Within the first year of marriage, Adlena gave birth to a son. Prince Jacian had the bright eyes and high brow of his father, and the dark, curling locks of his mother; the vivacious energy of the king, and the sensitive soul of the queen; and he was the pride and darling of the kingdom.
King Trinian, under the tutelage of Lord Astren, settled into a routine. He spent most of his days in the throne room, satisfying Astren’s demands by listening to the needs of the people and learning the details of legal proceedings. Two days of the week, however, much to Astren’s disapproval, he spent in company with the army. It was the only matter which Trinian adamantly insisted upon, and where he put forth his kingly right to demand. He was in his heart, and had always been, a soldier: whether in the throne room or bed at night, his mind was always in the barracks, his hand on the hilt of his sword, and his muscles taut to defend his city. To strengthen himself against Astren’s arguments, he kept in mind the fate of King Ronarge, who had allowed the army to grow lax and lazy, and he reminded himself ever of his encounter with the natural god of Karaka, and Viol’s enchantment under the natural goddess Strana. No matter what Astren and the council thought or said of his proper roles and responsibilities, Trinian repeated to himself that the security of Drian rested on his shoulders, and he must and would remain ever vigilant.
***
Meanwhile, Power was full of pride.
He never imagined that a mere man, king or not, could challenge or defeat him. By killing the heir of Adalam – the king meant to return at the end of the ages – he would have effectively destroyed the only remaining prophecy that threatened to keep him from ruling all of Minecerva, and preventing the return of the Golden King. He would kill the man, kill his relatives, and with the army he had forged for over three hundred years, he would conquer Drian unhindered. He would transform it into his own stronghold, and live in glory for eternity.
So when, to his astonishment, he did not kill Trinian, Power panicked. Now he could be defeated, for he knew the prophecy of Mercy. But he would not wait to be marched upon and driven from his home by mere mortal men. No, he would march over the whole of Minecerva and invade Drian. And though he could not travel there himself, hindered by the hateful Rordan, he could send forth his army. Time was running out, and the Golden King’s approach was a distant light growing every larger, threatening to consume him and shed brightness into the darkest corners of his realm. The other gods did not seem to care about His advent, but he did. He, at least, would push against the tide.
And so Power, in the eleventh hour and ninety-fifth minute, gathered together his dark forces, turned his soul to conquering by brute force, and called Kellan to his presence.
Unlike the vastness of the rest of the room, where Power’s secretary sat like a white specter at his desk, the back corner where Power received Kellan was dark and hazy, filled with sumptuous, harsh luxuries. The large metal table was hard and flat with sharp corners, embedded in the soft mud floor. There were no chairs – only black lumps bubbling out of the walls that had hardened into benches. A massive fireplace that forever burned two-stories-high blazed against the back wall, casting a stark amber glow into the shadows.
But Kellan took note of none of it. He, a gorgan from another land, lived in a reality entirely clouded by rage and pain so that he did not notice any difference between light and dark, supple and sharp, translucent and murky, and his overriding fear of Power was the only restraining influence on his harsh passions.
Kellan hailed from a land far beyond Minecerva. A place of fire and ice. He had been stolen away by Power when he was just an infant, and brought to this temperate land that was like hell to him. Used to regulating itself by jumping from one extreme to the other, his body did not know how to adjust and he had grown up in agonizing, unending pain. He was a large beast, with hide like supple rock that shifted about as he moved. His four legs – his long ones in front and his longer ones in back – had long, cruel claws. His iron jaws easily disemboweled their prey, and his teeth were sharp as a jackal’s. Though he could understand it, he had never learned to speak the language of Minecerva, for his throat only formed the grunts and growls of his own people.
It was long ago that Power had set him at the task of spawning more creatures like himself, rearing them to serve as a fierce and mindless army; and now, from beneath the oozing, stone-bed mud of Karaka, the long-bred army was about to emerge. After three hundred years in the black bowels of the earth, they would rise up to claim its surface.
Kellan listened to his master’s instructions now, and with a rage for blood pumping in his molten veins, he put in his own conditions for warfare. When Power told him to attack the western cities and bring them under his domain, Kellan demanded that his offspring be allowed to devour the women and children along the way. Power assented. Though not a blood-thirsty god, in his pursuit for glory and conquest, he was happy to feed his hordes.
Slowly, inexorably, with howls of pain and agony, Kellan’s gorgans swept into the eastern wilds of Mestraff, making their way systematically, ravenously, southeast to the sea ports.
* * *
Although the largest landmass in Minecerva, this country of Mestraff was made up of the smallest population, providing little and scanty bits of food to the savage hunters. Small villages scattered about heavily wooded forests were made up of self-sustaining, autonomous communities, where farmers, hunters and artisans lived in each village. These people were governed by no overarching government, and only interacted with each other for the purposes of trade, collaborating knowledge, and giving in marriage. It was a serene country with no army, dedicated to learning, wisdom, and peace. Lately, that peace had flowered on uninterrupted since they – unlike Drian – had not been victims to Famine, Death, and Despair in the past century. But now their time of trial had come, and it was to this unsuspecting world that the blood-thirsty creatures descended.
