by Raven Oak
“Do ya remember your birth parents?” At the shake of Adelei’s head, the woman continued. “It’s funny that ya almost gave me your birth name when we met rather than your Amaskan name, as is customary.”
Adelei flushed. “Leaving was… difficult. This job. Coming back here. I don’t think I was thinking all that clearly.”
“I guess it makes sense that you’ve forgotten your time before the Order. Bein’ so young.”
She tugged on the reins, and Midnight danced in place. “Can we stop playing this game now? We both know who I am.”
Ida dismounted, her back to Adelei. “Ya know?” she whispered. “Ya know, and yet ya left your father thinking ya were dead? What type of person does that?”
“What kind of person sells their child to the Amaskans?” Adelei retorted, her skin hot with anger. “I’m what he wanted. He sold me to keep his kingdom and his peace, and I don’t owe him a damned thing. The Order took me in, and Master Bredych adopted me. Not just in thought, but on paper. He saved me and loved me and brought me a family that your king never could.”
Adelei urged Midnight forward until he stood before the captain, and Adelei lowered her chin to look down on the woman. “I am Amaskan, tattoo or no, with a family who loves me. I’m not some damned princess. Certainly not Iliana P-Poncett.”
Ida gave Adelei a long, pained look before her gaze found the forest floor. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “I knew Master Bredych could convince a snail it was a race horse,” Ida whispered, “but I never thought ’im capable of such deceit. Whether ya believe me or not is your choice, but your father never ‘sold you.’ He didn’t give ya up willingly. In fact, it was only at the persuasion of those he trusted that he sent his family away at all.”
“You expect me to believe all this? Not just that my father is a kidnapper and liar, but that my birth father is somehow a victim?” Adelei laughed, a panicked sound made of half-wounded-animal and half-incredulity that shook her voice and her shoulders. “He bargained with the Shadians over… my sister’s hand. If he sold her away to his enemies, what makes me believe he wouldn’t do the same to me?”
Adelei kneed her horse forward, leaving Ida standing alone in the dark forest. Oh Master, what have you done?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Alesta, Capital City of Alexander; 255 Cercian 1st
Waiting was something King Leon excelled in, a task of which he was a master; after all, he’d waited many long years to seek revenge upon the Amaskans for the “death” of his daughter. But waiting for Iliana’s return was like waiting for the winter snows when the heat of summer was just creeping over spring flowers.
Over the years, the sitting room had remained constant, its blue and gold decor reminding Leon of his late wife.
Leave it to Catherine to want to redecorate as armed men marched toward our kingdom. His eyes rested on the empty blue chair beside him. It wasn’t her chair anymore, not for over a decade, but every time someone sat in it, the memories of her washed over him like good ale: it both burned and soothed going down.
The moment his sepier had reported that Iliana was alive, his search was both more and less frantic. On one hand, he wanted her home. Immediately. Whatever the cost. But on the other hand, having her home didn’t bring him the head of one Master Bredych.
His heart twitched when he thought of Ida, and his mind immediately jumped to Goefrin. Imagine my surprise to learn that dear old Goefrin has been playing me all along. While waiting for Iliana is torture, waiting to deal with that worm is even harder.
As if his thought had summoned the old man, Goefrin entered the sitting room by way of a low bow. “Your Majesty called for me?”
“I did. Join me for a moment if you will.”
Goefrin’s eyes fluttered with a speed his old body lacked, nervousness that had not left since hearing of Iliana’s inevitable trip home. “Might I inquire—might I ask what I may do for Your Majesty?”
Leon’s grin was genuine and bordered on a smirk as the advisor squirmed. “Surely you know. As my most trusted advisor, your job is to anticipate my needs, is it not?” Come on, you worm, confess so that I might stretch your neck over a chopping block and be done with your rotten self.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” When Leon didn’t elaborate, Goefrin added, “I’m sorry for not knowing what I should, Sire.”
