I slid my sword closer to me, from where it lay beside my pillow. It was darker than most swords, and certainly than any Yanartian weapons, which always shimmered golden-bronze. The metal had almost a purplish tint, or at least a very cool grey.
This had been the pledge from the Byakoans and since I still hadn't discovered what my Cirali weapon was, I'd started using it as my main weapon, for training or battles. I'd tested it first in Selket, it was a sturdy blade.
They were the two elements of their respective Constellation Animals. Metal for White Tigers. Fire for the Vermillion Birds.
Seeing them gave me a pang of guilt, that I hadn't yet provided a return gift to them, on the dragon's behalf. It should have been stone, that was the Azure Dragon's element. There were stones back in Shaundakul, near the old ruins that were beautiful and sparkling and I suspected azure gems to be among them. I had some plans of returning there to fetch them—it wasn't more than a day's ride on Luffie—but I hadn't yet because... well, because I'd hoped that I wouldn't have to go there alone.
I really thought that I would have already gone by now.
I heard a rap on my door and I jerked up suddenly—feeling almost as if I'd been caught doing something that I shouldn't. I worried over who it might be. Hopefully not one of the first-order Warriors, all of whom I was avoiding. Or Lucian, though that was doubtful. I knew for certain that it wouldn't be Estrid, and I knew it wasn't Minstrel either, because he was away in Byako. I thought it was probably Gael. Luffie had flown up to the mountain with his chimera, Yurei, and if he was coming with an offer to go visit them, I was going to whole-heartedly accept.
But when I opened the door—unless Gael had taken to wearing long, flowing, dresses—it was Amalia Denathar standing there.
The look on her face told me I would have had better fair ignoring the call.
She lifted her chin an inch higher, then said, "Ellia. I'm so glad to find you here. And actually resting, as well? My son's always telling me it's an impossible feat to get you to slow down."
She had shifted a little, to look inside the cabin—where my bottle and sword were set out in the fussed bed. I didn't mind so much that she see them, than that the place was a disorder, by my standards. Or hers, I was sure. We had mutual high notions of decorum.
I cleared my throat, as I shifted to block the way. "Yes, well... after the long travel."
"Of course," Amalia understood. Almost interrupting, "to the town of Echren. Have I ever told you that I had visited the place, in the past?"
I took a short breath. I glanced past her at the sea, then back to study her face. "No." I was still just trying to push my memories back—of the way her expression had remained in the council chambers.
She said, "Molec took me there. Once. For a recreational visit. We left as commoners, you know. If was a safer way to travel."
"Safer" I thought. "And less trouble when you weren't rightfully his wife." But I kept the thoughts to myself.
She straightened. I couldn't know why, but something about it told me she could tell what it was that I considered.
She went on, "If was very romantic place. Wasn't it? But you must know that. Having been there... Twice?"
What was her game? Did she think she would spark something between Lucian and I by describing how wonderful it had been for she and Molec. Molec who had not even been rightly hers? I brought my chest high. I told her plainly, "Lady Amalia, I will not play this game with you. You know my thoughts about this subject. Since the day I saw you with your son in..."
Her features twisted.
It was the wrong son I'd mentioned. The wrong we both now thought of.
I gripped my fist. I told her desperately, pleadingly, "Amalia, I don't love him. Lucian cares for another. You must see that—"
But she scoffed harshly. "Love," she repeated.
My brow dropped low. Yes, love: the subject she had begun.
But she argued on, "Love is just what I am trying to warn you of Ellia."
"But Echren, and what you said..."
"I do not mean to remind you of Lucian and stir your passions. I mean to warn you of the others you feel."
Others...
The word echoed back into my mind.
Then she was staring at me with those same, cold, knowing eyes. The same that had caught my throat with guilt to hear the knock at the door.
I saw other eyes.
Cyric.
I must have noticeably dipped back.
She raised one brow. "Was it not him you went to Echren with the first time? My son has told me—"
"Lucian," I repeated. I felt heat inside my chest. Lucian. Lucian, my teacher. Who I'd trusted, with my past. He— "He told you?" I demanded.
