WAS THIS WORTH DYING FOR? the voice asked and Khatrene sobbed again.
I’d forgive you anything for this.
TRUST.
‘Khat?’
She pulled back and wiped at her eyes, unable to believe how good it felt just to look at him, to touch him and to know he was really there. She’d been so alone. But she had no words to tell him. ‘It is so good to see you,’ she said.
His eyes were damp. ‘I missed you too,’ he whispered, then he hugged her again.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
In the Volcastle’s Valour Hall, Kert Sh’hale sat watchful at the King’s Table while around him the heads of the great Houses of Ennae celebrated the return of the White Princess, drowning the occasion in song, raucous tale-telling and gallons of ort-ale. Kert’s rival, Talis of the House of Guardians, sat favoured at the King’s right hand, fuelling Kert’s enmity. Soon matters would be different, however, and Kert strove to find contentment in that knowledge.
The King, too, should be contented with the arrival of his beloved sister who had now retired for the evening, but instead he was subdued and had drunk no ale. Though Kert doubted that the others saw, there were odd moments when his King’s gaze of assurance slipped to reveal the unseasoned boy within. The news that his mother the Queen had died in Magoria was clearly the cause of his sadness, yet he struggled for good humour to match the celebration.
‘Let us hear again what beauty the White Princess owns,’ Barrion of the House Verdan called down the broad table, thumping his ale tankard onto the solid timber surface and backhanding dregs from his thick beard.
The King nodded to accept this challenge and replied in his newly broken man’s voice, ‘I have known my sister’s sweet presence only a few hours and have no tale to tell save that of relief at her safe arrival.’ All nodded at this and some muttered ‘thank the Great Guardian’. ‘Yet here is one among us,’ the King proclaimed, laying a hand on his Champion’s shoulder, ‘who spent time enough in her company to be able to list chapter and verse the virtues she bears.’
‘Champion!’ Barrion bellowed, his voice as deep as his barrel chest. ‘Speak to us of this delightful creature, this royal sister of such rare note. Give us your judgement on her beauty and her nature.’ A roar of approval went up and there was much banging of tankards and spilling of ale.
Kert watched his rival stand, hating him the more for his show of humility.
‘I cannot help but speak her fair,’ Talis said, a small frown on his brow — an affectation, Kert was sure. ‘The White Princess is her mother reborn. Her face and form are so precise a match as to confuse all who meet her.’ A hush fell over the revellers at this reminder of the Queen they had lost. ‘As for her nature …’ Talis pretended to contemplate his next words carefully and all hung on his utterances, save the King who had begun to smile. ‘What can I say but that she is her brother’s sister?’ He nodded to his King. ‘And as such tolerates no fools …’ Here Talis glanced at Pagan, giving the boy to blush and the company to grow rowdy in conjecture, ‘… yet her heart is brave, and as pure as the most honourable warrior among us. Her return to Ennae is surely a gift to us all.’
Talis resumed his seat to calls of ‘Well said!’ and ‘Well spoken, Champion!’ Only Kert remained silent, watching his enemy bask in the congratulations of his peers.
When finally Kert could bear no more, he said to Talis, ‘I hear tale of a deadly confrontation with the Plainsmen. Lives were lost to save our Princess from harm.’
‘This much is true,’ Talis acknowledged. ‘Three of our warriors were laid to rest at the Shrine. We left two score of Plainsmen slaughtered.’
The King spoke at this. ‘We mourn the three lost, yet the life of the White Princess is worthy of the sacrifice.’
‘Indeed, Your Majesty,’ Kert said, but added to Talis, ‘And was it Noorinya of the Plainsmen who held you captive and threatened the life of the White Princess? The same Noorinya whom I had at sword-point not six months ago? And whom you saw fit to release?’
Talis said nothing and Kert let the silence damn him. ‘But for an uncle’s intervention,’ Kert gestured to Laroque, ‘the Champion’s own life and perhaps that of our newfound Princess would have been lost.’
The King frowned at this, his humour fast disappearing. ‘Talis has proven his valour to us. What grudge is this, Sh’hale?’
‘Not grudge, my liege’ Kert lied. ‘I question the carelessness of your Champion for a purpose.’ He stood and waited until all eyes were upon him before he announced, ‘Should the life of Talis of the House of Guardians be lost, I would claim his betrothed, Lae of Be’uccdha, to wife’
Gasps rose around the table and Talis surged to his feet. ‘You will not!’
Kert hid his smile by bowing to his King, then he lifted his head. ‘I proclaim at this gathering of the great Houses my solemn intention to keep Lae of Be’uccdha from widowhood … unless another of the Guardian house lays claim …’ Pagan’s emphatic head-shaking was evidence enough of his intentions, ‘… as is their right.’
‘My Lord and King,’ Talis said, his voice low and urgent. ‘Sh’hale seeks only to anger me. He holds no love for Lae.’
Mihale stood and raised a hand. Silence fell around the table as he laid his hard gaze on Kert. ‘You are permitted to do this by law, Sh’hale, yet should you make this pledge, you may take no other woman to wife while our lady of Be’uccdha lives.’
