by M. C. Elam
Hawk did not know what all the words of his mother’s stories meant. Some parts of the story blurred, but he remembered the part about the gnomes and the little dwarf and knew that from that time forward all princes of Ascalla gave the pearls to their brides; the line of succession for the Queen’s Pearls was legend.
Hawk’s mother gave the pearls over into his care when he was no more than four. He could still hear her soft voice as she made him promise to save them for his bride. Together they hid the strand safely away inside the frame of the portrait. The Queen's Pearls had passed from mother to son through all the years of reign over Ascalla. The one Hawk chose to wear them would be the next queen. He would place the strand around her neck during their wedding ceremony in the great Cathedral of Ascalla.
He touched their warm, smooth surface and opened the clasp. He removed the joining from one end of the strand and untied the tiny knot that held the last pearl in position. Clumsy fingers made difficult work of the task but, at last, he slipped a single pearl from the silken thread and retied the knot. He replaced the clasp, deposited the strand inside the box and put it back into the frame. From a drawer he took a leather pouch and emptied out a few gold coins. Tonight, for Hawk, the magic was more than tradition. He could feel the pearl pulse as he held it. A halo of light seemed to radiate from its center. Tonight he did believe the pearl was alive.
Getting late, he thought, must hurry. He slipped the pearl inside the leather pouch and placed it into a pocket of his tunic.
7 - The Marriage
Father Wryth waited by the horse rail, his attention focused on the side door through which Hawk had disappeared. A time or two in the past Ian had charged him with a task on behalf of the prince, but the boy had a mind of his own. Hawk would do as Hawk so chose. The boy was like his father, just like his father. A preposterous youth, Ian Hawkins had stormed about making demands that suited his mood. Wryth had to admit that most of them made sense, but he had ignored protocol and enraged his father just as Hawk often enraged him. If discovered still waiting, Ian would likely commence a booming tirade laced with expletives that turned Wryth crimson. He’d go on until he lost his breath and stood panting. Wryth had experience with the king’s outbursts and knew the best option for an early cessation was letting them run their course. From the early days, when they were young men, they had remained constant and loyal friends.
Wryth’s lack of physical activity and taste for strawberry tarts with clotted cream had produced a weighty effect around his middle. His feet hurt, and he leaned against the horse rail. Where was that blasted boy? If he didn’t come soon, he’d have to go looking for him. When the door creaked open and Hawk emerged, Wryth breathed a grateful sigh. The prince didn’t waste a minute.
“I have what I need, Father.”
“Aye, boy, let’s be off, then.”
Wryth lacked ability as an equestrian. Once he pointed the way, he merely set his horse to follow, clamped his hands around the pummel and held on. Through Falmora and out the main gates, they galloped. At the edge of the forest, they reached the crossroads. Here Hawk turned east and took the forest road.
“Prince Hawk, we should be on the southern road toward the Out-Lands,” shouted Father Wryth, but the prince ignored him and sped ahead. Wryth lost sight of him in the darkness, but their destination was no mystery. He knew the young prince sought Evangeline’s cottage.
***
“Evangeline, open the door. Evangeline, wake up.”
She concealed an iron pothook behind her and lifted the crossbar. The thin wrapper she wore did little to conceal her slender form, and she wished she had taken time to slip on something less revealing. The rough timbre of the voice frightened her, but the face that peered through the crack was no villain. She recognized Hawk’s handsome features illuminated by the soft glow of star shine. He pushed past her into the room.
“What’s this?” he said taking note of the pothook. “Was your intent to bludgeon me?”
“You scared me, pounding on the door that way.” She hung the makeshift weapon beside the hearth. “What’s wrong? Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“I must give you something,” he whispered, “and, no, it cannot wait.” He drew her across the room to the fire and sank down upon the fur coverlets piled there. He pulled her down beside him and took a small pouch from his pocket.
“Open your hand, Evangeline.”
She did as he asked, and a single black pearl rolled into her palm.
“Have you heard the story of the Queen's Pearls, Evan?”
