“Time,” Lorien said. “All I need from you is some time. You know well that there have been changes in our lives. It is taking me time to adjust to everything.” The words came out easily because they were true. “Just look at me today, out for an adventure.”
Tryst glanced down at her body, letting his eyes linger. She had never liked the way he looked at her. “Nice dress, even if it shows too much of your legs. And I am glad to see you back in your boots.” He finally returned his stare to her eyes. “Still, Lorien, you look terrible, like a ghost of your former self. Try to get some sun today, and find something to eat.”
“For a moment I thought you would forbid me to leave,” Lorien said. “It is good to see that my patronizing brother still cares for me.”
Tryst’s eyes opened wider. Lorien sensed some sort of battle waging in his mind. She guessed that his stiff pride felt slighted, but that he was also amused.
“You are my sister,” Tryst said in a low voice. “Your royal home is here, and I cannot abide you shuffling around in misery for the rest of my reign. I hope your ride today helps.” The warmth left his face, and his voice rose. “You will be protected closely by guards whenever you leave the palace. I am adding two more men, to ensure your safety. They have strict orders to tie you up and drag you back here at the first sign of danger.” His words carried no tone of joking.
So he did not trust her. She ignored his demeaning comments and replied: “Your guards can follow me today, although I doubt very much that I will need them in the future.”
“I will not play these games,” Tryst whispered as he came within inches of Lorien’s face. “You will be guarded as long as I command it. You are nothing without me. But with me, you have a home here. You are in the prince’s family. You are—”
“Princess Lorien!” She turned and was thrilled to see Tel being dragged towards her by Juniper. The red mare neighed and nudged her shoulder. Lorien ran her hands along the horse’s face, which was speckled with bright white marks.
Tel stood up straight, dusted himself off, then bowed to the ground before Lorien and Tryst. “I am sorry to interrupt, my prince. Juniper here, well, she has been in that stable for far too long. As soon as she caught sight of the princess, she took off. I could not hold her back.”
Tryst stared down at Tel coldly. “You are a disappointment. I find it hard to believe that you were ever a prince’s squire.” The boy looked up with pain and failure written on his face. Tryst did not relent. “Ulysses will not be happy to hear this. Get back to the stable where you belong.”
The boy sprinted away, as if fleeing for his life.
Tryst turned to go, but turned back in a swirl of black and clasped Lorien’s face between his hands. “Farewell, my beautiful Lorien. You have a privileged position. Take care not to lose it.”
Lorien met his locked gaze evenly. “The same goes for you, Tryst. Farewell.” She pulled herself out of his grip and leapt onto Juniper’s back.
Tryst stormed off without another word. Once he was far enough away, Lorien let out a sigh of relief. Her body was taxed just from mounting Juniper, and her mind raced through the implications of the conversation. First, she thought, I must thank Tel. With the slightest pull on the reins, Juniper turned and cantered towards the stable. Tel had his face against the wall, but he turned as Lorien approached. Tears filled his eyes.
“Tel, you wonderful lad,” she said from the saddle. “I owe you my thanks for retrieving Juniper and saving me back there.” He looked confused. “You see, our Prince was trying to control where I went today, but I wanted to move freely. Now I can, thanks to you.”
Amidst his confusion, the boy blushed and bowed. “Thank you very much, my Lady.”
Lorien smiled as she rode away. She realized that Tel would be the perfect way to reach Ulysses. That crafty veteran could be a great help, if only he retained some loyalty to Andor’s allies and some distaste for Tryst. Surely he would. She wondered whether Tryst would ever learn that kindness was the best way to get what you wanted.
As she rode through the gates, Lorien felt a weight lifting off her shoulders. It felt right to be riding Juniper, even if she was trailed closely by eight of her brother’s guards. Her mare pranced down the stairs leading out of the palace and into the city. At least her horse could feel that all was as it should be with the world.
