Trinian departed the room to bring Adlena to them, and Cila called after him to fetch the servants as well. But while he was fetching the servants, his wife came down without being summoned and preceded her husband, cautiously watching what looked to her as a large group in the kitchen.
Asbult noticed her first. “I think we are being watched.”
She came into the full light of the kitchen and curtsied. “I am Adlena.”
Asbult and Afias smiled - Asbult’s was large with his teeth displayed, and Afias’s was gentle, more with his eyes than mouth.
“I am Afias. Welcome to our home and to our family. This is Asbult, Cila’s husband.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear,” Asbult came forward with an easy charm and bowed to Adlena. “Please sit down.” And Cila felt a spark of pride in her men.
As Adlena came forward with a regal gesture that she neither feigned nor assumed, she slipped into the seat at the head of the table, which prompted Cila to look uncertainly at Afias, but he accepted it and took his own place opposite, and they all resumed their chairs as Trinian and the servants joined them.
It was a pleasant, lively meal – any dinner with Asbult could not help but be so, and he and Lela, the family’s life-long maid, kept up lively banter at each other. She had lived with the Nian family since before Trinian was born, and she dearly loved to tease and be teased, and Asbult liked to oblige her.
“Had any gentleman callers lately, Lela?”
“Now you impertinent boy, you know I only ever had eyes for one man,” she lectured comfortably.
“Me, you mean?”
“Well I never! The idea—,” for a moment she only sputtered, lost for words. “That tongue is gonna land you in a heap of trouble one day,” she wagged a finger as she ripped through her bread with her toothless gums.
“You mean it’s not true?” her antagonist cried in mortal agony. “You’ve been playing with me, old woman—leading me on.”
“Don’t say what you don’t mean. Bad for the liver to tell a lie.”
“Yes,” he nodded soberly, “livers should never tell lies.”
“Ach!” she shrieked at him. “Don’t twist my words!”
Through it all, Cila noted with pleasure that although Adlena remained silent and somewhat surprised all the while, she seemed to find some comfort at the lively table.
12
Royal Revelation
Afias was reading from a ledger, and taking down notes on a pad at his elbow, when Trinian came into his study after dinner.
“The farm is running well?” asked the elder brother of the younger.
“That’s an odd question,” said Afias without looking up.
“Odd?”
“From you. I’m sure you do not want to talk about the farm – you never have before.”
Trinian did not answer. He paced through the study, running his hands along the oak shelves and leather-bound books. There was an intricately carved garanx bird on the round sidetable beside the fire-place that glinted in the candlelight. Trinian had always felt drawn to this treasure of his father’s, and that connection was now strengthened after his own encounter with one of the regal creatures. The statue seemed poised to rise up into the air, with its beak pointed toward the sun. In perfectly suspended animation, it now seemed an allegory to his own life.
“Will you stop a moment? I have to talk to you about something.”
The scratching of the pen paused and Afias looked up. “Is something the matter?”
“Not exactly. In a way. I have to tell you…I have to tell you what happened when I traveled with Lady Adrea during the height of the plague.”
“Is this political or personal?”
Trinian sighed, smiled, and sighed again in surrender. “Both: it is greater than that. It is beyond us, and yet it is us. There is so much to tell, and I know not what affects us or how. I thought I knew who I was before I left Drian, and then I was rewritten. After that, I thought I had figured it out, but now I am back here, and I am the same as I ever was. It is as if nothing has changed.”
“Marriage changes you. Mother used to say that.”
“I am not talking about my marriage. But, I suppose, I am. I had not thought about it. Afias,” Trinian came and sat in the chair beside his brother. The younger turned so that they sat knee to knee, and Trinian leaned forward. “I am the lost heir to Drian.”
Afias blinked. He sat a long moment staring at his brother, Trinian watching him excitedly, and finally, the farmer sat back and put his chin in his hand.
“You just said it. No build-up, no preparation, just – said it. What does it mean?”
The restlessness stirring Trinian’s soul forced him to jump up and pace the room again. Now that the terrible truth lay before them in all its glory, he laughed.
“Mean? I know not. But it means something.”
“You are giddy.”
“And you’re not?”
“I am just surprised. You have had time to think about it.”
“Yes,” Trinian nodded. “Almost a year, and I thought I understood – I thought I knew what it meant. But…”
“But there is no way to know,” his brother supplemented moodily. “You must just live it.”
“And you, and our sisters, and my wife: we will all change. It must be so.”
Afias sighed deeply and stirred. “Tell me everything. Start at the beginning.”
Trinian told all. He related the dream that led him and Lady Adrea to Gladier, the history of Drian’s lost kings, of the nightly capture and dark encounter with the god… and finally, of Gladier’s words when he returned from the muddy land.
“He said that only the descendent of Adalam would be able to stand before the god and not die. And the deity himself said something to that effect. All we could do was wait and study, trying to search out the secrets of the past. But they were too deeply buried…” He did not tell of the Relics, for that was a sacred secret, and Gladier had told him to say nothing except to the stewards, for fear it should be taken in too cavalier a light. “For,” Gladier had told him, “it is a proof only to those who have touched it themselves, and understand its significance. Such knowledge is not for every man to possess.”
