, reverently approached the coin. It felt as if it were beckoning to her, calling her forward. She obeyed.
Standing directly in front of it, Sitnalta bent to get a closer look. She gasped at the sheer beauty of it. The coin was gold, but not just gold. It was forged of gold so pure and warm that it appeared almost malleable, yielding to the slightest touch. Sitnalta had never seen its equal. Carved on either side were stars, though she was unsure how anything could be carved on such a metal. Each star shone with a fiery light, twinkling and winking continuously, in and out of existence. There were too many of them to count. I
t was disorienting. Sitnalta felt as if the night sky had been plucked from the heavens and trapped here in this coin. She wondered what it would feel like encased in the palm of her hand. Would it be as warm as the light suggested? Or would it feel cool and metallic against her skin? The desire to find out consumed her mind. She raised a hand to take the coin from its place. Her mind was full of the vision of it in her possession. It seemed so right.
“Sitnalta!”
She quickly dropped her hand as if she had been burned, and looked around. She felt as if she were in a fog. Her mind was working too slowly.
“Sitnalta!” Najort called. He sounded a bit worried.
“I am here!” she called back.
It occurred to her that he might not know where “here” was.
“Where?” Now he sounded frantic.
“I found a passageway by your bed,” she called, elaborating. “I explored it, and am now on the other side.”
There was the sound of stone scraping against stone, and soon Najort was standing inside the cavern. His face was grim. Sitnalta took in his expression, and her body took on the posture of a small child waiting to be scolded.
“So you found it,” he said softly.
“Found what?” Sitnalta looked expectantly from Najort to the coin and back again.
“Why don’t we go outside? I am sure you have not eaten yet.”
“I’m fine,” she told him.
Sitnalta’s stomach growled, giving away her lie. She nodded and followed Najort out. He pushed the boulder back again, this time effectively sealing off any further explorations Sitnalta might have been planning. She was more than a little disappointed.
Once outside in the fresh air, Najort proceeded to make Sitnalta breakfast. She waited politely until he handed over a plate of eggs before pursuing her subject once more.
“What is it?” she asked.
“What is what?” Najort pretended he did not know what she was talking about.
“The coin.” Sitnalta was feeling impatient.
“Eat your food before it gets cold.”
Sitnalta (Sitnalta Series Book 1) Page 6