by Bo Burnette
“I know what you mean. She disagrees with me about the Isle of Light. Though you agree with me, don’t you?”
“Indeed. I do not think it is the time for returning to that place of desolation.”
“I’m afraid she won’t be told no.”
“Oh, I know she won’t be.”
The two remained sitting there for a while, father and surrogate son.
Philip stared across the great hall. Memory transformed it before his eyes: his first dance with Arliss, over a year ago. He’d been so nervous. Hesitant. She’d been confused—beautifully unsure in her sky blue gown.
Perhaps she was still unsure. But he wasn’t. They were meant to be together, even if he had to chase her to the Isle and back to prove it.
Philip ended the silence.
“There was something else about the vault that I haven’t told you yet. Above the door was inscribed a word in another language. It read—and pardon my likely awful pronunciation—‘choróin.’ Cahal said it meant crown. Do you know what that means?”
A flash surged through Kenton’s blue eyes. “Perhaps.”
Chapter Four: The Dangers of Daydreams
ARLISS’S EYES SNAPPED FULLY AWAKE AS HER BRAIN cleared from the blurriness of sleep. She had sensed a presence in her bedchamber—a sound, a movement—but the slit in her curtains refused to allow more than a ray of the dim morning light. It couldn’t have been much past sunrise. Still, she sat all the way up in the bed, her hair slipping down around the shoulders of her chemise. And she waited for the presence to speak.
“I’m sure you think I’m silly for being like this,” Ilayda said. “But I’ve had one of those dreams again.”
Arliss tilted her head to the side, motioning for her to come sit on the bed. “No, no, of course not. Come, sit with me.”
Ilayda pulled herself onto the bed as Arliss took her sweaty palms in her own.
“Was it the same dream?”
Ilayda nodded fervently. “It was that man—the one in the burgundy cloak. He was running towards me, faster and faster, but I couldn’t move. All around my feet spread a pool of blood.” Ilayda shuddered. “I could not run away.”
“It was just a dream.” Arliss stifled the uncomfortable feeling in her own chest.
“How can you say that? I’ve had the same dream three times. Maybe it means something.”
“Perhaps so.” She slipped her arm around Ilayda’s shoulder. “The burgundy-cloaked fellow has certainly been weighing on my mind.”
“Lord Brédan’s story frightened you?”
Arliss’s eyebrows shot up. “That is an understatement. If Brédan’s tale is true, then that fellow was working for Thane all along. That, of course, did not alarm me when we thought Thane to be dead or gone. But now that we know he is not…”
“Reinhold just got a lot more dangerous.” Ilayda’s brown eyes were serious.
Arliss rose from the bed, reaching for the gown she had laid out the night before. “If all goes well, I won’t be seeing Reinhold for many moons.”
“You’re still set on leaving?” Ilayda also stood. “What about the vault? Doesn’t it excite you?”
She sighed. “Don’t tell Philip this, but of course it excites me. How could it not excite me? But, well, I suppose what I really want is to explore everything. I want to see the whole world.”
“That’s impossible, silly princess.”
“That’s not going to stop me from trying.”
The carriage jolted Arliss out of her daydream and she peeked out the window of the rickety vehicle. The Reinholdian landscape darted past them at a marvelous pace as the driver urged the lone horse into a steady trot.
Of all the ways Reinhold had changed in the past year, transportation stood chief among them: the horses from Thane’s fortress now enabled one to make the trip to the sea in a matter of a few hours, instead of a full day. And to the seaside outpost the carriage—containing Arliss, Philip, Erik, and Brallaghan—was headed along with all the other travelers and their horses and carriages. The city had been emptied of its inhabitants as they rushed to make the journey to the sea and the autumnal Games, which Kenton had ordered to be held there. Among other things, the contests would include archery, swordplay, caber tossing, knife throwing, music, dancing, and a hefty bit of feasting.
Arliss didn’t see much use in the Games, perhaps with the exception of the archery contest. Too many other serious things weighed on her mind.
Brallaghan spoke, breaking the silence in the trembling carriage. “Where is Ilayda?”
“In the carriage with her family.” She eyed him. Why did he care?
“Ah, of course.” Brallaghan paused. “I wish these things went a bit faster, don’t you?”
She laughed in agreement.
The silence that followed was dense. For all her attempts, she couldn’t expunge the awkwardness between her and Brallaghan. It seemed they could never go back to the way things were before…well, before everything.
She cleared her throat. “So, Brallaghan. Any news from the prisoners this morning?”
“Oh, them.” His brows scrunched together. “No, they’ve been quite sullen. They really won’t speak.”
“I hoped Cahal would be able to tell us more secrets.”
Philip butted in. “He won’t ever tell you.”
“Perhaps he will change his mind, in time.”
“People like that don’t change.”
“Some do.”
“He’s not going to tell you anything, Arliss.” Philip sat up straight, smoothing out his muddy-brown tunic. “I don’t think he has anything else to tell. I know he can’t help you in your quest for the Isle, if that’s what you’re after.”
As she looked out the window of the carriage, her mind began to forge a plan—a plan that would help her in her quest for the Isle, even if nothing else would.
