Trinian was unmoved by the warning. “With your help, they most certainly can. There must be a side door in the city somewhere – a gate, or an opening in the wall. We have to get one man inside, no matter how difficult, so he can take a message to Prince Asbult.”
“I know of no such opening, sire.”
“Well, I guarantee one of your men will. Ask the youths, one of them will come forward.”
Sure enough two young men, abashed and glowing with the honor of recognition, said that they knew of a fissure in the brick wall, just large enough to crawl through from a house roof, and then drop into a tree below.
“Can you get into the city through it?” Trinian asked them.
“We do it all the time, sire. Just have to climb the tree,” they told him.
“Very well; then that is your mission. You are to get into the city without being seen and take this message to Prince Asbult: “At the third hour of the morning, open Ringwold’s gates and descend, with all able men behind you, upon the army of beasts. Rout them from the front, as we rout them from the sides, and we will send them fleeing into the trees.”
He had them repeat it back three times before they scampered away into the underbrush to find their secret entrance.
“How did you know a youth would have the answer?” Afias asked him.
Trinian smiled. “The young like to run away, even when they are not held captive by anyone. Do you not remember being young?”
“I suppose. But I always liked staying home: I only ran away when you goaded me.”
Trinian grinned at him. “Maybe. But you were stubborn. I could never get you to do anything you did not want to. Admit it: you liked to rebel against convention. And you still do.” When Afias did not answer, Trinian laughed at him, then tramped away to prepare his captains for the morning’s battle.
* * *
The dawn glanced above the pine trees the next morning. And as it rose, it shed its gray light over the open field of Fort Ringwold, with its full clearing of gruesome monsters that gathered before the southern wall. They had been encamped for two weeks, slowly starving the city, and going mad with unrequited hunger, ever more eager for the juicy morsels promised them inside. Even now, in the early hours after the night, they shifted restlessly like one great, black, quivering mass.
On the western side, the dawn’s rays soon discovered Trinian and his men, silent as statues, waiting for the call to fight. Miraculously, as if Fate himself had dictated it, one single ray glanced between two tree tops to reveal King Trinian, as he sat erect on his charger, silent, still, and waiting, in a full glory of a golden beam. Behind him, his men formed a perfect line; they were a stretch of darkness in the shadows of morning, with only a glint here and there when someone shifted his spear. Across the field on the eastern side, shrouded in mist and shadow, silent allies waited; and within the fortress, with its tall brown walls and frightened citizens, a silent city held its breath.
Every whisper of air, every beat of the heart, every heave of each soldier’s breast was sharp, clear, and lasted an eternity in his own ears.
At last it was the third hour, and Trinian nodded to General Phesite, and the large man wound his bugle with a mighty roar. As Trinian charged full force ahead of his men, the glinting spears and the black mass dissolved into each other.
Only vaguely afterwards did Trinian remember meeting his first monster: noting its terrible size, strength, and multitudinous legs, for he was afire with the pounding of battle, and no gruesomeness could put him off from the glory and resolve of the fight.
As through a red mist, he saw his sword slice through the fleshy part of the beast’s neck, right where it met the collarbone. He saw the bright red, searing blood that spurted onto his arm and gave him blisters. He saw that the beast did not fall, but fought on, its neck pierced and spurting blood. And Trinian saw that it was not until he gutted its stomach that it fell to the ground, completely conquered.
After that, he killed them all the same way, hacking off head after head, catching them with his blade before they could fit their teeth into his skin, then stabbing them in the middle. Phesite commented afterwards on the ferocity and single-mindedness of the king’s fight: that it was staggering to see him so unmoved by the beasts’ savagery and failure to die, and he should have been eaten or trampled too many times to count.
Undaunted, the king continued to hack his way through the ranks.
To Trinian, it was no act of heroism; to him, he did his duty, fighting for his people. He had sworn to fight for them, and he would. He was in the fray despite warnings from Steward Asten to remain in Drian, and despite pleas from General Phestite that he stay at camp to coordinate the fight. It was all or nothing now, and he would show no quarter. He was a soldier now, and he would drive the creatures back from the gates of the fortress. He was king, and all others would follow where he led.
He fought into the very center of the horde, and there he came against Afias, who had been fighting to reach him from the other side of the field, and together, side by side and back to back, they drove the monsters into confusion.
Prince Asbult, who had received his brother-in-law’s message, led the charge from inside the city, so that the onslaught from all three sides confused and routed the enemy. To regroup, it wheeled round and fled to the south, pursued with triumphant gusto by the Drinians and Ringwoldians, through the opening Trinian had left in his three-sided attack. The creatures did not run far before they were met and mown down by the Drinian reserves, captained by Garrity, and lying in silent readiness beyond the ridge of the valley. When it was all over, the field was a black mire of dead beasts.
26
How to Be a Good Husband
Mestraff breathed a sigh of relief when the monsters were dead, Drian rejoiced in the victory of their leader, but Trinian himself was more on edge than ever. Though he returned to Drian in triumph, his people rejoicing in his feats, he worked ceaselessly, day and night, telling Adrea and Afias that he was preparing the city for an attack.
