The Myatheira Chronicles: Volume Three: Crown of Ice

by Melissa Collins

  “Leuk?” she asked, quickening her steps toward the front of the group. Her curiosity was too much. If Moinie wouldn’t answer her questions, she would have to ask someone else. “What is that light in the trees? Are we close to one of the Vor’shai cities?”

  “That is the Sivaerian palace,” the man nodded, his gaze never straying from the road. “You should put your coat on. They are not accustomed to seeing women dressed as you are.”

  “Then they should live somewhere with a more tolerable temperature,” she rolled her eyes irritably. “What else can you tell me of their people? You have seen them before, have you not? Are they much different from us?”

  Leuk glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, holding his gaze for only a moment before shifting it back to the road. “There are many differences, yes,” he nodded. “You will find them strange at first. Try not to stare. It is impolite. We do not want to make them uncomfortable.”

  “Do you know much of their social customs? How should I greet them?”

  “I am no expert, Neomi. When I visited these lands last, it was for battle. Military customs do not reflect on those of their peacetime manners or nobility.”

  Damn you, Onuric. Why did her brother have to be so difficult? This was his duty, not hers. If she failed to acquire their troops for aid, it would not be her fault. She wasn’t trained for diplomacy. Onuric was the one in line to be Chief. It was frustrating to think that she was doing his work because he was too stubborn to do it himself.

  Every step she took only added to the uneasiness she felt. Years ago her brother had accompanied their father to a celebration in Tanispa. Upon returning he’d said something about hands. Did they greet one another with their hands? She wasn’t entirely sure how such a gesture would be performed. Did they touch hands or simply show them? Onuric mentioned kissing them. Would she have to kiss the hands of the royal family? She didn’t think she would be able to do such a thing. The mere thought was degrading.

  She needed to calm herself. It would do no good for her to be worked into a panic when they arrived at the palace. To do so would only increase the chances of her making a fool out of their people. That couldn’t be allowed to happen. The Ovatai were a proud and respectable race. She would have to approach the Vor’shai the best she could without letting them see her discomfort. Confidence wore better on her anyway.

  The road cut through the trees, opening into a clearing to reveal the massive stone structure of the palace. It was an impressive sight. Unlike anything she’d seen before. In Ethrysta they lacked the materials – and the necessity – to create anything quite like it. Throughout the clearing were strange boxes with doors on the sides, attached to the back ends of animals she knew only through books to be horses. The creature was more common in southern Ethrysta, though the climate in the central and northern regions where her family dwelled was too harsh for them.

  Vines of ivy climbed up the exterior, mingled with moss along the stone, giving the building an appearance as if it had grown naturally from the ground itself. It was old. That much was obvious simply by looking at it. Flames danced on candlesticks in almost every window, flickering from even the highest towers. She refused to be intimidated by the sight. It was nothing more than a house. A rather large one, but a house all the same. Had her father’s home been built above ground, she imagined it would be equally as impressive, if not more so.

  Steeling her resolve, she moved toward the front door of the palace, halted by a sudden hand upon her shoulder, pulling her backward. Embarrassed by the act she twisted to face whoever had stopped her, jaw clenched, angered to find Leuk staring at her in disapproval. “You have not put your coat on. I suggest you do so before you approach.”

  Forcefully she pushed Leuk’s hands away. He may be a trusted warrior under her father but he was in no position to lay a hand on her. “I am under no obligation to accept your suggestions,” she said through gritted teeth, her tone hushed to avoid being overheard by the other men in their company. Removing her coat from over her shoulder she dropped it into Leuk’s hands. “You may hold this for me. If the Vor’shai insist upon my wearing it, I will retrieve it from you, but not before then. Understood?”

  “Of course,” Leuk nodded, averting his gaze to the ground. He didn’t dare argue with her. If he made a scene, she would present the issue to the Chief and he would risk severe punishment for the slight.

  Content that he would concede to her wishes, she resumed her pace toward the palace. Two armored guards were positioned at either side of the main entryway, the large arched door held open, a gentle melody wafting on the breeze from somewhere within the building. There must be some sort of party. It would explain the strange wheeled boxes throughout the front yard. A mode of transportation for the guests. Suddenly self-conscious of her appearance she looked over her wardrobe, wishing she had taken Leuk’s advice. It was too late now. The Vor’shai would have to take her as she was. Either way, she refused to leave this place without seeing their Queen.

  Shoulders back she made her way up the stone steps to the door, unsurprised to find the guards step forward to block her path. It was to be expected. They were well within their rights to require identification before presenting her to their rulers.

  “I beg your pardon, miss,” one of the men stated, his words sounding strange to Neomi’s ears. His language was similar to her own, yet oddly different. Evolved. She had to think over the syllables carefully in order to understand what he was trying to say. “Do you have an invitation?”

  “Invitation?” she pondered. Of course. If there was a party, they likely thought she was a guest. “I have no invitation. I am here to seek an audience with your Queen. It is urgent.”

  “I am sorry, Ma’am. Our Queen is not accepting visitors this evening. If you have no invitation, I must ask you to leave and return tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow? She couldn’t return tomorrow. There was no time! Her people were dying. No. She would not accept this. “It is imperative I speak with her tonight. I will not leave until I have done so.”

