by Raven Oak
Leon self-consciously wiped the spittle still at his mouth and came away bloodier than before. “I’m heading there now. No need to lecture.”
“Take the rest of this with you.” The healer handed King Leon the small packet. “Remember, one pinch at mealtimes. And rest.”
It was the same old lecture the healers had been dictating for several seasons now. More rest, less stress. The kingdom wouldn’t run itself. The marriage couldn’t come fast enough. And with that thought, the worry returned. What if she were marrying a monster? His kingdom needed him now more than ever. He couldn’t die now. Not yet.
The room spun slightly, a side effect of the herb, and the healer took his arm to steady him. “Let me help you to bed, Your Majesty. Time for you to rest.”
No, not yet. Not until I know Margaret is safe. King Leon allowed himself to be put to bed like a child, but inside, his brain spun plans. It was time to make sure of Prince Bajit. To make sure King Leon’s bloodline would continue to thrive.
Soon enough I’ll rest. For now, I must be King.
CHAPTER THREE
The Order of Amaska, Sadai
The council room’s polished stone floor reflected the painted blues and greens of the carved walls, and Adelei drew in a breath at the sight. It wasn’t just that powdered gold mixed with colors had been brushed along the walls, though that was impressive, but the carvings of the Thirteen deities—those that had created her world—held her enthralled with their detail.
Someone cleared his throat, and Adelei found herself face to face with a room full of people. It wasn’t Grand Master Bredych she was reporting to, nor any of a dozen individual Masters. It was all of them. Every Master who sat aboard the Amaskan Council and held voting rights waited for her.
The hair on her arms stood up despite the tightness of her tunic’s fabric. Oh, damn. Double damn. The thoughts whirled and bounced around inside her head as she studied their grim faces, stretched long with weariness. She stepped up to the dais and bowed her head until Grand Master Bredych acknowledged her. When she met her mentor’s eyes, he didn’t speak. He beckoned for her to follow him through the blue arch that led to the Order’s great chamber. As she passed beneath the arch, the familiar tingle ran through her body, relaxing stiff muscles and calming her mind. For once she minded the intrusion.
If I messed up, I don’t want complacency. Just tell it to me straight. She stepped left, toward the common seating area, but one of the Masters cleared his throat, and she followed to the right, their steps taking them into a room reserved only for Masters.
Damn. Either she had just gotten promoted, or something was very wrong. Adelei forced her own steps to a slow, calm stroll, but her fingers twitched and danced in her pockets.
No words were spoken as the Masters took their seats in the sacred chamber. Adelei remained standing, awaiting Bredych’s nod indicating she was permitted to sit, but his head held firm. To keep the quaking of her legs to a minimum, she studied the chamber’s smooth walls, its sigils carved in a language so ancient that Adelei felt less than a babe in its presence. She’d been in the room once—when she had stood before the Masters to ask admittance into the Order.
I think I’m more intimidated now. Why am I here?
It was in this room that the Masters decided which jobs they would accept and which they turned away. The room where they deliberated and discussed the secrets of an Order stretching back many centuries, back before Boahim was torn asunder by war and back before it stood united. This was a room of Justice.
Not every job calls for an Amaskan—words repeated to her at an early age. “We pick our jobs carefully, for truth and justice for the people,” Master Bredych said to her six-year-old self. “Murder is against the Thirteen, but we accept this sin for the lives of others. Ours is a heavy burden, but we walk in the path of Justice, in the light of Anur.”
Looking at Master Bredych now, his raised shoulders and tense jaw betrayed his nervousness. He was not the relaxed man who had taught her of justice. Not today. Even at seventy he could whip her in a fight, yet he refused to meet her gaze.
“Master Bredych—” Speaking was a mistake, and she clamped her mouth shut when he rapped his knuckles on the table.
Do not engage unless invited to do so. His words rang in her ears, and she winced that she’d forgotten instructions ingrained since she was ten.
