by Bo Burnette
Eamon made for the middlemost of these boats. Seeing the three passengers approaching, the boatman stood at attention.
“A ride for three? And where to?” he called out.
“No, a ride for ten, Machar,” Eamon snapped. The incident with the toll collector seemed to have put him on edge. He stepped closer to the boat, jumping down off the high step that leveled off near the boat’s side. “Take us to the middle of the right-hand side of the river, near Rowan’s.”
“That I can do for you!” Machar remained cheerful. “One piece apiece!” He laughed at his own pun, and Arliss could not help but shake her head.
The response clearly irritated Eamon even more. “Three pieces for a meager ride? I’m an honored trader for the crown—and a special guest at this evening’s festivities. I’ve never paid for the water taxi before. Stop this nonsense.”
Machar squinted, his tongue wriggling behind closed lips. “Things have changed somewhat around here, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Well, you see…the fee is only waived for the nobility or the royalty.”
Eamon laughed coarsely. “The nobility and royalty never take the water taxi.”
Machar held up his hands. “I’m not the one making the laws. If you’re a’finding a problem with them, you should talk to Merna herself.”
Eamon’s nose wrinkled. “I have absolutely nothing to say to that woman.” He tossed three coins to Machar, then turned back to Arliss and Erik. “Get in.”
Arliss dismounted the high platform, carefully stepping into the ferryboat. She took a seat beside Eamon in the back, while Erik sat closer to where Machar manned a single, pole-like oar in front. Machar shoved off, and the boat began to float down the river between the rows of towering buildings.
Arliss looked up at the towering buildings on either side and tried to steady her nerves. The mingled scents of tea and brandy drifted to her from somewhere nearby. And the air had that salty tinge of ocean in it, but it was different from Reinhold. Wilder. Darker.
After a moment, Arliss leaned closer to Eamon, her voice hushed. “I forgot to ask you something back on the ship.”
“What was that?”
“You and I talked a lot about all the clans—Reinhold, Anmór, and Ikarra. But you never told me which clan you were from.”
Eamon pulled his cloak over his sword hilt. “I am from none of them. I suppose none of them will take me, so I am from all the clans—traveling around from place to place.”
“It must be a difficult life,” she mused.
“It’s not too bad. I like adventuring for a living.”
She nodded. “Do you ever wish you could have a place to call home, though? A clan?”
“What is the use of it?”
Arliss turned to him, her jaw dropping slightly. “Clan—it means family. Your clan is your family.”
Eamon swallowed. “I guess I don’t know what either of those words mean.”
The rest of the morning floated by in a blur before Arliss’s eyes: the trip up the river, the buildings both high and low, the clock towers and bell towers and towers of other sorts, the people, the clothes. The sharp smell of spicy cooking, the scent of fresh bread. Brushing against someone’s silk dress in a crowd, rubbing her hand against an aged brick wall. And always Eamon telling them to hurry—hurry—hurry.
She would rather have stopped and savored the sights that tantalized her senses at every turn. Eamon, however, clearly wanted to evade questions—although he wasn’t doing the best job, considering the befuddled looks he got at the dressmaker’s when he ordered fine ball gowns for two young women.
The shopkeeper had covered Arliss’s and Ilayda’s new dresses with a sheet of thin paper, and Arliss now toted them around as Eamon procured clothes for all the men. Long past noon, Eamon finally elbowed through the doors of a double-storied establishment which beckoned Arliss with rich aromas.
“Just a little bite, then back to the ship,” he said.
After three bowls of soup, one loaf of bread, two mugs of watery ale, and one shot of brandy (for Eamon), they made their way back down the river, across the quay, and back to their longboat.
Arliss first checked to see if her bow was safe. It was—as was Erik’s. She took another long glance over her shoulder as they settled into the oars. What a city! And she’d only seen the market district. From, the sound of things, they would all be seeing much more than that by the day’s end. They would be going to the palace.
What would they find there? Friendly lords and monarchs, ready to welcome the long lost clan from across the sea? Or a group of conspirators who wanted them dead as much as Thane did? She could not say.
All she knew was she felt safer with her bow within arm’s reach.
Chapter Twenty-three: The Throne Room
“WHAT IS THIS PARTY?” PHILIP DEMANDED. HE clenched the fancy clothes Eamon had just thrown at him, his taut muscles ready to rip the things to shreds. The ornate decorations of the room—thick curtains, brass table legs, warm light from a high window—did nothing to thaw the tension in Philip’s shoulders. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re selling us out!”
Eamon paced the room, casting him an irritated glance. “Calm down. I have no such intentions.”
“You’d dare tell me to be calm?” Philip felt blood surging through the veins in his neck. “We are your captives. You’ve toted us to a foreign realm to present us before unknown people for unknown reasons.”
“He’s right,” Brallaghan chimed in. “You can’t expect us to be calm when my father is missing.”
Eamon halted, hands raised. “I know this is all difficult for you to understand. But there are so many forces at work here, forces that are beyond any of you.”
Philip gritted his teeth. When he was younger, he’d never liked being told by an adult that something was too hard for him to understand. And now that he was an adult, it was even more ingratiating.