‘Lae is the only wife I desire, my liege,’ Kert replied, feigning humility. ‘I do but proclaim my intention to wait until she is available to me’
Silenced by his King, Talis could only glare, and Kert felt satisfaction sing so sweetly inside himself it was almost an ache. The Champion would learn that to thwart the desires of a son of Sh’hale was to court suffering. It was a calculated risk. Kert did not want to anger the King as he hoped one day to be his Champion, taking that honour from his enemy as well.
Exactly as Kert had hoped, the King frowned more in irritation than anger, and that frown did not dissipate when he returned his attention to his Champion. ‘Sh’hale’s claim is valid and in no way negates your own betrothal,’ Mihale said. ‘But if you should die and none of your house claim Lae, she may marry Sh’hale’
Talis nodded to his King and sat, yet his eyes never left the target of his hatred.
Kert allowed himself a smile. ‘She will not find my suit unpleasant, Sire,’ he said.
Barrion of Verdan, who had clearly heard enough, growled, ‘Pah. Talis will live to a hundred!’ and was joined in shouts of encouragement from his peers. Ale flowed again and the matter was laid to rest, except that Kert and Talis did not say another word.
Finally the King rose and bade his revellers good night, warning that they would need sleep before the banqueting revels of a new day were upon them. As duty demanded, his Champion accompanied the King, sparing a last glare for Kert.
In their absence, Barrion leant across the table. ‘Poke a fire with your finger, Sh’hale, and I’ll warrant you’ll be burned,’ he said.
Kert gave glance but no reply.
Barrion merely smiled at this. ‘Do you think this talk of betrothal wounds only the Champion?’
Unease, like nettle, prickled down Kert’s spine. ‘I will have Lae,’ he said quietly, ‘and it pleases me for the Champion to know it. There is no mystery —’
‘I see another target for your ill-conceived spite, Sh’hale,’ Barrion leant
closer still, and within his large, wild-haired head, his knowing eyes glittered. ‘And if I see your plans, boy, be assured, so will he.’
Kert planned only the downfall of Talis the Guardian, but if The Dark had discerned his father’s clumsy plans against the throne, would he think that Kert intended to pursue them?
‘My plans are not your concern,’ Kert snapped, but inside himself fear had awoken. ‘My deeds do nothing to imbalance our world towards evil —’
‘He may be The Dark,’ Verdan said quietly, ‘But he is also a father.’
‘No blackness will come as a result of my actions.’
Verdan smiled. ‘What a pity. If you were made to sacrifice yourself in the Volcastle flames it would end the woes of many at court.’
‘Do you threaten me, Verdan?’ Kert’s hand dropped to his sword. ‘Would you have me call you out?’ The fool would be dead in a minute. Kert had no doubt of his superiority with a sword.
Disarmingly, Barrion leant back and laughed. ‘Your father was wrong about you, Kert,’ he said smiling. ‘You do have a sense of humour.’ And with that he shook his head and rose from the table. The others took his lead and soon Kert was alone with only the stupid Guardian Pagan, and the flickering torches above them.
‘Do you mean to marry Lae in truth?’ Pagan asked, half a joke.
Kert glanced at him. ‘If she will have me,’ he replied.
Pagan shook his head, his gaze distant. ‘Can I not see clearly? My cousin and now my best friend choose Lae above all others.’ His wide eyes rose to Kert’s. ‘Yet for myself, I find no beauty, no womanly charms in her to tempt me to anything but frustration and anger. To me she is a shrew and yet to you —’
‘She is a possession I covet and will one day own.’
Pagan frowned. ‘I must see this paragon again when she arrives and look at her anew.’
‘Do that, friend,’ Kert said. ‘But do not touch her, for she will be a virgin when she lies in my bed.’ And thus he took leave of Pagan, letting the apprentice make of that statement what he willed.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Khatrene woke to the sound of someone knocking on her door, an insistent sound, as though it had been going on for some time. She lay quiet in the bed a moment listening, orienting herself in the strange room. Her room. In the Volcastle.
Last night she’d made good use of the bathroom in her suite, soaking away the grime from her journey while trying to ignore the maids fluttering around her. Then she’d returned here, to her bedchamber where the smooth timber of her elegantly carved furniture was a darker honey than the bathroom marble and contrasted nicely with the beige stone walls. Wide flat vases filled with yellow flowers were spaced along those walls and their scent, like hot popcorn, had overwhelmed her at first, but she’d grown accustomed to it and even thought she might remember it. Between the vases were pictures she had apparently drawn as a child. Elaborately framed, they looked like charcoal sketches, and with a thrill she’d recognised one as the tattooed man.
The knocking came again and Khatrene tried to rouse herself.
It was odd to wake up and not find Talis near. After only a week of his presence she’d grown used to him. The other strange sensation was waking up in comfort.
She stretched and sat up, glancing around the room. All but two of the candles had gone out and the fire burned low. It was darker than when she’d fallen asleep. Was it still night?
‘My Lady. Please open the door,’ came a soft female voice. Khatrene thought it sounded familiar. She stumbled for the door, glad of the thick rugs that protected her bare feet from the stone floor.