  “If you do not retreat, we will have no choice but to remove you by force. Please, step away from the door.”

  “I will do no such thing. Go fetch your Queen and tell her I have exigent word from the north which cannot wait until morning. I must speak with her now.”

  One of the men stepped forward, his gloved hand firmly grabbing onto Neomi’s arm. Roughly she shook him away, snapping free of his grasp. How rude of him to lay a finger on her. She was the daughter of the Ovatai Chief. Did this man have no idea where she came from?

  Her temper was rising quickly despite her efforts to keep it in check. Both men were now on her, taking her by the arms to remove her from the steps. It would do her no good to strike them. Assaulting the royal guards would certainly lessen the chance of gaining sympathy from the Queen. “You will take your hands off me,” she ordered. They gave no indication of hearing her commands, lifting her easily off her feet to carry her down the steps, shoving her unceremoniously away from the palace doors.

  “If the matter is as urgent as you claim, then you may return first thing in the morning,” the guard said gruffly, returning to his post at the door, spear in hand, prepared in case she reacted violently. “By order of the Queen, she will not receive visitors tonight. So good evening to you, miss.”

  Humiliated by the men, she stormed back up the steps. She would find her way inside, one way or another. These men had no idea what they were risking by not taking her request seriously. In a rush she tried to push past the guards, stopped instantly by their firm bodies holding her back. “I will not leave!” she shouted, struggling against them. Under normal circumstances they would be no threat to her. It was unfortunate that civility required her to refrain from utilizing her full strength. “Tell your Queen that I am here to see her. If she has no desire to speak with me, let her tell me so personally. I will not accept this from you.”

  From over the men’s shoulders she cou
ld see into the building, aware of the attention she drew from the people inside. The men and women edged further from the door aside from a single male who stood perfectly still, his gaze fixed on the guards, peering into the darkness in attempts to see the source of the commotion. If he was Vor’shai, he looked nothing like she imagined. The hair on his head was a shocking shade of black, a strong contrast to that which she was accustomed to among her own people. He was fair skinned, the features on his face sharp and elegant. Regal. The glow of his eyes drew her gaze, the rich blue shade speckled with flecks of silver, like tiny diamonds hidden within the depths. She was struck by his appearance. Distracted by his watchful eyes she nearly allowed herself to be carried away again, pulled back to reality by the hard grip of the guards upon her arms.

  “Our orders come from the Queen,” they commanded, fighting against her strength to keep control. “She will not be bothered with business this evening. If you do not leave the premises immediately, you will be arrested.”

  She needed to think. The blue-eyed man was coming toward them. He carried himself with an heir of authority noticeable of his person before she caught a glimpse of the entwined gold and silver crown rested atop his head. If the guards would not see reason, maybe this man would. It was best if he not see her fighting against the men when he reached them. Giving up her struggle she relaxed against their grip, allowing them to carry her down the steps. Moinie was there to take her from them, urging her away from the palace.

  “This is doing nothing to help our cause,” she hissed, tugging on Neomi’s arm. “You are going to embarrass us all.”

  “I am going to do no such thing,” Neomi argued. In a huff she straightened her posture, brushing the wrinkles from her clothes as the guards walked away. The crowned man would be there soon enough. If she could get to him, she would be able to bypass the security. “Give me a moment longer, Moinie,” she insisted, gently removing her friend’s hand from her arm. “There may yet be a chance for a meeting tonight. I will not leave here until I succeed.”

  By the time Edric reached the door the guards appeared to be calmed, resuming their stance at either side of the entrance. There in the yard he could see two women, their voices hushed though he could tell by their mannerisms that something was clearly wrong. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?” he asked, turning to face the guard at his right. The man shook his head, snapping to attention to find Edric standing there.

  “No problem at all, Your Highness. Just a bit of a misunderstanding with the lady there.”

  “A misunderstanding?” Edric peered quizzically at the guard. “What type of misunderstanding? She looks distressed.”

  “Seems she has a desire to speak with the Queen. We were given strict orders that your mother would not accept visitors this evening. If she attempts to come in again, do you wish us to see her to the cells, Sir?”

  Shaking his head Edric placed his hand on the guard’s shoulder, hoping to ease his tensed stance. The woman looked harmless enough. Whatever her reasons were for coming here, she deserved to at least have them heard before she was turned away. “Let me speak with her first,” he replied calmly. “If she creates any trouble after that, then I will give my permission to see her taken into custody.”

  Overcome with curiosity he made his way down the steps toward the two women, his approach causing their voices to fall into silence. The one to his right took a step back, motioning toward the other girl with a sharp wave of her hand. He recognized their features, though he couldn’t conceal his surprise at seeing them there on the front lawn of the palace. There was no mistaking the pure white hair they both bore. The brilliant, roiling blue glow emanating from their eyes. He had seen the features before. On occasion his family was graced by an appearance of similar quality at the annual military celebration, held in honor of the Vor’shai victory over the Ven’shal nearly a century ago. Although there were clear differences between their feminine forms from those of the men Edric had met, there was no denying what they were. Ovatai. Visitors from the arctic regions in the north.