The view as Lorien descended the stairs was just as moving as she remembered it. Almost every building was built of bright white walls and steeply pitched, slate gray roofs. Against that simple yet luxurious backdrop, the thousands of merchants and craftsmen of the city had developed their own colorful pennants, which they proudly flew from their rooftops and windows. The building’s strong foundations and ornate decorations reflected the city’s culture—bound by generations of custom, but individually distinct and free. Every twisting road had known hundreds of stories and names.
Now, Tryst wanted to destroy the colors, the distinctness. Sadness swept over Lorien at the thought. Her brother had always favored simple, strict uniformity. He would impose his tastes on his city, and spread those tastes to the entire continent. He would not be happy until every man was a soldier in black, and Ramzi would have every woman stay indoors.
Lorien began seeing the consequences of Tryst’s reign as soon as she reached the bottom of the palace stairs and rode across the broad plaza at their base. She had always loved being caught up in the excited feel of the central square, with its people stirring beneath the elegant white limbs of the great tree. Before, hundreds of merchant stands had created a maze that channeled the shouts of wares and sales. Today the square was well-ordered and nearly empty. Lorien guessed that only a fourth of the merchant stands remained—maybe fifty in total. They formed neat lines that occupied a small corner of the square. That corner was quiet, with maybe a couple dozen shoppers milling around. It was as if trade had forgotten to awake from its winter hibernation.
Lorien rode toward the white tree without anyone approaching her. She remembered the history she had learned as a child about the tree. About ten generations ago, the prince of Valemidas controlled the continent surrounding Valemidas but yearned for more conquest. He had sailed with his greatest knights to Sunan, the nearest nation to the east, a land renowned for its fierce desert and fiercer warriors. At that time the Sunans had less wealth and less strength individually, but their masses were more disciplined and unified.
The opposing forces had been such an equal match that neither had been willing to surrender, not until both had suffered enormous losses. In an offer of peace, the Sunan ruler had offered a large white seed as the seal of a promise to allow the Valemidans to retreat safely. In return, the prince had promised to never attack again, and he had sent his only son to Sunan as his guarantee.
For many years, a small ship would arrive in Valemidas each spring from the east, bearing a note of peace and a letter for the prince from his son. The prince would send a message in return, stating that the tree was strong, as was the peace. The ships and messages had stopped years ago. Now it was just a story that grandparents had passed down. Even trade between the nations had trickled to nothing, as Valemidas had borrowed more and more gold from the Sunans without repayment. Some doomsayers had been warning for too long that it meant war was nigh.
Whatever the truth of that story, the Valemidans loved the tree. It was at least twice the height of any other tree around Valemidas. The smooth white bark seemed to match the surrounding buildings of the city, and particularly the slender towers of the palace. Each spring, the tree would bear luscious green leaves, which turned fire red and fell in the fall. Lorien thought that the tree was most beautiful in the winter, when its bare limbs sliced through the sky. The people always yearned to see the leaves grow again after the snows melted. But for two years, no leaf had sprouted. Many feared what the barrenness might mean.
Lorien’s musings about the tree’s past were cut short by her closer view of its trunk. The tree had been desecrated
, with scars carved into the pure white bark. Lorien took them in with shock as she rode around the tree. They were lists of laws, burned black into the white. Each letter was the size of Lorien’s hand. “Commands of the Prince” was engraved largely at the top.
Every declaration was like a punch to the gut. First, all boys between seven and twelve years old, and every firstborn son who reaches seven in the future, must be enlisted for life in the Lycurgus. Second, everyone who enters Valemidas must be assigned an identification number, and at all times must carry a card with the number and the Prince’s seal. Third, all merchants, tradesmen, innkeepers, sailors, and other workers of the city must register their businesses with the Prince, who has the discretion to deny the license for such work. Fourth, all citizens of Valemidas must record, report, and pay a tax of one-third of their annual income, with avoidance punished by imprisonment. Fifth—
Lorien quit, not even half way down the list. She tore away from the tree, pushing Juniper to a near gallop. She felt disgusted on behalf of the people. The laws had always been simple baselines. Do not murder. Do not steal. Do not do other bad things that directly hurt people. This was an unprecedented intrusion by the prince. No wonder so many merchants were gone today, Lorien fumed.