“But Gladier told me of a prophetess,” Trinian went on, for this he could tell. “A woman gifted with inner sight, who could affirm or deny who I truly was. He set out to find her, but I found her first.” Then he told everything about Adlena, all that he knew, and Afias still sat silent, listening carefully.
“I am the lost king, and I have returned to Drian to step into the throne and reign over the world. It is not my choice – but my destiny.”
Afias said nothing, but Trinian saw the war of pain and agony that raged behind his eyes. His brother loved his home, his fields, and his tenants, and he had wrapped everything he was into them. But he loved duty and brother more and so, as was his habit, he did not voice his own turmoil. Slowly, with unuttered pain, Trinian saw him relinquish all his deep attachments. Afias looked up at his brother with emptied eyes.
“If you are the king, then I am a prince, and I will follow you.”
* * *
Adlena noted with concern when Trinian and Afias emerged from the study, and she left the table where she had been sitting with Cila and Asbult.
“You told him?” she asked.
“Yes, and now I must tell everyone else.” His eyes were sad and his color pale, and she realized, with a start, that this was difficult for him. He had always seemed happy before – about being king, about his future – but now she wondered if he was rethinking that happiness. She wanted to ask him if that were the case, but then decided he would speak if he wanted to talk about it. With her limited experience of the world, she had yet to learn that the penetration of a woman often runs deeper even than a man’s penetration of his own feelings.
Afias led the way to the parlor and gathered the family together, sending Jeroe to fetch Lavendier from the ne
arest tavern. They sat each at their own private activity, Trinian brooding in a chair in the corner, holding Adlena’s hand, and a half hour later Lavendier came home grumbling and bitter. But even she could feel the tension in the room, and expecting something either scandalous or calamitous, she sat down with the eager heart of one who loves to gloat over the troubles of others.
Then Trinian told them all.
The variety of reactions would astound even the most studious of character observers: Lavendier, with a frightening light in her eyes, glowed with happiness and clapped her hands; Cila clutched the wood of her chair and her face became gray and cold; Asbult laughed, sobered, and laughed again. Adlena, hardly a student of humanity, was frightened by Asbult’s loud, guttural laughs, Lavendier’s wild happiness, and Cila’s sudden alteration. Filled still with the gratitude of Cila’s comfort, she rose and bent over her pale new sister-in-law, trying to repay the debt by laying her hand on her tense arm; at the kind touch, Cila relaxed into her, and melted into tears.
“And what is there to cry about?” demanded Lavendier. “You just received the best news of your entire life: act like it. Afias, when can we sell the farm? Or perhaps we can renovate it, set it up as a summer retreat – a private place to get away once in awhile with a few friends. After all, court life might get dull after a few years.” She laughed brightly. “I can just see myself telling my friends that palace life has its charm, to be sure, but the country is really so quaint, one must visit it every now and again! Trinian, we will live in Korem? When do we go? Tomorrow?”
“What does this mean for the army?” asked Asbult, who was all at once thoughtful, distracted, and excited. “You will be the head, and we have not had one in – well, I suppose, hundreds of years. Not a proper one. Only the Head General. Do we just pick up where they left off then? How do we do that?”
“Why worry about it? We can do whatever we want!”
Afias’ deep voice checked his sister sternly. “No, Lavendier, we cannot. This is not a new-found freedom, it’s a responsibility.”
Trinian nodded. “Astren expects me at the Palace tomorrow. You will all accompany me to meet him.”
Cila grew quieter and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to her new sister, “I do not know if I’m happy or sad, and I do not know why I’m crying. It is such a strange, new idea.”
“Trinian,” Asbult went over to Afias and the new king, lowering his voice a bit, but they could all still hear. “What of this god of Karaka who kidnapped you? He cannot be content with the end of your meeting. He will return for you.”
“Yes, I fear that as well. It is another thing that weighs on me. Why does he want my birth-right? Does he really seek to leave Karaka, and rule here as well?” All grew sober (even Lavendier was quiet, although only because she was planning her new wardrobe), as they silently questioned whether any of them could stand against a god who came to claim their world. The three men looked upon the women in their care, and Adlena felt Trinian’s eyes burn into her. She tightened her hold on Cila.
13
Displaced in Luxury
Adrea stood royally upon the steps of Drian. Trinian had sent her a message from the farm of his return, and her heart beat wildly as she waited to receive him; formally, this time: as her king.
For once, she wore more than her simple, practical clothes; now a long, velvet black gown, with a fearsome, diamond-crusted train, wrapped her in drooping folds; upon her head sat a simple diamond barrette amongst her piles of black, shining hair, as if to highlight, with humility, that she would never wear a crown; and long, white satin gloves and satin slippers encased her hands and feet. She seldom dressed for her station, being possessed of a simplicity-loving personality, but when etiquette demanded the sacrifice of her, she followed proper protocol to the letter. And she, who commanded garrisons of soldiers and retinues of servants in nothing but a frock and an apron, looked just as formidable in this dazzling, cumbersome raiment.
