Rya frowned. “Some would consider it a blessing.”
The princess opened her mouth to speak when she was stopped short by Thane waving from the other end of the courtyard. Rya had been so distracted earlier that morning she’d missed how tall and lean he was. As he jogged towards them, she watched his muscles move fluidly, reminding her of the large desert cats she’d seen in her homeland.
“Good afternoon ladies,” he smiled. His front teeth overlapped just a bit, only adding to his charm. “I see you’re looking better today Rya.”
“Thanks to you I’m sure,” she replied. “I have to stop falling to the ground all the time, in case you’re not around to pick me up.”
Cam’s brow furrowed as she watched the two of them banter. “Is there something you needed?” She asked in a clipped tone.
“I apologize for the intrusion but I was sent to fetch you. My father wants to see us both in the armory.”
Cam turned to Rya. “Will you be alright on your own?”
“I think I can find my way back inside,” she answered with a grin. “If, however, I’m missing from dinner, please send a search party.”
“Of course,” Cam laughed. “I’ll always make sure you’re safe.”
Six
The dining hall was bustling with movement as the servants prepared the night’s meal. Some were dashing from table to table, setting plates and flatware, others were arranging the centerpieces, while another small group mopped the floor from one side of the room to the other. It was a dizzying dance of a dozen bodies lost in their work, making it easy for Rya to cross the space without notice. She slid through the double doors along the wall and disappeared inside.
The rotunda was dim, but she had no trouble seeing it was beautiful. The high-pitched dome was painted gold, and bright white columns traced the arc of the wall, but it was the six stained glass windows which drew her gaze. They stretched from floor to ceiling, and each was a glorious tapestry of color depicting a different scene.
“Wonderful, aren’t they?” Mikkel’s voice echoed in the empty ballroom, making her jump. He chuckled, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No, it’s my fault. I didn’t realize I’d been followed,” she answered, looking back at the windows. “They’re amazing.”
“The castle was built by the first kings, but this room was added almost a hundred years later. Each window shows a different piece of life here in the Ashen Forest. The first one is a woodsman hut tucked in the trees, and that one is a group of hunters taking down a deer.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s not surprising, your whole castle is unlike any other.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve traveled to a handful of kingdoms, both within Kelda and beyond the seas, but they all seem the same. The entry halls are showrooms for their treasures, littered with jeweled vases and gold trinkets. The only vases I’ve seen around here are made of painted clay. Other rulers have over-sized portraits made of themselves, each exaggerating the battles they barely fought, or portraying them as better looking than they really are. Your walls are home to small family paintings and the mounted heads of past hunts. Even your throne is an oddity. It’s not on a tall platform but sits just high enough to make sure you’re seen without your presence looming over your subjects. And it’s not even made of gold or silver, but instead it’s been carved from wood.”
Mikkel smiled, pleased with her assessment. “The Ashen have always had a special connection to the nature around us. It’s what sustains us. We are a great kingdom because of our lumber trade. We are well fed from the animals in our forest and the surrounding sea. We respect that which gives us life, and we like to honor it in the way we decorate.”
“Yes, I understand, but how do you display your authority? How do you keep your people under control? Those other kings and queens, they flaunt their wealth for all to see because it’s a way to show their titles. Their thrones are a physical display of their power.”
Mikkel stroked his beard. “I found balancing a firm hand, integrity, and respect are the key to being a good ruler. Though, I am aware it’s not everyone’s chosen method.” He paused, taking a breath before asking, “And what about you? What’s on your castle’s walls? What does your throne say?”
“Nothing.” Her words were as stony as her face. “The throne of the Isles was forged from black metal long before I existed, and it will remain long after I’m gone. The walls of the castle are bare; I had the portraits removed when I took the crown. I have no connection to those past kings, and I didn’t care for their eyes following me through the halls. I’ve found more creative ways of displaying my power.”
The king sighed. “So, I’ve heard. You know, the things they say—they give people a good reason to be afraid of you. I’m sure you realize how hard it is for some that you’re here.”
Rye kept her eyes on the windows, but they were far away from the current moment. “I was talking to Cam before, about the day you came to the Isles after Gerrod died. I saw hundreds of people during that time, but you will always stand out to me. Do you know why?”
“No,” he said shaking his head. “Why?”
“You offered condolences to the kingdom, and you wished me luck and prosperity as the new queen. You never spoke of any sadness. You never called Gerrod’s death a loss. You knew what kind of man he was, and you weren’t going to praise him just because he was dead. You stood in front of me and blessed me with your honesty. It was a gift no one else had ever given me before, and no one has given it to me since, and I will forever be grateful for that.”
“I couldn’t pretend he was a great man,” Mikkel answered. “I can never understand how he stood by and allowed his own son to be murdered. Even if it isn’t true, he believed it was and that makes the difference. Who refuses to pay ransom for their only child? If it were me, I’d give my land, my castle, even my life for my children. Anyone with such disregard for their own blood couldn’t have been much nicer to anyone else.”
“That’s an understatement.”
The king crossed his massive arms. “Do you honestly think Prince Gavin is still alive?”