The seaside outpost could hardly be called an outpost any longer. Within the year, it had burst into a city faster than Arliss could keep track. It seemed every time she had galloped from city to seashore upon her ginger mare, Kirras, the burgeoning port town had doubled in size. Now, as the time had come for the annual games, Kenton had chosen to hold the contests at the new city—Cladach. For him, it was a chance to reunite the kingdom and demonstrate Reinhold’s growth.
For Arliss, it was simply an opportunity to stand upon the Cliffs of Aíll and stare impatiently towards the Isle which lay half a day’s journey in the distance.
As the carriage came rattling into the main thoroughfare, she stuck her head out the window and strained for a glimpse of the sea. Lines of buildings and people clogged her view, and she ducked back into the carriage to avoid bashing her head on a passing torch sconce.
No matter. There would be much time later, even to sit upon the cliffs and watch the sun sink into the western sea. Many citizens, including the king and queen, would travel back and forth between the cities; Arliss, however, planned to spend the nights at the seaside. She would even sleep upon the cliffs, if that was permitted. And if it wasn’t…well, she was the princess. She could make it so.
The carriage screeched to an abrupt halt. All three young men exited, carrying the baggage and weapons. Philip waited behind, offering his hand to Arliss as she dismounted, holding up her skirt to avoid tearing it on the splintery carriage steps.
“Do you want to have a look about the city, or would you rather be left to yourself?” he asked.
She resisted the urge to pull her hand out of his. “I may be cross at you, good sir, but I don’t hate you all that much. My time is at your disposal.”
“How very kind of you.” He shut the door of the carriage. “Well, what’ll we do?”
“There’s a church, a marketplace, and a tavern. As it’s not the Sabbath, and since we don’t need to buy anything, I think the choice is obvious.”
“The tavern it is.” He led her away, swinging his arm as they walked down the street and nearer to the tavern at the corner.
And she wished he wouldn’t swing her arm so much.
Ilayda prodded the citrus rind floating in her tea with her spoon. The tavern around her throbbed with noise, the laughter and clanking glasses and screeching chairs roaring into her ears all at once. This new tavern—The Golden Gull—had never been so full. Cladach was still sparsely populated, and in all the time her father Lord Adam had governed the city, she’d never seen more than a score in here.
Now, the wide room held a hundred souls.
She glanced up from her tea at Erik. He sat across from her, silent as usual, rubbing away at the tip of his bow. She cleared her throat.
He glanced up, glanced down. Nothing there. He’d always been quiet and fairly dull company, but lately he seemed to have grown even more so.
She tried again. “Nervous?”
“Why?” He shrugged. “I have the best bow in the land, and I hope I can flatter myself that I’m one of the best archers in the land.”
“Except Arliss.”
Erik’s lips pursed. “You really think she’ll compete just to outshine everyone?”
“You really think she’ll pass up a chance to perform?”
Erik fingered the notch in the top of his bow. “Arliss is dramatic and rather saucy, but she isn’t a show-off. And she loves her people. But they love her, too, so perhaps they wouldn’t mind a show.”
Ilayda arched her back, stretching. She glanced around the tavern, scanning the faces for Brallaghan. He’d said he might meet her here, but she didn’t see him. But she wanted to see him before he saw her. If he came over here, they would be obligated to sit with Erik. All conversation would be deceased. Her afternoon ruined.
Erik still gazed pensively at his bow. “She’s such a strange person.”
“Arliss?” Ilayda looked at him.
He nodded. “I don’t understand her.”
“And she doesn’t understand you.”
His piercing gaze met her all at once, eyebrows tight. “You two talk about me?”
“Arliss and I talk about everything.” It was true. They always had. Even though Arliss had grown more private lately, she still shared most everything with Ilayda. Including her irritation with her father and her growing tension with Philip.
Erik must have been thinking along similar lines. “What’s going on with her and Philip?”
Ilayda reached for her tea. This was a touchy subject indeed. She probably knew more than anyone. But what she knew wasn’t a whole lot, and it certainly didn’t account for the growing coldness between her two friends.
“They disagree a lot now. About lots of things. Especially the isle,” Ilayda said. “And I think Arliss just balks at the idea of commitment. Of settling. She wants to explore, to wander.”
“Philip’s too grounded,” Erik agreed. “But still. She talks about Philip lately like he’s just her good friend.”
“He’s like her brother.”
“Yes, but anyone can see there’s something more than sisterly affection going on there.”
Ilayda sipped from her tea and almost choked on it. Brallaghan had just entered the tavern. She rose hastily, dripping some tea down the front of her skirt. “Excuse me, but…I…” She bowed quickly. “Excuse me.”
Brallaghan spotted her and waved, grinning. She walked toward him, careful not to spill any more tea. Before she reached him, she glanced back at Erik.
He was still cleaning his longbow, intently focused, as if their conversation had never happened.
Chapter Five: Playing at War
PHILIP JUMPED BACK AS HIS OPPONENT’S BLADE TORE through the air in a wide arc. He brought his own sword into a standard guard, intercepting the force of the other blade.