Erik had already changed into his party clothes, and he leaned in the far corner, watching the heated exchange. “I take it these forces are beyond you, too, Captain Eamon.”
“Aye.” Eamon’s mouth had a grim set to it. “But if you follow my lead, we can fix some of the problems created when you crossed paths with Thane.” He looked at Brallaghan. “We can find your father.”
“How?” Philip asked.
“It will take all of us.” Eamon strode to the chamber’s double doors. “Get ready. Then we’ll join the ladies.”
Ilayda thrust her arms through the draping sleeves of the purple gown as Arliss cinched the bodice’s laces behind her back. Ilayda sucked in her breath, and Arliss stepped back to admire her own handiwork.
“It’ll do.”
Ilayda released her breath, once again taking in the rich scenery of the palace bedroom. Golden light flooded the room from high windows, casting a homelike glow on the decidedly ornate beds and furniture. Eamon had dropped them off here with their gowns, informing them he would be back in a few minutes, and commanding they not step outside the chamber for a moment.
Arliss slipped on the final accoutrements of her own dress: two sleevelike additions which covered her arms from her elbow midway up her upper arm. An extra skirt of fabric flared around her forearms. Ilayda couldn’t see the use of these unattached sleeves, but Arliss did look attractive.
Ilayda swallowed. Hopefully her friend’s beauty would not attract too much attention, especially not of the wrong sort. Ilayda never liked being the center of attention; and based on what Eamon had said, they would do well to blend in.
Arliss spread out the silk green skirt, turning it side to side as she examined herself in the tall looking-glass. “I’m almost scared.”
Ilayda snorted. “Oh, I’m beyond scared.”
“Why?” Arliss turned around, smiling.
“Didn’t you see what Thane did to Brallaghan? I can’t help but feel that these people may be some of t
he same sort.”
“You forget Thane is Reinholdian. He did not come from this land.”
Ilayda tilted her head. “Yes, but he may be in league with them.” After all, he had gotten his army from somewhere.
Arliss fingered the silk of her sleeves. “I certainly hope not.”
Two sharp raps sounded on the door. Arliss ran quickly to unfasten it. Eamon entered with Philip, Orlando, Erik, and Brallaghan at his heels. Brallaghan’s tunic was pale blue silk, his tabard a deep navy. In fact, all of them were dressed finely, but Eamon looked the most changed. He had cast aside his loose tunic for an embroidered leather jerkin which overlaid a creased linen shirt of muted purple.
After a quick look back into the empty hall, Eamon shut the door behind them. He turned to address the company. “Listen to me well, all of you. This is a very important event, so you must not make fools of yourselves or of me.”
Ilayda nodded slowly. She was the only one.
“I have a good standing in all the realms, and I would like to keep it that way.”
Arliss spoke up. “You even have good standing with Thane?”
“Yes, I do—enough that I stay to my side of the isle and he stays to his. And that I can do business with his associates.”
Arliss looked askance at Orlando. “Accomplices, more like.”
Eamon cleared his throat. “Let me be honest with you all. You are not prisoners, not in any way. The only reason I have taken you hostage is to protect your lives. Not everyone here looks favorably on other clans, and some would be alarmed to find that Reinhold is alive and well.”
Ilayda crossed her arms. “So you’re risking our lives?”
“I wouldn’t put it that dramatically.” He clasped his hands together. “If this evening goes well, we can forge a new friendship between different lands. You will show your best behavior when I present you to the king and queen. After that, you are free to roam the party as you wish. Am I clear?”
Ilayda nodded, and everyone else followed suit.
“Very good. Now let us to the party, shall we?”
He opened the door and Ilayda stepped through first.
Arliss held back, waiting until everyone else had exited. Her eye fell on Brallaghan as he walked stiffly through the doorway. She hoped his wound would not pain him during what was looking to be a long evening.
Finally Eamon motioned for her to go through. “After you, my lady.”
Arliss stepped up to the doorway and paused. “Are we safe here?”
“I hope so.”
“Do you know what Thane has done to us?” She asked in an angry whisper. His face was so close to hers she could feel his hot breaths. “How can you tolerate him?”
He closed his eyes a moment. “I have heard rumors of what Thane is doing to Reinhold—at least, of what he was doing to lands in the east. Until I met you, I didn’t count them much, as I assumed Reinholdians to be an extinct race.”
“Do you believe them now?”
Eamon pressed his hand into her back and guided her through the door, closing it behind them. The glint of the setting sun filled the hall from glass skylights above. “I do not want to believe them, but who knows? If Thane is allied with the crown, then you would still do well to befriend the crown. They will not allow him to attack someone they have made an alliance with.”
“Why do I have a hard time believing you’re doing this just for us?”
He only glared.
She set her jaw. “You didn’t have to bring us here. You could have left us on the isle.”
“Where Thane would have captured you. Or worse.”
“Oh, and this definitely seems a lot better than that.” Arliss turned down the hall after the others, the heels of her party shoes clipping on the polished stone.
He was right, of course. Why was everyone right just when she most hoped they were wrong?