Two emeralds squinted back at Leon from a pasty, wrinkled face, and a trickle of sweat rolled down the leathery folds of Goefrin’s neck. I should just choke the man and be done with it. Instead, Leon waited.
Still, it would be interesting to find out how the weasel had gained his father’s trust enough to sit upon his council. Leon gestured for the man to sit in the chair to his left and winced as the man’s joints popped from the effort required to lower his frame into the chair.
King Leon clenched his jaw. Catherine’s chair, you worm. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had chosen that chair on purpose.
“My daughter should be home soon,” King Leon said, a forced smile on his ample lips. “Of course, she’s not the daughter I remember. For one, she’s not five anymore.”
“No, Sire.” Goefrin’s laugh sounded forced.
“She’s one of them now, an Amaskan. Did you know she’s the best, Goefrin? They say she’s the best they’ve ever trained.”
“That’s wonderful, Your Majesty.”
“Wonderful? You think so?” Goefrin’s jowls jiggled when he nodded too fast. “You think it wonderful that my little girl is returning home after all these years a murderer? A killer?”
“No, Your Majesty, I mean—”
King Leon slammed his fist onto the arm of his chair. He dug his fingers into the mahogany wood until his knuckles turned a pinkish-white. It wasn’t the King who wanted to lunge across the small space separating the two, it was the father. And the father lacked the King’s patience.
“Cease the pretenses. You know damned well why you’re here. You’re the reason my daughter returns to me a killer.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Enough.” The word escaped in a roar of fury and for a moment, King Leon saw stars before him. The last thing he needed was the healers interrupting again. He took a deep breath to calm himself, which only half worked. “It was your idea to send Iliana to the Amaskans.”
The words should have inspired terror in the old man, but instead Goefrin laughed, a tight, thin little laugh that erupted shrilly. “Surely you don’t blame me for a plan gone wrong, Sire. How could I possibly know the Shadian army would intercept and kill your daughter? They were everywhere. ’Tis folly to think I could do more than I did.”
When King Leon remained silent, Goefrin’s smile faltered, and his eyes narrowed as they lost their sparkle. “Your Majesty?”
“I know who you are.”
Five simple words. Goefrin stood, all pretense of a feeble body gone as he hurtled toward the door and threw it open in a wild panic. Armed guards stood between him and escape.
“Come, Goefrin. Have a seat, please. Let’s discuss treachery and Shad.”
When Goefrin didn’t move, King Leon nodded and a guard placed his hands on Goefrin’s shoulders and pushed him back through the doorway. “Sit. I insist.”
Goefrin’s entrance into the plush blue chair was much less controlled this time as he fell into its cushions, his eyes set intently on his king. “It seems you’ve been quite busy, Your Majesty.”
“Indeed I have.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask, how did you discover Iliana was alive?” His gaze flicked to the fireplace mantel, which still bore a painting of the child. “Was it perhaps your obsession with the Order? Your never-ending watch of their members?”
“It was,” he answered honestly. “My turn. Why Shad?”
“They have deeper pockets.”
“So this was about money?”
Goefrin shrugged. “I suppose.”
“And now you confess so easily?” Geofrin merely grinned. King
Leon knelt before the man, his eyes searching the man’s face. “You were my father’s most trusted advisor and friend. You were mine. What madness could lead you into dealings with those devils? Surely if money was all you sought, you could have remedied that easily enough in my coffers.”
“You’ve always been a spoiled child, not worthy of the throne your father left you,” the man hissed as he leaned in close. Behind him, the scraping of steel sounded as guards stepped forward.
Leon ignored them all. That smell. Sour ale and something else, something bitter or tart.
His face must have changed as Goefrin leaned back in a rush, but King Leon seized the front of his shirt and pulled the man closer. “Your breath smells familiar… foul. What sorcery is this? What play are you running, traitor?”
The ear-splitting grin of heavily yellowed teeth caught Leon off guard, and he released the man in too much of a hurry. Goefrin’s chair fell back and toppled the old man to the hard floor. “Recognize it, do you? You should. You’re intimately acquainted with it, Your Majesty.”