All around her sat men and women double and triple her age, Amaskans with long reach. While she could give their Amaskan names, their birth names remained hidden. Secrets upon secrets. Every one of them wore a mask, their pasts hidden beneath layers of lies she couldn’t begin to unravel. And yet she trusted them completely.
They knew her birth name and had held it safe for fifteen years. She had nothing to fear from the council. Adelei risked a slight smile. When she glanced at her mentor and adopted father, Bredych held no lopsided grin for her. He turned his tanned face to another member beside him.
A bird let loose in her stomach, twisting and turning while pecking holes in her confidence, and she frowned. Still she remained standing, all eyes on her. Was this about the job? Or something else?
“Iliana Poncett.”
She flinched at the name from his lips. “That name is dead, like the body that carried it,” she spoke, and the corner of his eye twitched. Despite her words, her mind reached back without bidding, and horses’ hoof beats trampled across her memory. Fuzzy and darkened, the images scattered in the confusion of people shouting and then silence.
Her life before the Amaskans. Before Master Bredych had adopted her and given her a new life. And along with it, a new name.
She kept her eyes forward until finally, the nod came. The chair scraped against the stone floor as she pulled it away from the end of the table. Bredych tapped a gnarled knuckle on the table. “Report.”
Adelei wiped her greasy hands on her pants. No windows gave light to the room, and while its sole door gave them protection and privacy, the dimness reminded her of her heavy limbs and eyelids. What she wouldn’t give for a bed. Outside the walls, the sun splashed hints of light across the horizon, and she stifled a yawn.
“The mark has been cleared.”
A rush of relief shot through the room. Whereas the others whispered their excitement and thanked her, Bredych remained still. A few wrinkle lines scattered unfamiliarly across his face. The corners of his mouth sagged a hint as he cleared his throat. “We are proud that this task has been dealt with.” The statement was an unusual compliment, and she froze, waiting for the stir of dark clouds. “Iliana—”
She shook her head, eyes widened as the bird in her stomach fought to escape. He never made mistakes like that. To use her birth name… again. A quick glance held the others still smiling. Either they hadn’t heard him, or they had ignored it. Neither of which was good.
He turned a blind eye to her concern. “You’ve been given a new job. One outKingdom.”
Jobs outside of Sadai weren’t unknown, though they were uncommon. He must be worried about the risks. Still, I haven’t met a challenge yet that I couldn’t tackle as easily as wading through a calm river.
“Your job calls you to the Kingdom of Alexander.”
Adelei broke protocol and stood, palms flat against the white table. “Alexander? What possible reason could this Order have for sending me there? It’s a death—”
Master Bredych silenced her with a raised hand. “You are ordered to guard her Royal Highness, Princess Margaret. You will work as a body double until your services are no longer needed.”
Her left temple throbbed. When she curled her fingers into fists, grease smudged the table. Adelei took one breath and then another before speaking. “Grand Master, the Order does not… usually accept positions such as this—any guardsman could complete such a task,” she said and ignored the gasps at her impertinence. “Body doubles are a lifelong task. You ordered me back at high risk and for what? This? Why would the Order accept this job? In Alexander no less?”
/>
“There have been assassination attempts,” he said before he took a swallow from his cup of water. “Possibly Tribor. You will eliminate the problem.”
“Tribor are nothing new. That’s not the reason. Grand Master, Amaskans are not tolerated in Alexander. To enter that kingdom is a death sentence. Why would you send me there?” Her voice cracked, and she winced.
When the Bredych’s fist struck the table, fourteen sets of shoulders jumped. “Do you question the ability of the Masters?”
“No, Grand Master.”
“Do you doubt your own abilities?”
“No, Grand Master.”
“Then you will do the job before you as you are told.” His fingers were pale in the candlelight and a trickle of sweat beaded upon his brow. The bird in her stomach plummeted to its death in the bottom of the cage. She returned to her seat but wrapped her ankles around the chair’s legs in a defensive position. “You recall the Little War of Threes?” he asked.