“Of course, you told me that story long ago. Everyone in Ascalla knows about the Queen's Pearls though few have seen them and no one knows if the legend is true.”
“The pearls are quite real and you hold one in your hand right now. Let it serve as my commitment to you, Evan. Let it be the token that binds us forever.”
Evangeline looked at the lustrous pearl lying in the palm of her hand. She knew he waited for approval but didn’t know what to say. At last, she turned her eyes up to meet his.
“The pearl is beautiful, Hawk, but why are you giving it to me? Why tonight?”
“Because,” He said, “I am asking you to marry me, right now, tonight. I will not leave here until you are mine. There is no time to read the bans in Falmora Cathedral. Besides, that means days of waiting. I would seal our vows tonight. I have brought you a single pearl from the Queen's Pearls. The rest shall be yours when we wed formally in the Cathedral. But tonight I would seal our vows.”
“We cannot marry here, not now! We cannot marry without a priest. Hawk, we cannot marry at all.”
Hawk stood up and raised her to her feet. In a single stride, he reached the door, jerked it open and pulled her outside behind him into the night air.
“There, Evan. There upon that old nag is a priest of renown.”
Father Wryth jumped and then quickly turned his head away at the sight of Evangeline in the thin wrapper.
“Come down from that horse, Father. You have a marriage to perform.”
Wryth looked astonished. “You cannot be serious, my prince.”
“I am deadly serious. You can marry us and read the bans in secret when you return to the Cathedral.”
“There are papers, Prince Hawk.”
“Haven't you married enough couples to know what the papers say? You can draw them up right here.”
“But your father,” he stuttered, “and the bans by mere definition are not a thing kept secret. They pronounce your intent to wed.”
“Look around, Father. The king is not here. I plan to marry Evangeline. If you will not comply with my wishes I will take her away from Ascalla to a place where someone will marry us without all the problems you and my father create.”
“Think, my lord. She is but seventeen seasons and not of royal blood. In Ascalla a prince may not wed a common born woman.”
“And I am only two years more. Many wed when they reach our age. I dare say many of them by you. Get thee down from that horse, come inside and speak not to me of royal blood if you want to keep your health. Evangeline shivers in the cold.” He eyed her there in the darkness, her slender body silhouetted by the fire coming through the cottage door.
Abruptly Hawk turned and led her back inside the cottage.
“I have brought a priest and my proposal. Will you have me, Evangeline, or will you show me the door once again?”
“What can I say to you, Hawk? My blood is common, and Ascallan law prohibits us from marrying.”
He touched a hand to her lips to silence her. “Common blood, common blood, I won’t hear those words another time tonight.”
She took his hand in her own. “Don’t you see? If I agree and we go ahead, we break the law. I desire you and all that means, but, my sweet love, I cannot marry you. If it is my flesh you desire, the hold we share is unworthy of both of us. My love goes much deeper. Once given, a part of each of us will belong to the other. We have no control over that. Think, ple
ase Hawk. What you propose will change both of us forever. Whatever happens in the future, we can never be as we are at this moment. Desire is fleeting, Hawk. What of us then?”
“Listen to her, my son. She speaks true. Nothing done with such haste is lasting,” said Father Wryth.
Hawk turned from her and strode across the room. “By my life’s breath, what more can I say to make you know I love you? Can you think me so shallow that I crave only the flesh? Evangeline, I love your quick tongue. I love to talk the night away with you beside a fire in the forest. I love to ride across the fields of Ascalla with you beside me. I love the way your eyes look when they gaze into mine. I love your stubborn streak. I desire you in every way.” He turned and faced her. In the firelight, he could see tears streaming down her cheeks.
Behind her, his corpulent figure filling the doorway, stood Father Wryth. A fine portrait we make tonight. Ripe for the wagging tongues of the gossips, thought Wryth, a priest in traveling clothes, a half-dressed woman child and a young man wild with determination. What good could come of this, what possible good?
“Do not deny me this night, Evangeline. Don’t turn me away.”
“You want me to marry you?”
