Sitnalta (Sitnalta Series Book 1)

by Alisse Lee Goldenberg

“My friend,” King Gerald said in soothing tones. “You are clearly under a lot of stress right now.”

  Supmylo growled at him.

  “I was only trying to help,” King Gerald said. “My men are no better than yours. I assure you of this fact. I was merely trying to make the search for your daughter easier on you in any way I could. Please believe me. I meant you no offense whatsoever.”

  Supmylo was breathing heavily. His left eye was twitching as he drummed his fingers heavily on his desk. His jaw was clenched.

  “I am sure you are extremely concerned for your daughter’s welfare,” King Gerald went on. “It was only of her I was thinking.”

  Supmylo unclenched his jaw. “Of course,” he said. “I am far too tense these days. Please, my friend, forgive my outburst.”

  “Forgiven and forgotten.” King Gerald rose from his seat. “If you do not need me any further?”

  “You may go.” Supmylo said, dismissively. He leaned back in his chair. “Gerald?”

  “Yes?” King Gerald paused in the doorway.

  “My men will check the forest.”

  King Gerald did his best to hide his dismay as he exited the study.

  That afternoon he met with Aud in the library. Over the past few days, he had noted her behaviour becoming progressively cooler towards him. It vexed him to no end, but he did not question her about it.

  He entered the library and took his seat, finding her already seated and waiting. He tried to read her expression, but saw nothing there.

  “Aud,” he said by way of a greeting. He inclined his head in her direction.

  “Sire,” she responded. She still felt uncomfortable around him, and the fact that he insisted on calling her by her given name only made things worse. At least he had quit calling her “My Lady.” She had won on that point.

  He stifled a sigh and got down to business.

  “Our plan is in ruins,” he told her.

  Aud inwardly groaned. She had been dreading this.

  “What happened?” she asked, sounding calmer than she felt.

  “I met with Supmylo. He is insisting that his men, and only his men, search the forest for Sitnalta.”

  Aud began massaging her temples with her fingers. This was frightful. She did not want to think about this at all.

  “But they can’t! We agreed that this was the only place she could be—it’s the only place she’d go. She can’t be found by them—she can’t!”

  Gerald looked grim. “I tried, Aud. I did. I tried to make him see that my men would be better suited for this, but the man would not see reason.”

  “The King of Colonodona is no man,” Aud said. Bitterness saturated her voice. “He is a tyrant. An ogre. He is not known for his reasonable nature. Our whole plan was that your men would be the ones to find her. That way she could be taken someplace safe—someplace far away from here! Far away from him . . .” She looked despairingly at Gerald. “What can we do now?”

  “There is nothing to do but sit and wait.”

  “I can’t accept that,” Aud said. She looked at the man sitting across from her. Just mere days before she had had hope. Now she was empty. “I can’t.”

  King Gerald looked away. He could not bring himself to meet her eyes. He had promised her he would protect the Princess. She was the one thing that meant something in her life. The fact that he had failed her hurt him more than he cared to say.

  “I am sorry,” he told her. “But sitting and waiting is all we can do now. I am stuck. My hands are tied. I am just lucky he has not insisted I leave and return to Sarrin. At least here I can be of some use.”

  “No. You are of no use at all now.” Aud got up and stalked out of the library not caring that she had just deeply wounded the one person she had left on her side.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sitnalta and Najort spent their days knowing that at any moment, their lives could be shattered. Always in the back of their minds lay the knowledge that the King’s soldiers could come crashing through the trees to take Sitnalta away. She would sit, unconsciously listening for the slightest hint of hoof beats—of men’s voices shouting for her. Najort did his best to keep her mind off of such thoughts, and she in turn did the same for him.

  Sitnalta never ran off into the forest anymore, nor did she do any exploring. Instead, she spent every waking hour with Najort, treasuring what little time left they had together. Najort doted on her, trying to be everything to her: family, friend, whatever she needed. He made a vow to himself that he would never let any harm come to her. He now spent his days just sitting and listening to all she had to say. He never tired of hearing her voice, and hung on her every word.