Any highways between Drian and Mestraff had long since fallen into disrepair, and communication between countries was often delayed and unreliable, so when the beasts destroyed the scattered villages, defeated the makeshift armies of the local farmers, and devoured the women and children, the news did not reach Drian until the army was half-way across the country.
19
Princess Lavendier
Lavendier glided through the elaborate hallways of Korem in her resplendent, purple satin gown tailored to her tall height, round curves, and full bust, well-contented with herself on her mission for companionship. In these large halls, flowering gardens, and hidden servant rooms, there was always someone to uncover and wrangle back to her quarters.
As soon as Lavendier had seen the living chambers fitted out especially for her – a sumptuous three room suite – she had swept inside and reigned over it like a queen. She threw galas in the high-ceilinged first room with its chandeliers and massive fireplace, luncheons in the garden room with walls built of windows, and soirees with numerous men in the dark, lush, sumptuous bedroom. But as much as she gloried in spending time in her own apartment, her heart thrilled to sit in the throne room at the long table and observe matters of state. She always watched eagerly for any young men who entered the chamber, yearning ever to be admired and have them in her power. Decked out in all her finery, with her shining curls woven luxuriously around her head; her fair, golden neck graceful above her sloping shoulders; her eyes more green than a summer lawn in July, she presented a perfect portrait.
One man had once whispered in her ear – and she firmly believed it – that the gods had appointed Trinian as king in acknowledgement of her beauty.
Now she floated meticulously along the hallways – conscious that she might always encounter an admirer– and arrived two hours into the royal hearing. The two guards pushed open the oak doors for her, and she entered with a rustle that caused everyone to turn their heads. She smiled and nodded, allowing one of the handsome pages to pull her seat out for her.
“Please continue, General,” said
Trinian, glancing dismissively away from her intrusive activity.
“Your Majesty, the reports are only scattered and contradictory. The inhabitants of the Mestraff forests live in great fear, that is certain; but what they fear – of this, we are less sure.”
Lavendier met the eyes of one of the young soldiers standing behind General Cartnol and gave him her slow, red smile. He flushed and ducked his head, but continued to glance at her throughout the meeting.
“What do you advise?” asked the king.
“Send our own scouts, sire. We cannot rely on the scattered reports of the wild men who live there. They have no cities or government – only a single military fort on the far side of the Rordan, and we will want to know what is happening before the danger gets that far.”
Lavendier had no idea of geography, for she had never cared to learn. She was growing bored with this talk of cities and wildmen, but she kept her perfect poise at the table and ran her eyes languidly over the extent of the room. Through one of the side doors, she caught sight of her sister Viol slipping quietly inside and making her way in the shadows to the table. She was accompanied by a tall figure, and Lavendier watched them, hoping to get a good look at his face. It was Garrity, the daring captain who had saved Viol from the witch five years ago, and on recognizing him, her heart skipped a beat and she pulled herself up even straighter. As he led her sister to the table, Lavendier smiled and sighed and used all her feminine charm to get him to look at her, but his attention was completely centered on Viol until he stood to the side to listen to the king’s conference.
She pouted, but did not show it.
Garrity should have been easy prey, but he had long eluded her. His early, almost immediate, connection to her family had presented her with ample opportunity to invite him to parties, dinners, and soirees, but he consistently refused every overture, although he was still great friends with her little sister. And this was more than usually aggravating because he was by far the most magnificent man she had ever seen. He was positively beautiful, like a god, and she had spent many a sleepless night thinking of his strong, supple frame that was tight and soft in all the right places, his skin which glowed with the perfection of a bronze statue, his face with its serious jaw, sad brown eyes, and tantalizing lips.
She saw nothing of his internal struggles or caring nature, for she, spawned from the common brood of humanity to which we all belong, judged all others by her own standards. So in her blindness, she saw only a lovely man consumed with his own consequence, who thought himself too good for the likes of an aspiring princess, who laughed at her in the secret recesses of his heart. Lavendier was jealous of her title, and secretly, did not believe in it. She lived in fear that, with the suddenness by which it had come to her, her new privileges and title would depart one day without warning, and she would be only a simple girl again, without power, prestige, or popularity. Unless she received high praise and flattery from all those around her, she assumed that like herself, they considered her an imposter, pretender, and hypocrite, and she hated them for it, and so there was a strange mixture of hate and desire blended in her for this soldier of godlike beauty.
Trinian’s voice was growing agitated, and now it broke into her thoughts. “I am particularly concerned that Mestraff is so near Karaka. I think these troubles must be arising from there.”
“Your majesty,” said Lord Astren, “we have had no trouble from that quarter for thousands of years. Every state leaves the others alone, and it is how we all like it. No doubt this is some animal gone insane, or new monster risen from the ocean…”
Lavendier was suddenly bored with the debate and, rising with as much rustle as she had entered, she regally exited through the main doors, not noticing the look which Garrity finally sent after her, for he was lowering his brows in contempt as she exited the chamber with her air of puffed-up importance. She swept down the passages, headed for the gardens where she hoped to run into the new apprentice there who had lively green eyes and a quick smile. But as she rounded a corner, she nearly collided with Queen Adlena, who was strolling through the long corridors with her five year old son.