She thought again of the treasures. What had Thane said? The sword, the crown, the ring…then what? Was it a bracelet? A cup? She couldn’t remember. Supposing, though, that this palace held one of those treasures—or more than one. Supposing…
She reached into her gown’s shallow pocket and pulled out her moon necklace. It had come from Thane’s fortress, but in this foreign place it somehow carried a little piece of home. If building a friendship between Reinhold and the ancient clans was what this mission had turned into, she was up for it.
“I hope your plan works, then.”
The flicker on Eamon’s lips could almost have been called a smile. “How could you doubt me for a moment?”
She fastened the necklace beneath her hair. “Because you have no alliance to any of the clans. Thus, you have no reason to help one over the other. That makes me suspicious.”
“Why would I want conflict? Why should I choose one clan over the other? Be reasonable, Arliss. I’m only trying to help you and your friends because I like you all.”
“Lack of conflict comes from lack of conviction.” She left him with her word and sashayed forth to join the others.
In front, Philip led the way with Erik at his side. Behind him, Brallaghan and Ilayda walked arm in arm. A few steps behind them, Orlando glided over the smooth floor, his burgundy cape swishing rebelliously over new party clothes.
It was Orlando or Eamon, and Arliss had spoken to Eamon enough for one day. She tugged up her silk skirts—unnecessarily, since the gown only went to her ankles—and trotted to Orlando.
If he knew she was beside him, he didn’t indicate it.
“So, a fancy party.” Arliss could find nothing sensible to say.
“Yes.”
“Do you go to many fancy parties?”
He stared straight ahead, his stride steady. “No. I don’t have time for them.”
“Don’t have time—or you’re not invited?”
He shot her a glare.
“I just wondered, is all. Being the princess, I go to practically everything in Reinhold. Though naturally our parties aren’t half what this one is going to be.”
Orlando laughed. “No, indeed.”
Arliss peered at him. “If you’re a soldier in this land, why aren’t you serving as a guard, or something like that?”
“I told you, I’m a spy, not a soldier. And I work for Thane. You know all of that already.”
She looked away. “I just wondered.”
“Don’t be too nosy, princess,” he warned. She wished he would use her proper name. “Ask too many of the wrong questions, and you’ll get the wrong questions asked of you.”
They had come to a set of doors that must have been twice as tall as her and inlaid with bronze and gold. Two guards, holding spears adorned with unfurled flags, stood at attention by the ornate entrance. Arliss could see nothing of the room within, though she could tell by the reflections of sound within that it was an enormous hall filled with many people.
The sickening feeling crept into her stomach again. What if she tripped on her dress or on Ilayda’s dress? What if Orlando did something rash? What if she stuttered when being introduced?
She raised her chin. None of those “what-ifs” mattered. She was the princess of Reinhold, and—God willing—she would carry the weight of the country on her shoulders. Though they knew it not, her father and mother—and her whole country—were counting on her, on Arliss, the seventeen-year-old princess, to uphold their land.
This didn’t make her feel a bit better.
Eamon slid past all of them and bowed slightly to the guards. “Captain Eamon and guests.”
The guards nodded. “You are the last guests to arrive. Their highnesses are expecting you.”
They opened the doors to a flood of light and chatter that drowned Arliss’s senses.
Philip reached for where his sword typically hung and bit his tongue to restrain himself from swearing. Eamon had insisted they leave their weapons in their rooms. Philip’s room, which he was sharing with Erik and Brallaghan, was on the far right of the castle in the east wing, near
the river. Arliss’s room was in the south wing, a decent trek away from theirs.
As he stepped through the door and squinted in the enormous amount of candlelight, Philip wished that he had his sword. At least the sword. He had left most else on the ship—including the bronze carynx with its lion’s head.
Eamon led the way. The hall which stretched out before them seemed endless. It had to be a throne room of sorts, but an eternal crimson carpet and a horde of party guests obscured any view of the thrones that must lie at the far back of the hall. What a hall it was—enormously high ceilings, which were hung with countless candlelit chandeliers, dozens of pillars lining their way, standing like bronzed sentries, and people of every sort. Brazen-sounding music boomed down the hall.
Guards stood at attention in front of every pillar and between every pillar, such that the number of guards in this room alone must have surpassed the entire army of Reinhold.
Erik leaned over to Philip, his eyes open wide. “That’s an army if I’ve ever seen one.”
“Think what their actual army looks like, if this is their palace guard.”
Erik’s eyes couldn’t have been wider.
Finally, when they must have been halfway down the glorious hall, two high thrones came into view above the crowd of guests and guards. As Eamon led them closer, Philip got a better view of the monarchs.
The king looked older than his wife. He sat up straight as a rod, but his head hunched over slightly, as if he had eaten something he hadn’t particularly liked. His hands rested atop a paunchy stomach. His eyes told you he knew more than he would tell you.
The queen sat rather primly, her hands folded in her lap. Her hair crisscrossed around her head and rested in twisted braids on either shoulder. A smile hung on her lips, but she didn’t look happy. In fact, her smile made Philip more than a bit uncomfortable.
The music had gotten louder, and horns and drums belted out a tremendous march that sounded both regal and martial. Besides the musicians, the crowd around the thrones silenced as the Reinholdians approached.