“Those gorgans are making their way to us,” he told them. “And we only slowed them down at Ringwold.”
He posted look-outs at the Rordan fort Saskatchan, maintained constant conversation with the governor of Ringwold, and sent out emissaries to all the countries about Drian, warning them of the encroaching danger and requesting that they come to Drian, where, banded together, they could stave off attack. The men and soldiers of Drian were few for an army, too few to defend Drian in a siege. The walls of Drian were large and sturdy, but they sprawled across a great distance, and could not be defended by the small population that now inhabited the city. His best hope lay in South Drian’s support, for they had many men, and with their aid, he hoped to prevent the enemy from ever entering the city. To allow them entrance was to lose the battle.
During the day, he trained with the army. In the early morning hours, he and Garrity could be found in the inner courtyard of the family apartments of Korem, pushing themselves to the limit against one another, battling with sword, javelin, mace, bow and arrows, hand-to-hand, and the long knife. When he finished in the morning, the king supped briefly and answered to court affairs before overseeing the training in the army barracks.
Through it all, Trinian had no idea he was a bad husband, and he remained truly clueless as to Adlena’s inner state. He was so entirely concentrated on being an excellent king that he thought everything else in life would easily fall and lock in place. Of course he loved Adlena – he had done so with a fiery passion since the first moment he laid eyes upon the back of her. He would have been the first to dart to her defense had anyone mistreated or neglected her, but it did not occur to him that having those feelings, and demonstrating them on a day to day basis, were two separate activities. And so the discrepancy between his heart and his actions would have gone unnoticed much longer had his sister not sallied into his throne room one evening to instill some new insights into him.
She came in barefo
oted, aproned, and with her hair piled in a loose bun behind her head, with delicate wisps escaping and framing her face in a floured halo. She was dressed for the kitchen and not the court; a subtle device that delicately suggested home comfort, domestic bliss, and warm food: things she knew her brother often went without.
“I baked pumpkin bread, and wanted to know if you wanted any, or if Adlee had made some recently?”
His mind was bent on the maps before him, and he only glanced up briefly. “I am not sure – you should ask her.”
A flush of anger warmed her face, but she reminded herself that he was a man who did not know what he needed. She said calmly, “You don’t know if you have eaten pumpkin bread recently at home?”
“I eat my meals here – they bring it to me from the royal kitchens. I assume that is what Adlena eats.”
“Oh!” Cila dropped into one of the chairs as if exhausted. “You have been eating alone every day? I could not do that. If I cannot talk to Asbult at the end of each day, I get so moody and peeved.”
Now, while Trinian was unaware of his shortcomings as a husband, he was painfully aware of his shortcomings as a king. Lately, he had noticed with disgust that he was short-tempered, moody, and stressed-out; for this fault, he had berated himself time and again, but since Mestraff, it had only grown worse. And so Cila’s observation struck him deeply, and he looked up at her with interest.
“I can only imagine,” she continued, as if the thought had only just then occurred to her, “how lonely and irritable Adlee must be. Oh, but then,” she corrected herself, “you must have some other way of spending time together. Well, I have to run to finish dinner – Asbult will be home in an hour.” She pecked her brother on the cheek and, leaving behind the wispy scent of nutmeg, disappeared from the cold, hollow, dismal throne room.
With the door shut – the last dull echoes of its closure reverberating from the stone walls – the most important man in Minecerva slumped into his mighty throne, and nervously tapped his fingers against its engraved arm, deep in moody thought. When was the last time he had been alone with Adlee? When was the last time they had a conversation together? And if they had one now, what would they talk about? He sat musing for a whole half hour, and was startled when Asbult came in to make his final report for the day.
“Asbult,” he said, gazing without seeing at one of the pillars, “what do you and Cila talk about?”
Stoic on the outside, Asbult smiled to himself. He wanted very much to say, “You;” but he held his tongue. Cila had filled him in on all the details. She had loaded him with advice on how to help the king, should he ask for it, and made him swear to say nothing about the queen’s broken heart.
So he only said, “We talk about work sometimes. We talk about our day, mostly. Sometimes, if we have extra time together, we talk about our hopes and plans for the future. I suppose, we compare our opinions on life, other people, on food, tastes, etc. Anything that jumps into our heads. We will read a book aloud, on occasion, which will always give us new material to talk about. I guess that’s mostly it.”
Trinian studied his brother-in-law as if he were a puzzle. “You tell each other everything?”
“Anything I am not sworn to secrecy on, and even then, I tell her that I’m sworn and she understands. Although we haven’t had any secrets in years. That’s the nice thing about her being a princess now – she has the same military clearance that I do.”
“What about political affairs and battles – is she not frightened when you tell her of it?”
It took a strong effort of will for Asbult not to raise his eyebrows at such a remark. He and Cila had often bemoaned the sorry state of married couples who tried to ‘protect’ each other from foul news. It was a mutual endeavor, they had observed, wherein neither sex trusted the other to handle the bitter realities of life, and so kept them at arm’s length, broadening the already natural distance between sexes through mistrust and misunderstanding.