  Sitnalta had discovered that the best way to keep Najort from dwelling on the unpleasantness that hung over them was to tell him her stories. She found herself telling him all her favourites—those she had learned from the servants in the castle—the stories that made up the tapestry of her childhood. When these ran out, she told him her daydreams—the tales she had spent hours weaving in her mind. The dreams she had dreamt up in the treetops of the castle orchard; those that had been born in the stable hayloft; those she had come up with when dozing off in her lessons—the very dreams that had once made up her private world.

  Sitnalta’s secret imaginings consisted of adventures in far-off kingdoms, mystical realms, and lost love. Najort found himself bearing witness to the heroic lives of Queen Learsi and Princess Sitnalta, and he proved to be an appreciative audience.

  Sitnalta soon discovered that of all her stories, Najort’s favourite, by far, was that of the utopist society under the ocean. He never tired of hearing it, especially when Sitnalta would sing songs that she’d composed about it in her clear, sweet voice. Then he would sit back and let her song carry him away. He would find himself in a place where nothing mattered—all was perfect and peaceful. Her voice wound its way through his head, twisting and turning, carrying him away on the summer’s breeze. It transported his spirit far from the forest glen—far from his troubles and worries.

  That day, the two of them were sitting together over the forest river. Najort had built a bridge out of logs not long after Sitnalta had first entered his life. It arched over the river in a sturdy manner. It was wide enough for one person to cross at a time without the use of railings. It had none. It was not a fancy structure, but it was perfect for the two of them to sit congenially together while dangling their feet in the water below.

  The water, tickling the soles of their bare feet, felt refreshing on such a hot humid day. The swiftly moving river was cold, fed by mountain snow, which melted and ran down in ever growing falls, creating the forest river that ran through the trees before joining the sea, as all rivers must do.

  It was here that Najort was once more listening to Sitnalta telling him about the Golden City. She was not telling any particular tale that day; rather she was just speaking about her plans for the future and why this place was the place of her dreams. Najort’s eyes were closed as he leaned back, resting on his hands, his feet lazily swinging back and forth in the water below.

  “I shall live there one day,” Sitnalta was saying. “I will not be royalty, no, I shall be a normal person. I shall live in a house with a roof made of gold that reflects the sparkling of the water. The entire city is encased in a giant bubble. That’s why nobody there drowns, you know. The streets are paved with seashells—shells of all different colours. When you walk across them, you feel as if you are walking across rainbows.

  “You would never miss the sky, living down there. The sea becomes your sky. The schools of fish that pass overhead are your clouds. They float over you, passing by as actual clouds do. The shining of the buildings would be your sun. They shine as golden as the sun here does.

  “All the people live there by choice. Nobody is forced to do anything. Life there is lived to the fullest, and no one is looked down upon because they are different. Everyone there is different. The people who live in the Golden City recogniz
e that fact. Najort, no one is . . .” She trailed off and sat pensively. She leaned forward and watched the river. “The water sparkles like diamonds. Does it not? Why do people surround themselves with jewels? Why do they worship them? Kill for them? When all they have to do to see such beauty is go outside and look for it?”

  Sitnalta reached forward to touch the water with her fingers. She was a couple of centimeters short, and scooted forwards on the bridge so she could better reach the river. Her position was unstable. As she leaned, reaching with her hand, her body slid too far, and she fell head over heels into the water below.

  The water slapped her violently in the face filling her mouth and nose. She drank it in, trying to take a breath and immediately choked. Flailing her arms, she frantically reached for the surface to no avail. Her fingers reached for the sky, but grabbed only water. She kicked. Her sodden skirts twisted around her legs like a vise. Her garments were like rocks, dragging her down. She could not breathe. Her lungs were burning. The cold water stung her open eyes. She stubbornly refused to close them, fearing the darkness that lay behind the lids.

  Sitnalta’s hair haloed her head, waving like a garden of blue seaweed, tangling in her fingers. Her ears were deaf to everything but her panicked gurgling and choking. She struggled valiantly against the river as it threatened to overpower her. Her lungs were on fire, her throat raw, and her fingers numb. Her eyes rolled back in her head as everything went red, then black. She surrendered.