Lavendier sidestepped and caught her footing as lightly as a dancer, whirling so that her skirts flew like the wings of a swan. Adlena merely blushed and stepped back, casting her eyes to the floor.
“Aunt Laven!” her nephew engulfed her silk wrapped legs with his chubby arms and held her tight. She submitted to the affection since it was what she had gone searching for anyhow, though she was not particularly fond of children.
“I’m so sorry,” Adlena tried to pull him away, but Lavendier stopped her with a wave of her hand.
“I will allow it. He is so very affectionate.” She bent down and nuzzled his little neck with her nose and giggled with him. Lavendier knew her sister-in-law was rather afraid of her, but she did not at all mind. Though neither of them knew it, Lavendier was rather afraid of Adlena.
Lavendier released Jacian and thumbed him on the nose. “So what are you up to, Jacquee?”
“Me and mother going for a walk to see father.”
She looked up at the queen. “He seemed very busy,” she commented. “It might be a long meeting.”
Adlena’s fair face, pale with awkward flutterings in her chest, darkened. “Were they discussing anything serious?”
Lavendier shrugged. “It was all very dull. Something about land disputes, I think, but they were making a big deal out of it. Well, I am off to the gardens to smell the roses. Good luck with your walk, my love.” She patted the prince’s head absently before sweeping away down the corridor.
Adlena watched her go for only a brief moment before grabbing her son’s hand in her own and hurrying him on, her heart trembling within her for, ever since their first encounter, Adlena had lived in fear of her sister-in-law, and avoided her whenever possible.
Evil was not a new concept for Adlena. Alone in the forest, with only the innocent animals for company, she had struggled with her own flawed nature, and her mother had instructed her in it thoroughly. She knew she was imperfect, and battled within herself to overcome her vices; sometimes alone, and sometimes with the counsel of her mother and Gladier. But with only this limited experience, she knew nothing but her own sins. She had never imagined that there were other evils lurking in the hearts of men whose bitterness she had yet to taste, and ever since that first meeting, five years ago, in the Nian estate, she had been meeting them in the breasts of her new family. But most terrible of all, she felt these new vices rising in response in her own soul. In terror, she strove to be blind to others’ faults. She wanted only to think of their virtue and goodness, but the more she tried to ignore their sins, the more they blinded her to all else. And Lavendier’s sin was pervasive. Even willing not to use her inner sight had not kept her from seeing the selfishness and caprice in the other girl, and witnessing it in her every look and act. Every conversation between them revealed more evils than Adlena had ever imagined. Vanity took her wholly by surprise, and jealously at another woman’s beauty floored her. Gradually, she realized Lavendier was jealous of many things: of the love of men, of costly, fine clothing, of other women’s boudoirs and wardrobes, of the respect of everyone she met. But what confused the queen to no end was that the princess also seemed full of contempt for these same things: contempt for men and the love they gave, contempt for the quality of anything she bought or owned, contempt for the finery of all fine ladies, and contempt for the opinion of any man or woman. She was never satisfied, never happy, and never stopped smiling, and she was a terrifying conundrum.
20
How to Be a Good King
That evening, the Nian family, now called Nian-Adalam, gathered for dinner in Korem’s long, ornate dining hall. Though they all lived once again under the same roof, and gathered once every week for dinner, they were strangers, and their thoughts and purposes were as concealed from each other as if they all lived a thousand miles apart.
“Are you goi
ng with Garrity to inspect the army camp at Jourinan tomorrow?” Viol asked Afias.
He glanced at the king. “I do not know. I will go wherever I am needed.”
Trinian put a piece of lamb in his mouth. “You can if you like. Did you want to?”
“I want to be where I can be of service.”
“Then it is your choice. You will be of service either place. If you stay I will have the benefit of your counsel tomorrow, and if you go, then I will hear your assessment of the camp when you return.”
“Then I will stay. My assessment could not improve on Commander Garrity’s, I am sure.”
“Can I go?” Asbult spoke up. “I’d like to learn how to assess an army camp.”
“So would I!” cried Lavendier, and they all looked at her. “An army camp is a very good thing to inspect.”
“Asbult may go, but not Lavendier,” was the king’s verdict.
“Oh, and why can I not? I am the First Princess, after all, ‘Makopola,’ these sorts of things are my duty.” She liked to cast up her duty, along with her special title as oldest princess, when it was convenient, and it would be very convenient for her to be the only woman in a fortress full of young, handsome soldiers.
“Indeed,” agreed Trinian. “And if I see you dutiful, I will send you.”
Lavendier blushed in anger.
“Sire, have you given any thought to my scouting proposal? If you approve, I would like to begin organizing it as soon as possible.” Trinian thankfully turned his eyes from Lavendier to Asbult.
“Where would you plan to go first?”
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