Leon’s eyes widened further as the memory crept over him, his father’s body still warm as it lay in the massive bed he’d called home for the six months prior to his death.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” the healer had said, and Leon had flinched at the use of the title. “Your father, the King, is dead. Gods be with him.”
Beside the bed laid scattered brews and bowls of poultices meant to ease the King’s suffering, too late as he no longer had need of such things.
Leon had expected the room to smell different—sour with the smells of death and illness, but instead the odors had been surprisingly clean and fresh as if summer stood outside and not the harsh chill of winter. Leon had glanced to the window, expecting it to be open, ushering in the scent of the pine trees outside. But the glass had stood shuttered.
Like his father’s eyes.
“Did someone clean this room?” he had asked the healer.
“Yes, Your Majesty. Advisor Goefrin ordered it at your father’s passing. He thought it better that the family receive the King’s body in proper peace.”
At the time, the words had made sense. In fact, Leon had been grateful for the idea, not wishing to subject his new bride to such a sight as his father’s death filled bedchamber. Especially not the mess it had become in his final days.
Despite the cleanliness of the fresh sheets and fragrant room, it had been Catherine who’d first noticed the odd smell lingering about His Majesty’s body—a bitter smell that soured it prematurely. The healers had not known what it was and had chalked it up to mere humors of the body. As they had prepared the former King to be received by sacred ground, Leon had pushed it from his mind. He had believed them.
But now sitting before Goefrin, the pieces slid into place. “You killed my father.”
The advisor’s only answer was a smile, which faltered as the man’s eyes rolled back into his head. King Leon lunged forward to catch him, and his nose caught the smell again. “What have you taken? What have you done?” he shouted and shook the man who lay limp in his arms.
Goefrin’s eyes fluttered open a moment and that hideous grin returned briefly. “I came… prepared.”
The body convulsed in Leon’s arms. “Fetch the healers. Be quick.” Leon shouted.
They’ll never reach us in time. Goefrin’s body ceased convulsing, and his chest stopped rising with the air of life.
Alone with the body, King Leon ran his trembling hands through the man’s pockets. In the smallest pocket sewn inside his overshirt, Leon discovered a vial of deep brown liquid with a few drops remaining.
Leon opened it carefully. The strength of the bitter odor sent the room spinning, and King Leon’s hands faltered. He dropped the vial as he rolled back. His head missed the chair’s corner, and the soft rug on the floor pushed up against his cheek.
Feet moved. He could hear them in the distance, but his vision swam so that all that appeared before his eyes was a whirl of color and then blackness.
Hoof beats announced Ida before she spoke. “This is difficult for us both. It wasn’t my place to make this revelation to ya, but ya insisted on knowing everythin’. Your father, King Leon, used my connections to the Order to bring ya home.”
“Why? And why now? What connection could you possibly have that would result in this?” asked Adelei as they continued through the trees. The sun dipped lower in the sky, and the forest grew darker with each minute. Soon they would need torches to see at all.
“Your father used a friend, someone he trusted with his life… and yours, to arrange your escape from Alexander. To keep ya safe, he sent ya to the Amaskans. What better place to hide ya, to protect ya, than with those whom everyone feared? Not even the Boahim Senate’s brave enough to come after the famed Order of Amaska. Ya were to be hidden there ’til it was safe. But somethin’ went wrong. Your father was betrayed, and you—ya were gone.”
“The Amaskans aren’t kidnappers.” The moment she said it, she winced. She, too, was lying. Her brain tried to flee the deluge of memories and failed.
How many times had the Order kidnapped someone, to make the killing easier? Longer? Or just to gain the information needed to trap someone? For justice. Her mind sifted through the histories stored in her brain. It was done often enough—she had played a part in several.
“Ya weren’t supposed to stay there. It was meant to be temporary. They were to instruct ya in subjects… more appropriate to one of your station.”