He nodded.
“And lose my friend in the bargain? No, Hawk. I cannot comply. I have dreamed with you about a moment when we might wed, but marriage between us is political treason. We cannot do this.” She turned away from his piercing stare.
His voice was soft now, barely a whisper. “If you refuse, I’ll leave Ascalla for good. I make no idle threat. I’ll turn my horse to the road tonight and never return. I offer you a throne. You speak of treason. You may not know your heritage, but in you, my love, runs the blood of Ascalla. None would deny that or your loyalty. Marry me, or I go tonight and leave Ascalla with no heir.”
Evan looked at Father Wryth. “What should I do, Father. I know not what to do.”
Wryth raised his hands in supplication. “I can’t advise you, Evangeline. I can only say that if you marry Hawk tonight, the Ascallan council will not sanction your union.”
“Stop talking as though I’m not even in the room. I’ll be the law in Ascalla one day, and I’ll put away a council that calls our union false. Isn’t that enough for you? Evan, do you doubt my love? Can you look at me and doubt my love?”
Inside, Evangeline feared what would come, but she could not resist his pleading eyes. She believed that he meant what he said about leaving Ascalla, and she could not let that happen. She had always hoped her wedding day would be a joyous celebration, not like tonight, stolen moments inside a dark cottage in the forest. She did love Hawk. She trusted her heart to know she loved him. She had to trust that marrying him was the right choice. Her eyes sought his and searched their depth. She nodded.
“I will marry you, Hawk.”
After that, everything happened as Hawk directed. Father Wryth wrote the contract, and Hawk and Evangeline signed it to his witness. They knelt in the firelight of the little cottage and pledged their loyalty to Ascalla and each other.
Moments later Hawk ushered the priest outside, closed the door and turned to Evangeline. In a step, he was beside her. He bent his head and brushed her lips with his own. His fingers sought the delicate fastening of her wrapper, grew impatient and pulled the garment over her head. It floated free and settled at her feet.
“Now,” he whispered. “Now”
8 - Betrayed
Evangeline gazed toward the fireplace where dying embers cast a rosy glow across the room. The fire would burn out by dawn unless she added a few blocks of peat. She sat on the edge of the bed, bare legs dangling over the side. A groggy feel of sleep that masked her senses evaporated inside the drafty cottage. In the morning, slivers of daylight would creep through small openings between the logs where constant expansion and contraction left cracks in the chinking. She had meant to make repairs, maybe even teach Hawk how to mix chopped straw with river clay and stuff the holes, but ordinary chores seldom held his interest.
A dull twinge in the private place between her legs made her wince. She was naked and instinctively crossed her arms over her breasts when she stood. Hawk, she thought, but the room was empty. She noted the raised crossbar on the door and went to open it.
“Hawk?” she called.
An orchestra of night sounds greeted her, crickets, cicadas, a tree frog’s chirp. Pines at the forest’s edge sang eerily; their rhythmic chorus caught in the tempo of a slow moving breeze. A hazy fog crept up from the stream and stretched across the clearing. Damp vapor swirled about her feet and licked her claves. It left a clammy residue behind that made her think of the shine-trail slugs made in the garden. She turned and went back inside.
Hawk wouldn’t go without a word. He must have left something behind. Her wrapper lay in a discarded heap on the floor. Last night, in his eagerness, he had torn the shoulder. A note lying on the table, across the room, caught her eye. A small leather pouch rested on top of it. She moved the pouch and picked up the paper. Hawk's large scrawl was unmistakable. The corners of her mouth formed a perplexed frown as she read. She opened the pouch and emptied a black pearl into the palm of her hand. It grew warm and seemed to throb with life. The Queen’s Pearls, she thought, I am holding one of the Queen’s Pearls. She put it back into the pouch, folded Hawk’s note small enough to fit, and tucked it inside as well. She got on her knees and reached for a basket under the bed. It contained supplies for a new leather jerkin. She took a rawhide lacing from the basket, threaded it through the pouch’s drawstrings, tied a secure knot and slipped it over her head.