"Of the... Lieutenant, yes."
My palms turned to fists. "He had no right!"
"He is my son. He has every right. Besides, he had your best interests at heart."
I opened my mouth, to liably shout and lose my temper.
Before I could a chimera flew dangerously close beside us. Not mounted, but there was no telling whose it was.
Amalia glanced back that direction, then calmly cleared her throat, smoothed her silken skirt, and asked: "Perhaps we could speak of these things, in a more secluded local."
It was humorous to me, how this was just the thing that Molec had requested of me. So, was that the thing with ones such as them? to hide every conversation into secluded corners, no witnesses: No one to see the truth of what anyone was saying.
I wanted to be the proper princess.
But I was too... too, honestly too uncertain myself to entertain her persuasions over what I should do with my own life.
I gritted my jaw, then said, "Lady Amalia, I am sorry that I lost my temper."
She nodded, like she thought I should be.
Then I told her, "But I will not meet with you alone. I don't feel that you have anything—"
"You might not feel that I have anything to give to you," she added, with her teeth clamped, "And maybe... maybe you do not see the prior actions of my history as cause to take advice from me now."
I felt a thickening in my throat. I remembered my cruel words in the Warriors' chamber. About Molec having been unfaithful. No, perhaps not cruel, they were true, but... no. They were cruel to the sake of Amalia.
She continued, "But you can at least understand that I have been alive much longer than you, and perhaps our situations have been similar enough that you could learn from my mistakes. Before..."
She cut off—as if her breath was stolen from her.
She swallowed, then pressed her dress again with her palm. She watched the floor a moment, then looked directly at me, her hair loose from its generally tight and plated braid. Just the smallest hairs, though, around her face.
She said, "Before it is too late for you."
I wanted to listen to her—though I did not know why. I could somehow see something there, about her, that was honest. But how? How could our situations be the same?
"I have never thought of entering into a similar state as you did, Amalia. In fact, that is a very part of the reason I would leave your son alone. His heart is not mine."
"No. But you have felt for a murderer. A soldier of our enemy the Akadians. Is that better?"
"You do not know the whole tale," I told her. But it felt weak. I lost my breath a moment later. My heart ached. She was right. He... Cyric... was he like Molec? Was my love for him the same as Amalia's?
I pressed my hand to my heart.
Amalia watched that way. And then she told me. "I do not want to make any claims upon your life. And of course, I cannot force you to agree to marry my son. But as the princess of Shaundakul, I would ask simply that you hear my story out. Before, you decide rashly about this union."
I did not want to listen. Oh I did not want to listen! I wanted to go back inside and lie upon the bed and dream of Cyric.
But what had she said? As the princess of Shaundakul. Hadn't the Cirali wa
rriors asked me to consider it; could I give them less than this. Should I give her.
I was not pleased.
But I took a great breath, then I opened the door.
"Please then, come inside, Lady Amalia."
She bowed. And walked through into my small cabin.
I wished again when I saw the sky, that he would hurry in coming. He must hurry.
CYRIC:
High Hill was the pavilion that had been built on the ruins that were left of the granted temple. It was on a slant of earth that gave it its name; all around it was flat. White marble coated the floor at the summit, running evenly into the red dirt. Pillars surrounded the marble in a random spacing.
I saw sparks of yellow and flames of blue before I'd reached the top, shooting up into the sky above the heads of the crowd. I reached the edge of the spectators to see Lox touching a clear, glass stone, a dispel stone. Power flowed into it: until it turned the amber color that the dispel-stones did when they were absorbing a sorcerer's magic. Sersk, Lox's aide, set the stone aside while the crowd applauded again. A pair of soldiers commented to Lox. He laughed as he took another amber stone from the crate that sat close by. The pavilion provided little shade; sun glinted off of Lox's plate armor as he crushed the stone in his hand. He didn't throw it down, or crack at it with a blade as others would; he didn't have to; he merely squeezed it.