  Najort’s eyes flew open the instant Sitnalta hit the water. He leapt to his feet and scanned the surface, waiting for her to reappear. She did not. His eyes darted back and forth—desperately looking for her. Her hair had completely blended in with the river water. She was gone. He thought with a sinking feeling that perhaps she was unable to swim. Najort dove into the water, not even pausing to remove his tunic. He struck the water and began swimming powerful strokes—face down—eyes searching the water around him. He was so intent on his task that he almost forgot to breathe. Najort surfaced, grabbed a large breath, and mentally scolded himself. He would be of no use to the Princess if he drowned as well.

  It seemed an eternity before his eyes spotted something bobbing just under the surface of the water. He barely dared hope as he swam towards it. He reached out with his hand and grabbed hold. It was Sitnalta. With his other hand, he grabbed hold of her waist and pulled her face to the surface, then struck out for the shore.

  Najort pulled Sitnalta out of the water and rolled her onto her back. He gently pushed her hair off of her face and tried to check if she was breathing. He was unsure. Her face was deathly pale, her lips blue. He tentatively touched her face and was shocked to see how cold she was. Droplets of water trickled from the corners of her mouth. Najort was trembling uncontrollably. He did not know what to do. He looked around before realizing that they were the only ones for miles.

  “Sitnalta,” he said to her. He prayed she could hear him. “Sitnalta. Wake up. Please.”

  He considered running to the cave to get the coin—vows be damned! But he did not want to leave her alone. He put his hand under her head and took her up into his arms—large stream of water oozed out of her mouth. She spluttered and coughed violently. She turned to the side and vomited water all over the grass.

  “Sitnalta!” Najort gasped.

  Her eyes flickered open. She coughed again.

  “Hey,” she whispered to the amazed troll.

  Najort gave a shaky laugh. “You had me scared.”

  Sitnalta shrugged weakly. “Sorry. But I don’t swim.”

  “You don’t, or you can’t?” Najort tried to joke with her. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. He had nearly lost her.

  Sitnalta tried to laugh, but ended up coughing again.

  “Once again, I’m sorry,” she said to him.

  “Don’t apologize. You are going to be all right. That’s all that matters,” Najort assured her.

  “What about you?” She poked him in the chest. “You look like a drowned rat. I need the sun. I will never live underwater. Never. I think I should much prefer an island.”

  “Let me get you home.”

  Sitnalta tried to get to her feet. She was shivering violently.

  “All right,” she said. “Let’s go home.”

  Najort grabbed her before she fell and picked her up in his arms.

  “I intend to carry you,” he told her. “Do not try to convince me otherwise.”

  “I’m fine Najort,” she protested. “I promise. Please put me down.” She gave a weak struggle.

  “Struggle all you want. I will carry you home, and that is final.” And with that, he set off towards the cave, Sitnalta cradled in his arms.

  ~ ~ ~

  For the rest of the day, Najort refused to let Sitnalta move. Once she had returned from her area dressed in dry clothing, Najort kept her seated by the cave’s mouth, wrapped in a blanket by a roaring fire. Her shivering had subsided and she was feeling much better. Her hair had dried into one big tangle. She consequently spent hours attacking it with a brush. Every knot was a blockade against the brushes teeth. Every snarl made her wince as she strove to undo it. She sat there growling and cursing with impatient frustration.

  Najort came up to her and handed her a cup of his homemade tea. He handpicked every herb and leaf, and then dried it all in the cave. Sitnalta gratefully accepted the cup and took a sip. It tasted of peppermint and berries with a hint of apple.

  Najort watched her drink. “If I did not know better,” he said to her. “I would say you grew up by the docks, judging from your vocabulary.”

  Sitnalta snorted into her teacup. “Right.”

  Najort laughed at her. “Where did you pick up all of those words?”

  Sitnalta gave him a wide grin. “I spent a lot of time in the kitchen stealing pastries when the weather was not nice, and I could not go outside. You would not believe the words our kitchen staff know.”