Even in the thin autumn air, sweat trickled down his forehead as he twirled the other blade off his own. Brallaghan cut upwards, and Philip barely managed to swat the blade down with a cut from the opposite direction.
They paused for a moment, panting as they circled and waited for the other to make the next move.
Only one day after their arrival in the city, the Games had begun. Well, they had actually begun the night before, with the grand feast and Kenton’s speech. But to Philip the Games hadn’t truly begun until this moment, when swords began to fly like lightning, and blood coursed through one’s muscles like a river. Philip’s match was not the first to fill the hastily constructed arena with the din of clanging metal.
“The next move is yours, Sir Philip,” Brallaghan goaded, only a touch of humor in his voice.
“I was simply deferring to the graceful captain of the guard.” He tilted his sword back and forth as he watched his opponent’s chest—not his eyes. Eyes were deceptive. They could lie more easily than the tongue did. But the chest—the movements of the arms—those never lied.
Brallaghan still tried to catch his gaze. “Come on, make your move.”
His arms rippled. “Since you insist.”
He released his guard and sliced down on Brallaghan’s blade. Brallaghan parried, trying to force his own sword into a defensive position.
He didn’t move quickly enough. Philip slammed another blow down on his sword. His weapon flew back towards his shoulder as Philip reached out and caught it, careful to hold it by the flat. He grinned.
Brallaghan’s dark eyes narrowed. “Good match, Sir Philip.”
Philip turned to look towards the royal box. The king and queen were clapping, but Arliss hadn’t changed positions since the beginning of the match. The fierce look on her face might have seemed angry to someone who didn’t know her well. But he knew she was not angry.
She was determined.
“Philip won the match!” Kenton’s nudge jostled Arliss out of her distant thoughts.
“Good for him. I didn’t doubt he would.”
Kenton must have sensed the agitation in her voice. “What’s troubling you?”
“We’re playing at war at home, but the real battles are abroad.”
“There aren’t any battles abroad—at least not that have come to my ears.”
“Thane is out there somewhere.” She stood, the wind blowing stray hairs out of her face. “He’s going to bring war to Reinhold eventually. Unless, of course, we show our strength.”
The arena buzzed with the crowd’s murmur. Swordsmen sheathed their blades and exited the long, dry field. Archers descended to take their places, stringing their bows in front of the royal box.
Arliss eased herself out of her seat and around her parent’s chairs in the box.
Elowyn glanced at her. “I thought you were not shooting in the competition.”
Arliss smiled uneasily. “I’m not. But the view’s better down there.”
Kenton stood and clapped for the gathering archers, oblivious of their conversation.
“I see.” Elowyn’s lashes flicked. She leaned close as Arliss passed. “Your voice will carry best from the center of the arena.”
Arliss stared at her mother, openmouthed.
Elowyn’s face was blank, but the edges of her mouth turned up. Barely.
Casting her doubts aside, Arliss descended the wooden stairs of the box and crossed the grassy arena to the place where she had stowed her bow and arrow. All the other archers had lined up. A methodical strumming whispered through the arena as they tested their strings.
Arliss inhaled the ocean’s wild, salty aroma. She loved being so close to the sea. The arena stood a little ways outside the newborn city, lying within sight of the edge of the towering cliffs.
Kenton’s voice boomed across the crowd. “Let the archers take their marks!”
Erik stepped towards Arliss, his longbow firmly in hand. “Will you not shoot?”
“No,” Arliss replied. “Not now.”
“But you are the princess. It seems fitting.”
She tilted her head at Erik. “That is why I get to shoot if and when I want. Please, I want you to do the honors.”
“With pleas
ure.” He plucked an arrow from his quiver.
He released his first shot—a decent hit, in the first of the rings around the bull’s eye.
A dozen other archers followed in his stead, some rivaling Erik’s skill, others merely hitting the petticoat—the outer rim of the target—with their shots. Once all the other archers had shot, Erik once again prompted her.
She shook her head. “The archers always have two shots. Let everyone else have their second shot.”
“And then?”
She stared straight ahead.
He shrugged and returned to his post to shoot again—this time a perfect bull’s eye.
No one’s attention was on her at the moment. Arliss slipped her leg over the arm of her bow and strung it. Then she stood still in the far corner of the arena, stroking the smooth wood of her bow. The reality of what she was about to do—what she was about to say—forced her lungs to take halting breaths. Each word had to come out perfectly.
The next few minutes flew by in a blur, and before she knew it, all the archers had shot again.
She stepped forward. It was time.
The crowd murmured restlessly. In the royal box, her father leaned forward, watching her, brows rippling.
She turned and shouted to the crowd. “People of Reinhold! These games have shown us one thing clearly. We as a people are strong. Stronger than we have ever been. But strength without unity—” she drew an arrow “—is nothing.”
She eyed the center target which stood dead ahead of her. This was where Erik’s bull’s eye shot had hit. Twelve such targets lined that end of the arena. The spectators were all seated behind her, having evacuated the other side for safety while the archers shot. No one could try to make eye contact with her now.
The wind whipped her hair around her face as she drew back the shaft. She aimed it not so much at the bull’s eye but at Erik’s near-perfect shot.
Moments later, her arrow shaved his in two.