Immediately he raised his hands and shot out a rolling gust of black sparks. Something from the sorcerers at Selket. The crowd cheered again.
This wasn't an unusual happening on High Hill. Nearly every day at this time, Lox was here testing out one innovation or another. He'd amassed enough foreign specialists to allow a wide range. Sometimes weapons, for which he often used one of the many exotic animals roaming the Akadian markets as targets. Sometimes a new style of fighting; our new form from the west had come from that. All within sight of the behemoth's cavern, just past the edge of the cliff, as if to constantly remind the people all he'd accomplished.
He displayed next, purple streaks of flames—goblin magic. Whoever it had come from, it was very powerful. It sent some of the crowd gasping and shifting back, except for one. A young boy about five or six. He leapt forward, laughing and chasing the magic. Lox had only a moment to spot him, before a woman rushed forward and scooped him up. She was a handmaiden, very young, very beautiful, but her face was tight with anxiety. Lox laughed and made some comment about the child's bravery. The woman bowed her head, mumbling apologies. The others turned their attention back to Lox while she carried the boy away, holding him tight against her chest and whispering chidings in his ear, softly, just for him.
He wasn't the only child present; many of the sons and daughters of the court gathered for these times. A pair of boys mimicking Lox's movements. A group of small girls, preferring to dance and compare dresses. A boy of twelve with a stern face beyond his years. I watched him until a figure came to stand beside me. The darkened arms that were never covered told me it was Slark, though today he had his armor on, pushed up past his wrists. It was his proper silver and red armor, marking him as Sergeant. He also wore an uncertain frown that wasn't natural for him.
"You took your time," I commented, not turning to face him. We both looked ahead, arms crossed.
"You said noon."
"It's half past."
"You can't have been here long," he defended.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because the commander—"
"Cyric," Lox called, interrupting his spell-casting. "Is that you?" He laughed. "Since when do you come to High Hill mid-day?"
I could feel Slark's gaze on me, even though I wasn't looking at him, marking his point.
"I've come before," I called back to Lox.
"I'll assume training's taken care of then?" He waved a hand. "Never mind. As you can see we're testing powers from the east. Why don't you come and try your hand at it. Venoc's proving a poor candidate."
A few from the crowd laughed at the jab towards at the elder Commander—whose sole purpose these days seemed to be to try to entertain Lox. Lox shared a smile with the female soldier at his side. Then looked back at me, seemingly surprised that I hadn't moved forward yet. Lox stretched a hand out. "Come on then, son," he said to me.
My chest tightened. I had to clamp my jaw. Then I lifted my brows casually. "I'm not really fond of magic actually. I'd prefer not to."
There were a half-dozen gasps. Quiet, but enough to switch Lox's attention to them. And much of the crowd, that had been watching all of the spell casters before were now focused on Lox and I. Lox's eyes were the only thing that betrayed an otherwise cool reaction. But they were enough—for me—they burned and flared and said I wouldn't be forgiven soon, for just that; one comment.
He held his hand out in the air and raised a pillar of black sparks above it, smiling once he'd cut it off. "Not fond of magic, aye? Have we discovered a fear of the brave Lieutenant's?" This drew laughter from those around him. I didn't reply. Slark shifted his boot an inch towards me; I thought it was funny—or else, it made me want to smile and maybe laugh as hard as Lox was.
Lox did a poorer job of hiding his anger this time, the edge of it sinking into his tone. "Or perhaps it has to do with acquaintance. Didn't you know a foreign princess that could do a bit of something?"
Now, instead of laughs, the others just watched intensely, particularly the women—wanting confirmation on whether the rumors about me and my late captive prize had been true or exaggerated. Had we known each other before in Shaundakul? Had she really saved me from the explosion? Her powers were common knowledge. There were likely few here that didn't realize what Lox was referring to. I felt no compulsion to laugh this time. But I thought that he was very good at knowing how to make me feel what he wanted—so I wasn't surprised by what he did next.
A smile still lingering on his lips, he switched his gaze to Slark. "You must be Cyric's new Sergeant. Is that right?"