Confronted now with the reality of this common mistake, Asbult tried to respond patiently. “Cila is often frightened, yes. So am I. There are frightening things going on in the world. But it helps both of us to know what they are; if I kept her in the dark, it would be worse when I left home. She wouldn’t know what I was facing, or what my chances were, and she would sit at home feeling helpless. But there is nothing that gives me more strength when I leave home than knowing she is back here waiting and working for me. She is not passive; just as my heart is back with her, so hers is with me, following me everywhere I go, praying and fighting for me in her own quiet way. I’m not sure I can explain it properly, but then, I’m not sure that I should. It’s a precious thing we have – and I am the most fortunate man in the world to have it.”
His words had spilled forth easily, and he was surprised at his own eloquence. He saw he had given Trinian something to think about, so he bowed, left his report on the table, and went home. There, it can be supposed, he told everything to Cila.
Trinian remained a few minutes longer alone; and then acted. For injustice did not often go unredressed by Trinian, and this, he now saw, was a great injustice.
27
How to Be Truly, Wholly, and Completely Loved
Adlena pulled a sleeveless cloak over her long-sleeve dress, a brilliant, deep blue over dusty yellow, and rifled through a collection of gems in her jewelry box. They were only a small selection of the many royal decorations she was offered when crowned queen, for though she had worn many on formal occasions, she did not keep them for private use – there had never been anything to dress up for in her own apartments, before now.
She glided into the kitchen, feeling the soft fabric as it drifted and floated over her legs, wrapping and releasing her with each step. Nervousness chilled her as she took the hot food from over the stove and carried it to the table, wondering, hoping, if Cila would beguile her husband into coming home early; fearing that all her preparations were in vain.
She loved him desperately, and her desire to be with him battled with her instincts to recede and disappear into the background. While she had indulged her instincts for four years and found no happiness, still she worried lest Trinian did he want her to step up and assert herself. He married her when she was shy, insecure, and fragile, so perhaps, she reasoned, he would be disappointed if she was as passionate on the outside as she felt on the inside. But should he instigate everything? her mind cried in a flutter. Lead everything? And should she be patient and just wait for him to do it? For a moment, she was overwhelmed with the certainty that she was over-extending herself, harassing Trinian, and ruining whatever they had left of their relationship – but she caught herself. It was too late to back down now, and she would put her trust in Cila.
Adlena seated herself at the table, then rose and went to the large bay window, gazing into the night, seeing the vast expanse of the city below her. She shuddered at the responsibilities that awaited her without, and went into the sitting room where she picked up a book and tried to read. An agony of time later, though it was only a half hour, she heard the double chamber doors open into the reception room. Jittery and over-anxious, she put down the book, misjudging the distance to the table and dropping it on the floor, and darted into the kitchen.
Trinian was not a nervous man. He confidently strode into the parlor, glancing around for his wife and preparing to proclaim his love invincibly, vocally, vigorously. But she was not sitting with Jacian on the floor, as he thought they usually did at this hour, playing and reading together, and that threw him off; surprised him out of his confidence and caused him to hesitate.
“Adlee?” he called.
“I am in here.” He followed her voice into the kitchen to pause suddenly at finding her radiant, glowing, and pale. She stood next to the table, her fingers lying delicately upon it, and her eyes watching him as if both challenging and waiting. At the sight of her apparent confidence, the words he had prepared died on his lips. He looked at her standing there, alone and vuln
erable, beautiful and commanding, and she was a paradox to him; all in one moment he felt her intense strength, the strength she granted him and had granted him since the first moment they met, and he was filled anew with love for her. He wanted to protect and envelop her; to lean on her, for she was his support and foundation, to take her in his arms and suffer for and with her. These emotions, long unstirred, overwhelmed him; his tongue stilled and turned to stone, and he said nothing.
“I made dinner,” she whispered at last. She cleared her throat and walked around the table toward the dish. “Although I think it is cold now; I will heat it up.”
Her words took him partly out of the spell, and he tried to think of something to say. Any declarations of love seemed suddenly cumbersome and indelicate. “Where is Jacquee?”
“Viol took him. He is going to spend the night in her rooms.”
“That is unusual, isn’t it?” He went to the table and sat down, watching the way she moved as she rekindled the fire, stoking the ashes.
“They do it sometimes. She likes to keep him.”
“That is good,” he nodded, and added after a pause, “I never noticed before how nice this room is.” It was easier to comment on the room than on her.
“Yes, it is one of my favorite places.”
He liked to hear that. It suddenly occurred to him that he knew little of her preferences. He wanted to hear more. “Why is that?”
She leaned against a stone counter, letting the food heat up behind her, and glanced over the light brown walls, low vaulted ceiling, and mahogany table. “I suppose because it is homelike despite its elegance. The walls catch the lamplight in a nice way, and I feel cozy here. The rest of the palace, even our other rooms, usually feel too overwhelming, but this room feels smaller than it is.”
“Yes. The throne room is so vast, it can make me feel insignificant at times.” She looked quietly to him, and he felt her close, even though she was across the room. “You know, you make me feel insignificant.”
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