She rode Juniper hard out of the square. She held tight to the mare’s neck, and her legs clutched to its sides. Adrenalin rushed as her muscles were drawn tight and wind whipped past her. She felt alive, like she could fight this. It had been only a few months. Her brother had not yet broken the will of the people. She would fight on their behalf, because she enjoyed a position of honor and respect that they would never have under Tryst.
Lorien was half a mile from the main gate of the city before she slowed and noticed another oddity. Only half of the Path of Princes was being used, the right side. She alone was on the left side of the road, other than the guards who had followed her. The other side was crammed with people inching forward, held in tightly by soldiers who lined the road’s median. Everyone was moving in the same direction—towards the gate. Many of them stared at her, with confused looks on their face. It reminded Lorien of Tel’s face, because there was the same stupor of bewilderment toward her apparent disobedience.
She rode gently into the masses, summoning a smile. Seeing the people thawed some of the coldness that had been growing in her while hidden away in a tower. Her smile seemed to be contagious. It made her feel like a beacon, but she was drawing her energy from those around her. They fed off of each other.
Some of the people began to shout. “The Princess returns!” “Talk sense to your brother!” “Help us!” The voices clashed into each other. The situation seemed to be spiraling out of control, as the closest people started grabbing at her desperately.
Lorien raised her arms and surveyed the faces around her. They were not angry, but they were afraid, and tense. That did not bode well with her so-called protective guards approaching. She turned to see them forcing their way through the crowd. She felt sure they would try to push the people away from her, in the name of safety.
This was not the time for her to run or put up a fight. It would not do for Tryst to grow more watchful of her now. She waived her goodbye and nudged Juniper to turn back, but paused when she saw a familiar face hidden in the shadows of a hood.
It was Jon. She remembered that he had been a friend of Andor’s—an honest and strong man, through and through, Andor had once said.
Without a word, Jon reached up and grabbed Lorien’s hand. He ducked away an instant later, disappearing into the crowd.
A few of the guards noticed the exchange.
“Stop that man!” One of them yelled as they closed the distance to Lorien, formed a ring around her, and sent off a couple pursuers. She forced herself to stay calm and give no hint of the carefully folded letter that Jon had placed in her hand. From what she knew, Jon would have no trouble fending for himself.
Her mind raced as she pushed Juniper into a quick canter towards the palace. Why would Jon give her a letter? Had he been waiting for her? Why had he been so furtive?
Lorien tried to quiet her thoughts as she rode up the stairs and leapt from the horse outside the stable. She walked as quickly as a dignified princess could towards her chamber.
Once there, she slammed the door behind her and ripped open the delicate parchment.
Her heart melted at the script. Andor’s meticulous writing was unmistakable.
Lorien,
I live, as this writing attests. Your love sustained me.
The past few months have been like death for me. I doubt they have been much better for you. If you receive this, then you have earned my thanks for not following me into the dark. I have returned and found sanctuary. In time, Yates tells me, I will recover. He and others are already helping me, but it will be a long road back.
As much as it pains me, we cannot see each other now. Your brother is watching you too closely. If he were to discover my return before I gather strength, it would be the real end of me, and maybe even you. I cannot put you at that risk. We have enough risk ahead of us.
It will all be worth it when we are together again. You have my all, as you always did. My next movements will be against Tryst, but you must know that I act for you and for Valemidas. Contact Selia once Tryst departs the city. She has my trust.
Burn this note but hold fast to these words of promise. When you hear from me again, you will be asked to marry me. I will be yours, and I will never be pulled from your arms again. If for nothing else, I believe I have been brought back from death because our love is too great a thing to die.