She nodded. “I know the advisers weren’t happy with Gerrod near the end, and when I took the throne they thought they would use me as a figurehead while they ruled the Isles. They were disappointed to learn I wasn’t so easy to control. If I know anything about Father Kasen, he’d have a backup plan. When it became clear I wouldn’t stand by while he ran the kingdom, he threatened to find someone who would bend to his will. Gavin, in this case.”
“You knew he was after the crown this whole time? Why didn’t you try to stop him?”
“Gerrod’s advisers made it clear what they expected. Unfortunately for them, I had other plans. I stripped their titles and status and banished them from the castle. The only one I couldn’t dismiss was Father Kasen.”
Mikkel nodded with understanding. “Because his title comes from the temple and not the king.”
“Exactly. I knew even attempting it would rile up the people of the Isles. Burning offerings to the volcano god is not a custom I take part in, but most of the old families take it pretty seriously. So, Kasen remained in his position, and through the years we’ve been in a silent battle. Each of us waiting, placing pieces here and there to push the other one out. He made a move before me, and here we are. I showed those other men how wrong it was to underestimate me, and soon enough Kasen will learn that lesson as well.”
“Rya,” he said, his docile voice not matching his mammoth size. “Just tell me one thing—are the stories about you true?”
She looked up at his kind face. “Since you were honest with me all those years ago, I’ll do the same for you. I never broke any of our laws. I am the ruler of the Obsidian Isles, and everything that happened was within my rights as queen. Not all my decisions were popular, but it’s part of running a kingdom. I’m sure you understand, especially after allowing me to stay. I may not know the
specifics of the stories you’ve heard, but I will say that they all contain bits of the truth.”
“You see the window in the middle?” Mikkel asked, gesturing in front of him. “The one with the king holding a massive shield. It represents what we are as a people. From the first king until our last we are the protectors. I will never turn away someone who hasn’t wronged me. I kept you here because even if the rumors are true, you’ve done no harm to my people and I have no proof of any evil from your past.”
“You’re a good person Mikkel, which is why I knew I could come to you.”
“I know you have good inside you as well. You just lost sight of it somewhere along the way.”
“No,” Rya replied, “I have rage, and hate. I have the determination to take back my throne, and I have the power to destroy anyone standing in my way. Those emotions are worth so much more than the good I once held inside. Those are the qualities that will put me back on top.”
The queen turned on her heels and walked towards the doorway, leaving Mikkel standing in the darkened ballroom, shaking his head.
Seven
Night had fallen, and as her first day with the Ashen drew to a close Rya stood before the large mirror in her room, focused on the contours of her face. Her fingertips brushed her cheekbones, noticing the way they stuck out a little more than when she’d first fled. There had always been a crease between her brows, but it had only appeared when she was especially angry or stressed. Now it never left. Her hand moved to the stitches on her temple. She had already started to heal, and soon it would be nothing more than a thick scar left on her skin, but that was too much.
A woman’s stern face appeared behind Rya, staring at her over her shoulder. The queen spun around towards her, her chest pounding with fear. She expected to see the woman’s thin mouth pulled tight together, and her eyes burning with rage, but there was no one. She was alone. The image of her mother was only a memory; a disgusting trick her mind played on her when her defenses were down, and right now she was tired and unprotected.
Turning back to the mirror, she ran her finger across the large cut, pressing slightly to test the pain. A lady doesn’t play in the dirt, she thought to herself, a lady doesn’t have scars.
It had been years since she was allowed to run free and without care. The garden behind her house had been a sanctuary for her as a child, and she could still remember the time she spent outside. A small portion was off limits, separated with a fence that encased the plot of dirt and few short bushes, but the rest of the yard was all hers. She could recall the way the air smelled fresh and fragrant, changing depending on which plants the wind passed through on its journey. She would run with her hands stretched out, touching the bright colors of the flowers as she moved. One spot in particular was extra special. She would lay down with her back against the cool earth between two large bushes, watching the clouds pass overhead, or laughing as the bugs buzzed back and forth. It was her escape from the stuffy restrictions she had to follow indoors.
Her father had inherited their home from his family, but her mother was the one who kept the rules. There was never to be a single piece out of place. She was not allowed to run down the halls or jump and play in the sitting room. She was to walk without scuffing the floors, and she should never have a reason to raise her voice above a civil volume. She had always done as she was told, but out in the garden, she was her own master. It was the only place she was free, until it was stolen from her.
She was nine years old when everything changed. The day was warm and dry, and after a few hours spent in the garden she had gone back inside to get some water. She hadn’t expected her mother to be waiting for her. The woman stood with her mouth pinched together, and her cheeks bright red. Rya looked down at her dust covered dress that was once yellow, and she understood the rage on her mother’s face. She grabbed the young girl by the arm, yanking her through the rooms and up to the bath. Without a word she ripped the clothing over Rya’s head and pointed to the tub. Once the basin was filled with hot water, she scrubbed Rya down with a brush until every inch of her skin was pink and swollen. The silence was more painful than anything. Rya knew when her mother had passed the point of scolding she was in for real trouble.