“The Kingdoms of Alexander and Shad battled for three years over borderlines, wiping out chunks of their population until the Boahim Senate stepped in with the compromise. It took a decade for their countries to recover.”
But what does this have to do with me?
“The compromise reestablished the kingdom boundaries. Both sides swore not to adjust their borders. King Leon’s daughter, Margaret, will marry Prince Gamun Bajit of Shad, uniting the two families and ending the brutal feud between the two kingdoms.”
“I knew that was part of the compromise, but I didn’t think the wedding would proceed. I mean, to allow your daughter to marry the son of your enemy… not exactly demonstrating good parenting.” But then, King Leon had never been a good parent. “Master, if the Tribor are suspected, any one of a dozen freelancers could take them out. To endanger the life of an Amaskan by sending them into Alexander, much less into the heart of the capital—” Her tongue wouldn’t lie still as it gave voice to her doubts. “I’m sorry, Master. Forgive my tongue its injury.”
“King Leon III has asked this as a… personal favor. You will be sent.”
Adelei bowed her head, but inside her brain flew like a hurricane. The Masters watched her, their masks carefully in place. They were withholding something from her. Information? The truth? She opened her mouth and shut it again.
“You have a question to ask?” he asked.
“You said this job would last until I was no longer needed. What do you mean by that?”
“Until either you are dead, or the King no longer sees a need for your services.”
A lifetime job. She was right. The air before her ceased its movement, and her lungs burned as she held her breath. He was sending her away, probably forever. That’s one hell of a favor. Terror gripped her, familiar in its feeling, and she failed to shake it off.
Fear has no place in the mind or heart of an Amaskan. Not even these ancient words could smooth the dagger’s edge.
“Grand Master, maybe it would be best if you brief her… alone,” said a Master on her left.
The whites of Bredych’s eyes matched the paleness of his skin. He’s afraid. While the knowledge sank in, the other Masters stood and one by one, they retreated. When she was alone with her father, only then did the mask fall, tears unstoppable as he awaited the questions. Ignoring them all, though her mind screamed for answers, she went to him, falling into his arms for probably the very last time.
The City of Alesta
“What do you mean she’s gone?” King Leon’s voice rose and with a quick peek toward the door to his bedchamber where Margaret slept, he reined in his voice to a whisper. “She was sent there to be protected, damn you.”
Goefrin flinched and stepped back a pace or two as he raised his hands in protest. “My contacts say she never made it. The party was ambushed—much like the ambush that attacked your—”
His glass shattered on the stone floor, missing his wife’s favorite rug by inches. The wine spread. Running like Catherine’s blood, leaving a splash of red pooling on the back of Margaret’s small hood. The red was too bright, too jarring, and Leon shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye, Goefrin stepped out from behind a tree and bowed before the fuzzy horse.
But he wasn’t there. He was here in the castle with me. Is in the castle here with me. How did we get here? Leon rubbed his eyes, and the fuzzy image faded. Goefrin busied himself with picking up the remnants of broken glass.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Leon narrowed his eyes to focus on the advisor, but the man was more jagged edges of color than solid form. “My wife is dead,” he mumbled. Goefrin handed him another cup, and Leon ground his teeth in frustration. Here he was going through normal motions like drinking while his wife, his daughter—
“My wife is dead. Margaret nearly so, and you come to tell me that Iliana is dead as well? That all of these plans to send them to safety have not only failed but have resulted in the death of most of my family? Please, tell me more about how this is my fault.”
“Daddy?”
The tiny voice behind him drained him of his anger, and he spun around to face Margaret, whose frail, five-year-old body slumped in the doorway. Sleepy eyes blinked up at him in the dimness of the drawing room. “You should be asleep, poppet.” And the drugs the healers have given her should have had her sleeping through two wars. Damned healers. Can’t get anything right.
“I heard shouting. I thought—” She didn’t finish her sentence. Instead she screamed. Her wide eyes darted about the small room as her scratched hands slapped the air, battling nothing.