Slark actually looked at me before answering, but I didn't return it, so he turned back to Lox and answered. "Yes."
"And your name?" Lox asked.
Slark looked to me again. I wanted to scoff at him.
He answered Lox.
"Sergeant Slark," Lox tested, "and you're from Shaundakul, I'm guessing."
This time Slark just narrowed. "How did you know?"
Lox chuckled. "Your eyes of course, son. Only Shaundakulians have eyes so blue." Lox's closest companions nodded agreement. Slark smiled hesitantly. Lox frowned. "Not that all of them seem to have it, isn't that right, Cyric? What would you call yours? Grey or bronze maybe? Quite the opposite of your race." He laughed it off, but only a little. And Slark was watching me uncertainly again.
"Come on then, Sergeant Slark," Lox called, "Let's see if you're not too scared to try your hand at magic. I think I've seen you training. Perhaps I'll let you keep something and you can show your men."
I kept my face blank and calm, ignoring Slark's stare. Go on then, I thought to him. And he did. Who could expect a soldier to ignore attention from Commander Malatos Lox? Who could expect any man to? I watched him go. He tousled his short black hair as he approached, and Lox clamped a hand on his back and started introducing him to the other men. I thought Lox might at least look back my way, just once, but he didn't. A female soldier, who had been clinging to Lox's side before, now attached herself to Slark. Lox presented him with an amber stone and showed him how to crush it single-handedly. He asked him questions that were too quiet for me to hear, until Slark was laughing and answering comfortably.
A knife to the chest, twisting around, I thought would have been more pleasant. But I stayed and watched them use their magic. And then I watched them leave together. And then I watched Slark glance back at me.
And once he'd looked away, I smiled.
#
"Nope. Forget what I said last week. It was nine."
Tosch let out a whinny. In the dim dusk light I sent a poor throw across the lake. It sk
ipped twice then clunked into the reflected purple. My black and subtly smoking horse had carried me miles outside of Akadia, where the air was fresh and cool. The lake stretching out in front of us was shallow and nestled between a green field and a patch of trees.
I paused before my next throw to eye him. "Don't believe me? Well, then feast your twitchy ears on this. I was in the library studying—nine, right? the scholar's library where I lived. And it was off-time, so none of the other boys were there. I was there because... well because I'd gotten into some trouble, but that's not the point; I was the only one, that's what matters. And I'd been there for hours." I launched a stone, and made sure Tosch was listening. "So then there's this fuss with Scholar Padril coming in and telling me to mind my work—which I was already doing. After that a guard came in to check the library and then came the princess all dressed up with her crown and her hair and everything. Scholar Padril left and she went to go look at books. I was just concentrating on my studies, not bothering to wonder why she'd come to the scholar's library when she had her own. But then she kept watching me. I could feel it, you know, even when she was behind me. So I turn to her and ask her what she's doing. And she tells me she's reading; all indignant, with her chin up and everything. But then I look at the book she's holding, and what do you think?" My lips formed a flat smile. "It's upside-down."
He clomped a foot.
"Yeah, upside down. Get it? She wasn't reading. She came to watch me. We were nine—I didn't even know there was a difference between girls and boys back then, and she was already done in. And you know what else. Remember what I told you three days ago, about the dress-clothes thing? Where she found out what I was wearing for her birthday so she could match? That wasn't fourteen. That was twelve. I remembered because she had these... well she had these things she wore in her hair every year and the number of stones matched the...it doesn't matter, the point is, it was twelve."
Tosch wagged his head back and forth, rolling a huff.
"Don't be jealous, boy. I told you I'm going to try and get you one."
I was about to toss another stone, but my arm stopped mid-throw. I already couldn't see the lake anymore. Night would come quick. I dropped the rock and went to stand beside Tosch, patting his shoulder, checking his marks, making sure he was in good form. "He was right you know," I said, "my eyes aren't what they should be. They're like my father's were, not my mom's. Some people said he wasn't really from Shaundakul at all."
Fallen Warrior (Fallen Trilogy book 3) Page 5