Finally deciding Rya was clean enough, she handed her a fresh dress. Rya pulled it down over her head, wincing as it passed over her still-raw skin. Her mother left the room, returning a moment later with a stool and a mirror.
“Sit,” she said to the girl. Rya immediately climbed on the stool, her hands folded in her little lap. Her mother placed the mirror in front of her and handed the girl a brush. “No less than two hundred strokes to start. You will do this every day, brushing out your hair to whatever number I deem acceptable. From now on, you are not allowed in the garden. Young ladies to not play in the dirt, and I won’t have you living like some filthy dog. You will keep yourself clean and pretty. You will make sure you are groomed each day, and your clothes will always be pressed and neat. You’ll never become a queen if you’re not perfect, and I won’t have you being anything less.”
Looking into the Ashen mirror, Rya considered the wound once more. Her anger pressed inside her temples, her head pounding from the memories that hurt her.
“A queen can’t have scars,” she said out loud, mimicking her mother’s tone. “A queen has to be perfect.”
“Is that really what you think?” Cam stood in the doorway wearing a sheepish look. She realized the queen hadn’t expected an answer, and her arrival had startled her. “I’m sorry to intrude,” she added. “I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed before I headed to bed.”
“Can you really intrude if you own the castle?” Rya answered with a weak smile. “Come in.”
Cam stood behind her, the princess’ face hovering over her shoulder where moments earlier her mother’s scowl had been. She studied Rya in the reflection, then reached up and pulled back the neck of her own shirt. A long, thin mark, pale and ghostly rippled across her smooth skin. It stretched from the crook of her neck down over her collarbone.
“That one’s from my first time with a real sword. I’d like to say I got it fighting, but truth is the blade was too heavy and I dropped it on myself. With my luck it landed on the one spot my armor didn’t cover.” She pulled up the sleeve of her left arm to reveal the crisscrossed scars just below her elbow. “I got these jumping between the rafters of the guards’ quarters. I managed to keep myself from falling to the ground but scraped myself against the rough wood in the process. There are others,” she grinned, “but they require removing more clothing than what’s appropriate.”
She tugged on Rya’s shoulder, turning the queen to face her.
“Do you think I’m unfit to be a queen?”
“No,” Rya huffed. “Of course not. But our situations are different. I have a reputation. I was chosen by Gerrod because of my face and my body. I’m only a queen because of my beauty.”
“Your beauty might be what got you to the Isles, but it’s your spirit that kept you there. You didn’t hold onto your title because of your face. Your body didn’t keep the advisers from snatching your power away from you. This—” she said, brushing the skin just below Rya’s cut “—this isn’t going to make you less of a queen. It’s going to show the world you aren’t afraid to fight for what you want. It’s going to reinforce who you are. If anything, this mark makes you more.”
Rya’s stomach fluttered under the soft touch of Cam’s fingers, and a heat started to form in her chest. For a moment she forgot where she was, and what had led her there. All she knew is that she wanted to stay frozen in this moment.
“You’re the Queen of the Obsidian Isles,” Cam added. “You can do anything.”
The words crashed through the bubble surrounding her, and suddenly she had snapped free of the feelings attempting to grab hold.
“I know who I am,” Rya replied, standing up. She pushed down the warmth growing inside her, burying it someplace dark. “I don�
�t need to be reminded of that. My power is legendary, and no one will see a scar on my face when they are staring in awe at my magic.”
Cam nodded, shrinking back towards the door. “As long as you know who you really are.”
With that she was gone, and Rya was again alone. She sat on the edge of the bed, resting her face in her hands as she calmed her breathing. Her insides twisted and tumbled over each other and she could feel her stomach bubbling with sickness. Despite her mind telling her the outburst was necessary, her body seemed to disagree, fighting back against her with force. Guilt had felt different as a child. It was always fueled by fear and shame, occurring when she knew her mother would disapprove of something she was doing. Even when the emotion sprung forth in her chest while fleeing the Isles it was bound to her by rage and a promise. As she sat in the flickering light of the fire, she had trouble grasping the sadness that clung to her guilt. It burrowed inside her like a small animal waiting for winter to pass, heavy and cold in her gut.
What’s happening to me? She thought as she threw herself backwards onto the mattress. Her eyes closed and she began to drift to sleep with the image of Cam’s face behind her lids.
The Market
The boy held his breath as the stack of crates wobbled beneath him, his feet clinging to the shaking mound.
“Get down from there,” his father shouted. “I swear Byron, if you’re not going to help me, I won’t bring you next time.”
It had been a long journey, riding from their home on the edge of the kingdom to the center market, but his father had promised it’d be worth it. This village was the largest in the Obsidian Isles, and the closest to the castle’s grounds, making it a prime spot for vendors.
There was a lot of work to be done setting up the stall, but the trip had left him with a load of energy and a need to climb. From his seat on top of the wooden boxes he could see the entire square stretched out ahead of him, including the elegant carriage stopping along the outer road.
The Poison Within Page 4