The Lost Realm

by J. D. Rinehart

  “What has happened here?” said Samial.

  “Lord Vicerin,” she said tersely. “The man I once called Father.”

  They passed a burning village. The wind brought shouts and the thin clash of steel. A rider emerged from the smoke. Reaching the two men at the head of the column, he saluted.

  “Captain Gandrell. It’s good to see you again, sir. Did all go well in Isur?”

  Before Gandrell could reply, Stown said, “Trident was exactly where I said it was. Tell Lord Vicerin that I led his men straight to them.”

  Captain Gandrell scowled. “Sergeant Stown has been of use. He is now looking forward to taking up ordinary duties in Lord Vicerin’s guard. Very ordinary duties. Now, what news from Ritherlee?”

  “The battle is almost won, sir,” said the rider. “Another barony conquered for Lord Vicerin!”

  Stown called over his shoulder to Elodie. “That’s four in two days! At this rate you’ll be on the throne before the season turns!”

  “Still your tongue, Sergeant Stown!” Gandrell snapped. “Or I will explain what that means with the flat of my sword!”

  Elodie was pleased to see Stown put in his place. All the same, his words made her uneasy. It wouldn’t be me on the throne. It would be Lord Vicerin himself. I’d be his puppet, just as he planned all along.

  Stown shot Gandrell a mutinous glance, and Elodie wondered how he had managed to rise so quickly through the ranks of the Vicerin army. It seemed only yesterday that he’d been slinking out of the Trident camp, banished and beaten.

  “Scum always rises to the surface of the pond,” whispered Samial in her ear.

  Elodie stifled a giggle. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  “Because the same thought had come to me. That man will betray anyone who trusts him, sooner or later.”

  Elodie nodded. Stown was as treacherous as her former stepfather.

  No wonder Vicerin likes him.

  From behind, she heard a sudden cry of pain. She knew who it was immediately.

  “Get up!” a man shouted. Elodie heard the crack of a whip.

  The cry had come from Fessan. His legs had finally given way, but the cart had not stopped. His hands bound by a short length of rope, he was being dragged full-length through the dust while the Vicerin soldiers jeered.

  “They are such monsters!” cried Samial. “Why do they not stop?”

  His face contorted with effort, Fessan staggered to his feet and tottered on, grunting in pain. Elodie bit her tongue and fought back tears. The former Trident commander could barely stand upright; his clothes were in tatters; his cheeks were covered in blood and filth.

  Stop it! Why do you have to be so cruel?

  She gripped the railing at the front of the wagon and began to get up, ready to leap down and run to Fessan’s aid. Samial’s ghostly hand tightened on her arm.

  “You can’t,” he said.

  Elodie tensed against him . . . then sat down again. “I know.”

  The Vicerins had to believe she was on their side. How could she help Fessan if she was locked up as well?

  “What’s going on?” said Stown, having ridden back to survey the scene. Gandrell was close behind him.

  “Stop the cart,” said Gandrell wearily. “Put him aboard.”

  “I don’t think—” Stown began.

  “That is correct,” Gandrell interrupted. “You do not think.”

  Elodie watched in silence as the cart juddered to a halt and Fessan was thrown onto it. He landed bonelessly, like a rag doll.

  “What are you going to do?” whispered Samial.

  Elodie clenched her fists in her lap. “I’m going to save him,” she hissed. “And then I’ll bring them all down.”

  They reached the castle as the day was drawing to a close. Red stone towers filled the skyline, turned to blazing beacons by the setting sun. The column thundered over the drawbridge and up to the large east gatehouse; the iron portcullis slid smoothly upward to admit them.

  Home, Elodie thought as the wagon carried her and Samial under the arch. I used to love every stone of this place.

  As the portcullis slammed shut behind her, it felt as if she were entering a prison. An icy wind seemed to rush through her. In saving Trident, had she doomed herself?