Leon grabbed her by the shoulders and wrapped his strong arms about her shivering body. “Shhhh… It’s okay, I’m here. No one can hurt you.”
“Should I go get the healers?” Goefrin asked, and Leon nodded against the top of his daughter’s head.
My only daughter now.
“Daddy?” Her voice was tiny. Thin and distant. When he tilted his chin down to look at her, she stared off, the whites of her eyes clearly visible.
She pointed at nothing, and he blinked hard. The lump in his throat grew, and he held her close. Whatever she had seen during the attack had scarred her. I will find who did this, and they will die. Slowly.
Margaret relaxed in his grasp. “I thought those men were back,” she whispered.
Behind him, the healers arrived. It was the first time she’d spoken about the attack since she’d been found, a bloody, muddy mess clinging to a wandering horse in the northern woods. He held up a hand to stop the healers at the door. “What men, poppet?” A small sob escaped her lips, and he squeezed her tighter. “You’re safe. They can’t get you. I’m here.”
Her face fell, and his heart tightened in his chest. “These men came out of the forest. Th-the guards. They went to find them. And then, then M-momma, she cried out and… and then my horse was moving, and I couldn’t get out. Momma was too heavy, and I couldn’t move. I tried, Daddy. I tried. But she was too heavy, too—” Sobs ripped across her frame, pierced only by little hiccups.
This time when the healers approached, he allowed it, and one of them held out a glass. “Here, make her drink this.”
“I take it this concoction will work better than the last?” He held the glass up to Margaret’s mouth. At first, she twisted away from the bitter smell, but he pressed it to her lips, tipping it back until she swallowed a large gulp.
He expected her to spit it out, healing tonics being vile and whatnot, but she took another swallow and another until the blueish liquid was gone. By then, her eyelids drooped, and her sobs lessened. Margaret passed quickly into a deep sleep, and King Leon passed her to her nursemaid.
“How in all the Thirteen Hells did she wake?”
“I don’t know, Your Majesty. She should have slept through a siege with the drugs we gave her,” said the healer.
King Leon sighed. His own muscles struggled to bear his six foot frame, and he stumbled before falling ungraceful
ly into the chair beside him. Its wooden legs scraped across the floor, and the healer winced. Leon held his breath a moment, straining his ears for the cries of his daughter. When silence was the only reply, he released the air in his lungs and centered his sights on the healer who was trying to exit unceremoniously through the open door.
“A moment if you will, healer.” The woman paused, her hand resting on the door handle. “When she wakes and is better, will she recall more about the–the attack that killed my wife?”
“Probably not. She spent two days on a wandering horse in the cold rain. We’re lucky she didn’t catch a chill or worse. She’ll probably block out the event completely. It would be better that way. To forget.”
“My wife’s death.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. My apologies, Your Majesty.”
“You may leave.”
Not that he would want her to remember this. Poor child. Poor Catherine. Three days since, and only now did he think on her. The loss hurt, but less than he’d expected. A miracle he didn’t deserve. Their last days together weren’t those of the ballads. She had hated him. King Leon paced and glanced at the door. The least he could do was grieve her loss.
He glanced at the door for a fourth time. Goefrin hadn’t returned. Not that he blamed the poor man. First he has to inform me of my wife’s death, and Margaret little more than breathing, and then Iliana— King Leon gripped the chair until his fingers were chalky white.
“Oh, Iliana, child.” he cried out and was glad for the drugs the healers had given Margaret.
King Leon bolted upright, soaked bed sheets clinging to him in a mad tangle. The colors and emotions of the fifteen-year-old memory warred with the vision of the present—his bedchamber draped in darkness and silence as the castle slept.
Goosebumps spread across his damp skin, and he gasped for air. Like a hunter, his heart pounded in his chest and echoed between his ears. He lay back against the frame of his empty bed. Funny that he would dream of her death now, or maybe not. Even Margaret thought on her often with the approaching wedding.