The fire barely smoldered now, and Evan piled a stack of peat chips over the hot embers. She poked at them with a stick until they flamed. The smell of peat filled the room, a pungent, earthy aroma that Hawk compared to burning dirt. For Evan it conjured a different vision, one of Gram stirring a pot of stew while Marcus, dear Marcus, tamped his pipe before he lit it. It made her think of gingerbread men, beeswax candles and bubbling porridge.
What would come now, Evan wondered and climbed back into bed. She wanted to remember the touch of Hawk’s skin against her own, the curve of his brow, the way his lips looked when he smiled. She wanted to remember the way his arms felt when he held her and the sound of his laughter. But all of her wants lay far from reach. She turned onto her side, pillowed her head on her arm and gripped the coverlet beneath her chin. Tomorrow she must return the pearl, but tonight it belonged to her.
***
Hawk had always told Evan that his father disapproved of women in male attire. Since her riding leathers might displease the king, she dressed in a simple frock and full petticoats, garb unsuitable for riding astride. So she rigged Tommy out in a sidesaddle. He didn’t make the chore easy. Accustomed to something more lightweight, the saddle felt stiff and heavy to him. He kept moving about when she tried to tighten the cinch. A few lumps of sugar and many soft words later, she sat with her knee crooked around the horn. Tommy reared a time or two, and she leaned close and patted his neck.
“I’m not keen on it either, lad, but if it makes the king happy, oblige me just this once.”
The day had dawned bright and sunny; a fine morning for an early ride, but Evan had another agenda. She took the main road through Falmora, left Tommy, in the palace courtyard by the side alcove and approached the entrance.
“Good day, Perry,” she smiled at the young sentry. “I request audience with King Ian.”
“I’ve orders, King Ian be occupied, Miss Evan, and does not want to be disturbed,” said Perry. He wished she wouldn’t look at him that way, like she could see straight past his words and read his mind. His skin turned hot, and he felt little beads of sweat pop on his forehead.
“Are you unwell, Perry?” Something in his response roused an odd kind of suspicion that Ian Hawkins meant to avoid her. Silly to presume so much based on a nervous sentry, she supposed. The king had many duties. Besides, he had no reason to avoid her—at least not yet—not until the
y talked. Still, the way Perry behaved left her unsettled.
“Oh, aye miss, just a bit warm be all.”
She nodded. “Try standing in the shade.”
“Aye, Miss Evan.”
“I’ll be off then.”
“Aye, miss. Fair morn to you.”
On the morning of the second day, Perry averted his eyes in obvious discomfort and mumbled the same response. His expression told the whole story as clearly, as if someone had clouted her with a rock. King Ian had closed the palace to her. An angry grimace marked Evan’s usually sweet expression. She grabbed Tommy’s mane and mounted. He tore through the courtyard gate and onto the main road. Evan was far too angry to give much thought to the sidesaddle when they approached a low hedge. Tommy made it over without mishap, but Evan catapulted from his back and landed with a heap of petticoats billowing over her head, her skirt ripped in a dozen places by the errant branches of a gorse bush. She pulled it loose from the thorns and burst into frustrated tears. In no mood to wrestle with the sidesaddle, she walked the rest of the way home. Tommy followed making small whinny sounds punctuated by snorts.
“He will see me, Tommy. This isn’t over yet.”
Just past noon on the third day, she again approached Perry.
“Fair day to you, Miss Evan,” said Perry.
“Good day, Perry. I would see Knight Marcus.”
“Oh, aye, miss. Knight Marcus drills the garrison troops. Want I should send a runner?”
“No, no. I know my way to the garrison. I trust I am not banned there as well.” Her voice had a crisp, too short, cut that she didn’t mean to level on the young guard.
“Sorry I be Miss Evangeline, about King Ian I mean. If it be up to me, I’d let you pass.”
“Then there is an order to restrict me?”
Perry nodded.
“I thought as much.” She touched his shoulder. “Don’t trouble about it, Perry. I’ve an idea that will soon change.”