With concealed impatience, she caught sight of Trinian’s group advancing, on foot, up the hill from the direction of the sprawling estates. A man with golden hair led them, and she watched intently until she saw the familiar blue shine in his eyes. Beside him strode a woman of unbelievable beauty, and Adrea was captivated by her, as one might be by the brilliance of the night sky. Her every step seemed like a cloud drifting low across the earth, and she had an other-worldly air about her. Her hair was dark, with tight, ringleted curls half pulled back from her face, and a string of pearls woven through as a headband. Her skin glistened like starlight on a stream, and Adrea had to wrench her eyes away to look at the rest of the group.
There were two other men, and one she knew immediately as Trinian’s brother. He was darker and slightly smaller than Trinian, but still with strong arms and a handsome face that bore the same family features as the king. Perhaps even a little more handsome, for it was a softer, more sensitive face.
The other man was very different, with a wiry build and brilliant red hair that fell unkempt about his forehead. He had a pleasant, open face and even from this distance, she saw that he was talking and laughing loudly. She decided that she liked the look of him, so far ignorant of her inner mind as to be unaware that she made this judgment based on the fact that he was not handsome.
Escorted by the red-haired man, with her arm nestled comfortably in his elbow, walked a small woman with light hair and light features, who walked quietly as if she did not wish to be noticed.
But the third woman, the last of the group, most certainly did. She stalked ahead, unescorted, nearly beside Trinian, but just enough behind to avoid looking like she belonged to him. In a way, she seemed at first glance to be as beautiful as the woman Trinian led, the one reminiscent of a night sky, but Adrea frowned. They were almost close enough for her ladyship to descend to them, and she could see the expression on this young woman’s face with utter clarity. She was a raging fire, and reminded one of a beautiful volcano. Her hair was perfect, in brown, chestnut waves that caught the morning light and shone to perfection; her face was perfect also, but falsely so, done up with such an excess of makeup that she looked like a girl you would meet in the streets at midnight. And while they had all clearly dressed for the occasion, her gown was extravagant, and one to rival Adrea’s. It plunged in the front, draped in the back, slit along her arms, and pulled in roughly at the waist. Large, fake, fabric flowers cascaded down from one shoulder to the opposite hem like a waterfall. Whoever this girl was, she was hidden behind cleavage and rouge, and Adrea, with her typical quick-judgment, hated her.
They were here, and she descended to them. She approached Trinian and kissed his cheek in greeting. He kissed her as well, and she thrilled at his touch. “Lady Adrea,” he said, using the formality they had long ago dropped in deference to the occasion, “allow me to introduce my wife, Adlena.”
For an instant, the sky and earth whirled around the Lady of Drian. She knew all at once that this was why he had returned to Gladier’s, why he had remained absent for two months, and why he had never said anything to her when she had hoped he might. And before the thoughts were half-realized, she took Adlena’s hand in hers, curtsied deeply, and kissed it.
Then he introduced his family one by one, and she turned intently to the task of listening. She heard each name, and knew it perfectly forever after that, allowing the memorization of their names to replace any thoughts in her head of her inner turmoil. She was a perfect Lady of Drian.
Then she led them through the high arching columns of Korem, and the country residents, though they had been well-off in their own sphere, gazed in awe at the three-story ceilings, the corner gardens with bubbling fountains, the soft curtains instead of doors, and the natural, simple flow of extravagance, which was beyond any richness they had ever known. Though the palace had stood for five hundred years, yet still it maintained its original splendor, and the jewel of the entire structure was the throne room, where she led them at last.
When the two guards on either side of the grand iron doors pushed them open, the group caught its breath. The throne room’s long roof was formed of pure crystal and it fractured the streaming light of the sun like a diamond. Supporting it were double layers of marble pillars, carved into the breathing shapes of men out of Drian’s past. In the very center sat the great throne of the king. Above it, a canopy of intricate gold design wove in and out of a crystal dome that, in daytime, focused the sun’s light through the crystal roof. While diffusing the heat, it directed its beams in a glow upon the throne, and everywhere else was veiled in shadow.
At the head of the ebony table, in a seat below the throne, presided her father, the steward of Drian, who rose as they entered, his long gray robes sweeping the floor.
“Your majesties.” He bowed and his daughter followed suit. The Nians stood uncomfortably, unsure if they should bow back. A few of them did. Astren gestured to the long table and the throne. “Come forward, and do not be afraid. For the first time in your lives, you shall sit in your rightful seats.”
Before they could move, Lord Ferand rose, a tall, thin figure in the shadows.
“We are the council of Drian,” said Ferand, “the advisors to the king and steward. But we are only a portion of those who ought to sit at the table. Here,” he indicated empty seats, “is where the royal family sits.”
There was a specific place for each member, kept waiting and empty for centuries, until the king’s return. Adlena sat at the top, just below Astren. Lavendier sat after the third council member on the left, and Afias after the third member on the right. Cila sat below Lavendier, and Asbult was below her. The seat after Afias was empty, reserved for Viol, but she was still in the outer farmlands of Drian. After that, there were still several empty seats to accommodate the royal family and council through later generations, no matter what their size
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