  Najort smiled. “I think I would. I just heard them all in the past little while.”

  “No. I just favoured you with, oh, about half.”

  “Half?” Najort asked incredulously.

  “Mmhmm. For the other half, I would have to fall into the river again.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Najort said as he looked at her threateningly.

  Sitnalta just smiled wickedly at him and went back to her tea.

  Chapter Twenty

  Aud and Gerald had decided not to discuss the incident in the library again. Gerald understood that she was under a great deal of stress, and so her little outburst was forgiven and forgotten. They had resumed their meetings in the library, and were trying desperately to come up with a new plan for saving the Princess. As of yet, their attempts had been in vain.

  Gerald wanted his men to continue searching the forest in secret. But Aud felt that was too dangerous for everyone involved. Should Supmylo’s men encounter Gerald’s during the course of their search, the consequences would be devastating.

  The two of them had been meeting for a few weeks now, both in the library and in the gardens, where they would walk for hours. They would talk both of the Princess and of the most random things. Gerald found himself regarding Aud with the utmost admiration. He felt he had known her for years, and did not know how he would be able to leave her when the time came for his return to Sarrin. For Aud, the feeling was more than mutual, but she dared not express it.

  One such day, Aud was standing among the roses with King Gerald. She bent to sniff at a particularly beautiful flower and when she rose, she found him watching her, a pensive look in his eyes.

  “What is it, Sire?” she asked.

  Gerald sighed. “We have been meeting, planning, talking, doing everything together for nearly a month now,” he began. “I feel we have reached a place of mutual trust, and even friendship. Is this true for you as well?”

  Aud swallowed hard. She tried to look away from him, but could not. If she disagreed with him, she was sure it would hurt him,
but if she agreed, she feared it would encourage him in a direction she dared not go.

  “I suppose so, Sire,” she finally replied.

  “You suppose?” he asked.

  “Yes, Sire,” she said.

  “Well, if this is the case,” he went on, “Why don’t you call me Gerald as I call you Aud?”

  “You only call me by my name because I objected to ‘My Lady,’” Aud reminded him.

  “But if we truly are friends, why should you not call me by my name?” Gerald asked.

  “It would be most inappropriate, Sire,” she persisted. The man would not see reason!

  “Why?” Gerald asked. He did not understand. “Most of what we are doing is inappropriate! We are plotting against a king. We are meeting behind his back to keep him from his daughter. Is this not inappropriate?”

  A small smile played on Aud’s lips. “I suppose . . .”

  “So, in the spirit of all this clandestine planning, will you please call me Gerald?”

  “If you wish it—Gerald.”

  “I wish it,” he told her.

  Aud returned to her room feeling quite scandalous. The entire situation between King Gerald and her was a tricky one. She sat down on her bed, mulling over the entire afternoon. She really enjoyed his company. This was true. She found him a kind, gentle, humorous man possessing intelligence and wit. He made her feel quite young again. He made her laugh, feel light, and happy. When she spoke with him, she forgot her troubles. He made her feel like his equal. Aud frowned. That was exactly the problem. She was not his equal. Not even close. He was the King of Sarrin, and she was a midwife-turned-governess—little more than an old peasant woman. Furthermore, he was technically still betrothed to the Princess, the girl she had raised! She made up her mind that whatever may be stirring up between her and King Gerald would have to be stopped before it got out of hand.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ever since Sitnalta had fallen into the river, Najort had become overprotective to the point of smothering. He refused to let her out of his sight for even a moment. At first, the novelty of having someone fret over her to this extent was nice. Even Aud never treated her this way. Sitnalta felt special—cared for. But within two days, his ever-present watchfulness wore thin. She understood that he acted this way because he cared for her, and she had scared him. But, when it got to the point where he stood guard over her, even as she slept, Sitnalta began to get annoyed. He hovered. He followed. He fretted over every little thing. Her patience had worn paper-thin. She found herself craving personal space—some time alone. By the fourth day, she had reached her snapping point.