Andor
Lorien read the letter again. And again. She read it more times than she could count. Night was falling outside her window before she beckoned a servant to request food and a roaring fire.
It took great willpower to place the letter, the tangible proof of Andor’s life, into the blaze. But long after the embers burned through the paper, Lorien could see his words.
Chapter 9
RETREAT TO THE FOREST
“Deliver me from a city built
on the site of a more ancient city,
whose materials are ruins,
whose gardens cemeteries.
The soil is blanched
and accursed there,
and before that becomes necessary
the earth itself will be destroyed.
With such reminiscences
I repeopled the woods.”
It was the perfect day to hunt a prince. The spring morning boasted a pristine blue sky dotted with dustings of clouds. Between the brisk wind and the warmth of the sun, my skin felt more alive than I could remember. This was my first daylight since the escape.
Jon and Wren had convinced me that I needed the bulk of a long overcoat to look better-fed. They had also been emphatic that I cover myself head to toe in garb befitting their bodyguard. They had been all the more demanding of disguise after Wren’s encounter with Ravien and Jon’s escape after delivering my note to Lorien. The thought of Lorien filled me with joy and fear, fear of what Tryst would do to her if he learned about me.
I ran my hand along my cheek and felt the pretentious scar that Selia had painted there, as if anyone would see it through the grubby and dented helm they had given me. Instead of my sword, I had to carry a simple club and look like I wanted to use it. Worst of all, the brothers made me walk behind them and their horses, dragging along their beleaguered and saddle-bagged mule, Yorst. To complete the part, I thought of what I had become in the Gloaming. If anything would make me look like a vile, ignorant ruffian not to be messed with, that thought would.
Everyone had taken to the streets to enjoy the weather, and at least in the trade district, Jon and Wren seemed to have become local celebrities at some point. Little kids were running up to say hello, and their parents were never far behind. The brothers were loving it, seemingly oblivious to the danger all the attention was posing to me and to them. I never heard anything speci
fic enough to give me an idea of what was so special. The guys were likeable enough, but what had they done to deserve this attention? Maybe they had accumulated more wealth than I had guessed since we had lost touch. I could not ask, so I just trailed them and looked mean.
The uproar faded when we reached the Path of Princes, the broad road that leads out of Valemidas. It is the only straight street to be found in the city, and it carries elegance in the form of its huge paving stones and oaks lining the center.
We were nobodies to the hundreds of travelers who packed the Path of Princes. Few local commoners used the main thoroughfare. They kept to their own neighborhoods and alleys, leaving flamboyance and treachery for the largest vein of the city. Here, there was chaotic freshness and novelty. Perhaps that was why Jon and Wren chose the route—no one would notice a couple merchants on their horses, trailed by a bodyguard and a donkey—but that turned out to be a rather bad idea.
We had just caught our first sight of the main gate when anxiety gripped me. Normally, hundreds were entering and exiting the city on any given day. But now almost all the people stayed on the left side of the road, overcrowded and inching into the city. It was as if no one was allowed to leave the city today, but that was our goal. The brothers might have noticed, but they kept on trotting, whistling as if everything were fine.
On the other side of the Path, carriages were crashing into each other, horses were tangled, pedestrians were trampled. Under my reign and long before it, no rules limited when one side of the Path could be used, no matter which direction travelers went. People went where there was space on the street. Now the flow seemed artificial and imposed.
I did not like going against the grain, at least not now. I could hide behind conformity, but could not bear drawing attention. In the Gloaming, standing out meant death. Yet here I was dependent on two childhood friends, now merchants, who might as well have had targets painted on their chests. I yearned to turn back, but we were already too far along. I just plodded along after them, feeling like the stupidly valiant bodyguard I was pretending to be.
Light in the Gloaming (The Gloaming Book One) Page 8