  The woman left standing alone before him shared a similar pride in her stature to the men he’d met, though she lacked the formal attire they tended to wear when visiting the palace. Her white hair hung long down her back, somewhat disheveled from her confrontation with the guards. The brightness of her eyes was piercing. Strong. Unyielding. He found himself breathless for a brief moment at the sight of her. Her clothing was tighter than he was used to on women, her pants designed of a leathery fabric, similar to the thick material that constructed the belt at her waist. The snowy-white of the garments blended with her pale complexion, making her look more like an ice sculpture than a real woman in flesh and blood. She wore no coat, her torso covered only by a thin, form-fitting shirt which accentuated her figure, the arms left bare to expose the skin. Suddenly aware of the fact that he was staring at her, he gave a sharp shake of his head to empty his thoughts, clearing his throat loudly.

  “What seems to be the trouble, miss?”

  “I must speak with the Queen. It is urgent business on behalf of Chief Okivra of the Ovatai, but these men refuse to listen. They threatened to arrest me. I was under the impression the Vor’shai were friends.”

  Edric squinted at the woman, thinking carefully over what she was saying. She spoke in a dialect similar to his own, though remarkably different in many ways. His mother had mentioned something of the Ovatai language in the past when she explained their culture prior to his first meeting with Chief Okivra. She said they used an ancient form of the Vor’shai tongue. One which had long evolved into what was spoken more commonly in Tanispa now. The Ovatai, being so far from other civilizations, retained the ancient language in its true form. It explained the difficulty he had in understanding what this woman said to him now. The Chief tended to humor them during his visits by utilizing the modernized speech.

  “I must apologize. It is embarrassing that I find myself lost in a form of my own language, but I’m having difficulty understanding what you say,” he frowned. “The guards tell me you wish to see the Queen. I heard you speak the name Okivra. You are sent here by the Chief ?”

  The woman seemed equally confused by him, which helped to ease Edric’s embarrassment, though only slightly. They stared at one another in silence. He couldn’t tell if she hesitated to speak in fear of him not understanding or if she failed to interpret his words and was at a loss of how to communicate further. She stirred suddenly, her hand reaching out to his face, the tips of her fingers firmly grabbing a hold of his chin. He blinked in surprise, taken aback by the action. It was unheard of for anyone to touch him in that way. While he perceived no threat from this woman, he found himself unsure of how to respond, unfamiliar with the situation. He was the Prince. It was customary for others to maintain a proper distance unless he granted permission otherwise.

  Confusion prevented him from speaking to request her to back away. Inquisitively she twisted his head from side-to-side, examining his features with marked curiosity. Could it be that she found him as peculiar as he did her? “Excuse me, miss,” he interjected, uncertain how to respond. He hated to interrupt, but he was accomplishing nothing by standing there in stunned silence. “I cannot help you if you do not tell me your reasons for coming here. The Queen is somewhat indisposed to visitors this evening. It is her daughter’s birthday.”

  Careful not to grip too tightly he rested his hand on the woman’s fingers, gently pulling them away from his face. She made no move to stop him, seeming suddenly uneasy, as if only just realizing that she’d touched him. He found her strangely beautiful in that moment. Angelic. He’d never seen an Ovatai woman before, though somehow he expected them to look more like the men. Had he known they were so fair, he might have been inclined to pay the Chief and his son a visit.

  “You wear a crown,” she stated matter-of-factly, pointing to the gold and silver circlet on Edric’s head. “Are you the Vor’shai King?”

  He chuckled to himself, r
ecognizing enough of the woman’s words to piece together what she asked. “No, no. The King is my father. I am Edric. Can I inquire of your name? Are you a messenger of Okivra?”

  “Neomi It’aryn.”

  “It’aryn?” He recognized that name. It was the same used to introduce the Chief and his son when they paid visit to Sivaeria. If this woman was any relation to Chief Okivra, it would be an insult to turn her away, regardless of the Queen’s orders. They owed the Ovatai too much to risk injury to their long-standing alliance. “You are a relation to the Chief ?”

  “The same as the King is to you.”

  “He is your father?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was not aware Chief Okivra had a daughter.”

  “Your lack of awareness does not make it less true.”

  A smile played at the corners of Edric’s mouth to hear the sharpness of her tone. She shared a similar boldness to the Ovatai leader; he couldn’t deny that. It was unfortunate that they had to meet under the current circumstances. He didn’t want her to think him rude. Had he known who she was, he might have behaved differently. Wanting to mend the negative image she might have of him, he reached for her hand, bowing low to kiss the back of it. Before his lips could touch her skin she retracted her hand, staring at him in shock and awe.

  “What are you doing?” She demanded, the palm of her hand striking the right side of Edric’s face with a crisp smack. He gazed at her, mouth agape, astounded by the reaction. She slapped him? No one had ever done such a thing before.

  His cheek stung, tingling still from the impact. She was strong. He would give her that. “I meant no offense, miss. It is the proper greeting of our people when a man is introduced to a lady. Perhaps I should have considered my actions before doing so. You must not be accustomed to our ways.”