‘Who is it?’ she called, her hand on the latch.
‘My Lady, it is I, Ghett, come to prepare you for the banquet.’
‘Sorry.’ Khatrene lifted the latch and pulled the door open, surprised to see not only Ghett, who had introduced herself the previous night as Khatrene’s first maid, but an entourage of women with bundles in their arms. ‘Is it morning?’ she asked, stepping back to let them troop in.
‘My Lady, ’tis well past porridge-time and nearer to midday,’ Ghett replied in a smooth contralto that seemed too mature for her age. Her skin was like the creamy lattes Khatrene had grown addicted to, caffeine being the only drug she’d managed to sample in Magoria, and her eyes were like warm amber. Ghett had revealed that she was Be’uccdha born, to explain her dark colouring, and Khatrene was pleased to discover that not all Be’uccdha women were obnoxious.
‘Shall we see to your bath?’ Ghett gestured to the lesser maids who spread out across the room, laying out clothes, stoking the fire, replacing her flowers.
‘A bath? Sure. But can we get a little sunshine in here first?’ Khatrene glanced at the wall-hangings across from the door which she assumed hid a window. She’d deliberately not looked the previous night, still uncomfortable with the thought of that starless sky.
‘My Lady, we must not,’ Ghett said and Khatrene turned back to face her.
‘Must not … what?’
‘Admit the sunlight. The King has forbidden it.’
Around them the maids went quiet and Khatrene felt fingers of apprehension creep up her spine. ‘My brother, Mihale, has told you I must not have sunlight in my room?’ Khatrene wanted to be absolutely sure.
‘My Lady, yes. This instruction passed from the King’s own lips. Your Champion Talis was at his side.’
‘I see.’ Khatrene turned away to gaze blindly at the gown which had been laid out on her bed. ‘No sunlight,’ she said quietly, but inside she felt far from quiet.
‘I will run your bath, My Lady,’ Ghett said softly.
Khatrene nodded and continued staring at the gown, telling herself it had to be some matter of security. Because if it wasn’t, if Mihale thought he could not only choose her a husband, but tell her when she was allowed to open her own window, they were going to have a serious argument today. Serious.
In the hour that followed she said nothing to her maids and nothing was asked of her, save basic instructions; ‘If you would turn this way, My Lady’ and ‘Raise your foot if you please, My Lady’.
Eventually they finished fussing and Khatrene stood in front of the glass.
‘The White Princess,’ Ghett said softly as they both looked at her reflection.
Khatrene nodded. Her fingers trembled as they smoothed down the front of her firm bodice, then floated over the swell of skirt that fell from her waist. A gossamer construction of translucent fabrics layered over each other, the finished product was almost white, and so dazzlingly beautiful she couldn’t stop looking at herself.
‘The spirits of Atheyre would not shine as brightly,’ Ghett said.
Khatrene’s smile was shaky. ‘I’m no angel, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ She’d never seen herself looking like this. Radiant. Like a real princess. It frightened her. ‘Am I ready?’ she asked.
Ghett fixed a circlet of beaten gold flowers on her loose hair. ‘Almost, My Lady,’ she replied, adjusting the strands of hair around her face and then dabbing another layer of colour onto her Princess’s lips. ‘It is time to join your brother in the Great Hall.’
Khatrene stared at herself a moment longer. I look like a sacrificial virgin. There was more to this birthday party than Mihale had said. She could sense it in the nervous glances the maids shot each other.
She turned to Ghett. ‘Let’s go.’
Ghett smiled in return, her teeth dazzlingly white and pointed, like a kitten’s. ‘By all means, let us join
with the King.’
*
Talis stood beside Mihale, the formal uniform of his House sitting strangely on his body after weeks of loose battle-dress. They stood outside the entrance to the Great Hall where representatives from the Houses of Ennae waited in their finery, the murmur of their voices subdued. Knowledge of the White Princess’s presence was widespread, yet they, like Talis, sensed more to this celebration than lifeday revels.
Talis glanced sideways at his King who was all in gold, just as he had been for his sister’s arrival, though Talis doubted she saw his finery in her haste to crush her brother’s ribs. He had thought her comment about hugging him hard was a jest when he’d heard it in the forest but he saw the truth in it when the two met. And such was her happiness that he could not long feel jealous of the brother whose right of birth gave him permission to hold her close.
‘Khatrene can only be moments away,’ Mihale said, and then he frowned. ‘In another life, in another world, I would care nothing for the portents you have given me and live only for the joy of having her close, the half that I had lost.’ Talis nodded, knowing his heart followed his King’s. ‘But this is not Magoria, and if your eyes have seen the truth and my sister is The Light, her destiny is fixed. I cannot change her path without bringing chaos and ruin to the Four Worlds.’
Talis sensed the influence of The Dark in this speech yet he felt no reassurance. He could not think of The Dark now without remembering his Princess’s memory and wondering at its origin.
‘Look now,’ Mihale breathed. ‘She comes.’
Talis turned and out of the shadows of the curtained hallway a faint swishing echoed towards them as a group of maids dressed in the flat tan of Volcastle servants approached. Within their midst glimmered a pale jewel.
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