A rich, bubbling laugh escaped Adelei in her panic. It sang among the trees like a dying songbird. “I was sent there until it was ‘safe’—but never to become an assassin.” Her laughter tensed her thigh and shoulder muscles. “That’s rich. The princess returns home a killer. Welcome home and hello, Papa. Need someone killed today?”
Ida sighed. “Ya weren’t supposed to be gone forever. King Leon was told ya were captured and killed on the way to Sadai. Until recently, he’d no idea ya were even alive.”
“Who told him I was dead?”
“The friend who suggested ya be sent to the Amaskans in the first place. He came back with the word of your death. He’s the one who betrayed your father.” Ida shifted in her saddle, and Adelei’s eyes narrowed.
“How did the King discover otherwise? Did this traitor confess?”
Ida laughed. “Hardly. Since your ‘death,’ King Leon has watched the Amaskans. Probably closer than the Boahim Senate, I’ll wager. One of the reasons Amaskans aren’t allowed in Alexander. Part of my job—as His Majesty’s sepier—is to watch the Order. I’ve been in and out of Sadain borders two or three dozen times in the past fifteen years.”
“Why?”
“To find those responsible. Almost a year ago, I passed ya on the streets. The moment I saw ya, I knew who ya were.”
“How?”
“Ya truly are twin to your sister.”
Adelei pursed her lips together. “You’re lying. You’re not telling me everything, and without Master Bredych here to defend himself—well, let’s just say that I doubt he played the role you think he did. Someone else has their fingers in this yarn. Either way, I’m no princess now. Nor have I any interest in becoming one.”
“Of course not. Your father’s no fool, child. He didn’t bring ya home as a princess. Do ya see any royal guard or a procession proclaimin’ ya alive? You’re better off dead.”
“Nice to know he cares.”
“By Echana, must ya act like a child? I just meant that hidin’ in plain sight will make your job easier.”
“He left me dead until I was needed.” The words left her tongue, which she bit. Deep breaths did little to still the turmoil. She needed control of herself before they reached the capital, lest she set loose her tongue in such a way as to be banished from her own kingdom. My own kingdom. Ha. As if they’d allow a murderer, an Amaskan, to take the crown. Even my own sister’s death couldn’t bring about that scenario.
A thought popped int
o her brain so vile, she pushed it away with a mental hand. Bitter she might be, assassin she might be, but killer she was not. Her kills brought justice, not pure vengeance.
Pictures of her last kill flashed before her. A little voice inside her head whispered, but weren’t you made of vengeance? Didn’t you relish the kill, causing the pain to last as you killed me? It was Magistrate Meserre’s voice that echoed in her skull.
Normal to feel something at the loss of another human—but the Order existed to serve justice when others could not. Killing for the Order meant helping people. Or so Adelei had convinced herself. It was a crucial tenet of her belief system—the belief system of all Amaskans.
Leaves crackled under her fingers as she dug her nails into the dirt on the forest floor, its rich, earthy smell mixing with the bile in the back of her throat. She knew not when she tumbled from her horse, but moved clumsily through the dirt, stumbling into the brush to lose all traces of her breakfast. Only when dry heaves remained, her body left shaking, did she rise on unsteady feet. Not even the swish of water could rid her mouth of the taste of vomit and death, joy and bitterness—a vile concoction going down, much less coming up.
“I’m sorry ya had to hear this from me. And this way. This can’t sit easy in ya.” The kindness in Ida’s voice hit all the harder after the disturbing thoughts that had crossed her mind, and she shook her head before returning to the saddle. Midnight sidestepped at her hurry and bumped shoulders with Ida’s mare.
“Who are you? You know things… more than mere research. Who are you? Are you the traitor who named me dead?”
Adelei’s dagger was in her hands and against Ida’s throat swiftly enough, despite her stomach’s quivering. “Answer me.” she shouted and leaned closer to the woman. The blade pressed against the horizontal, puffy scar.
“No. No, I’m not the traitor who did that—but I did betray ya, and for that, I’m sorry.”
“Who are you? I’m not going to ask again.”
“I’m the one who kidnapped ya.”
“Your Majesty?”