  Most of the soldiers headed straight for the barracks on the south side of the castle, leaving Stown and Gandrell to bring Elodie to the central keep. To her surprise—and relief—the cart carrying Fessan came too. That was good—at least she could keep her eye on him a little longer.

  They were waiting for her on the lawn in front of the high stone tower: Lord Vicerin, Lady Vicerin, and their daughter, Sylva. As the wagon carried her and Samial toward them, Elodie was struck by a swimming sense of unreality. Everything looked so familiar: the red stone of the castle burning in the sunset; the ornate and ordered rows of flowers standing to attention in their beds; the proud peacocks strutting across the grass, just as if the castle belonged to them. Everything the same, and yet . . .

  Everything’s changed.

  “Our lost daughter has returned!” cried Lord Vicerin, lifting his arms to help Elodie down. There was a smoothness about all his movements; it matched the gleaming blue velvet of his jackets, the slickness of his boots, the powdered perfection of his skin. Suppressing a shudder, she let his soft hands clutch hers and stepped to the ground.

  Pasting a smile on her face, she looked up at him. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Father.”

  He beamed, displaying large teeth like those of an animal. A horse, perhaps. Elodie could smell his sweet, sickly scent lingering around her.

  Lady Vicerin reached to embrace her. Her face was artificially white, her lips painted red. The skirts of her dress were so full that she had to lean forward to hug Elodie, and the result was a brief squeeze and kisses blown into the air.

  “Welcome, dear daughter,” Lady Vicerin said.

  “I’m so glad to be home,” said Elodie, hoping her words sounded more convincing aloud than they did in her head.

  Then Sylva was hugging her—a real hug that tugged at Elodie’s heart. Sylva’s cheeks were as rosy as her mother’s were pale, and Elodie was surprised to see that her gray eyes were wet with tears. Sylva blinked quickly, as if not wanting anyone to see. “I’m glad you’re all right,” she said softly.

  Lady Vicerin ran her fingers down the hem of Elodie’s grubby Trident tunic. “We really must get you out of these dreadful clothes. All of your best dresses are waiting for you.” She drew a fan from her sleeve and waved it in front of her face, wrinkling her nose with distaste. “I am sure you cannot wait to bathe and get into something clean. You can spend the whole of this evening choosing what to wear tomorrow, just the way you used to.”

  “I can’t wait.” Did I really use to do that?

  “Such a feast we shall have,” added Lord Vicerin. “There will be quails in jelly, your favorite.”

  “Yum.”

  Lord Vicerin strolled to the rest of the convoy. Stown and Gandrell, who had by now dismounted from their horses, saluted him.

  “You have done very, very well,” said Vicerin.

  “Thank you, my lord,” the two soldiers said simultaneously, then scowled at each other.

  Vicerin peered over the side of the cart. “What, pray tell, is this?”

  “The commander of Trident, my lord,” said Gandrell, stepping in front of Stown.

  “We’re going to interrogate him,” said Stown, shouldering his way past Gandrell to stand at Vicerin’s shoulder.

  Vicerin’s long nose wrinkled in distaste. “So, my fine captive commander. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  To Elodie’s surprise, Fessan somehow managed to sit up. His face was blackened with bruises and covered in mud. When he opened his mouth to speak, she saw that two of his front teeth were missing.

  “You’ll learn nothing from me,” Fessan croaked.

  “Oh, I rather think I will. And when you have told me
everything I wish to know, I shall think of a suitable punishment for you.” Vicerin walked slowly around the cart, making a show of rubbing his chin. “Yes, this is a subject on which I shall have to think very hard. Very hard indeed.”

  He flicked a speck of dust from his immaculate velvet jacket and turned to Gandrell and Stown. “Would you not say that this situation merits the very deepest consideration, gentlemen?”

  “Yes, my lord!” Again, the two men spoke together. Again, they shot each other a hateful glare.

  Vicerin leaned close to Fessan, who returned his gaze with a calm authority, and Elodie’s heart filled with pride. She wanted to run over and push Vicerin away, to put herself between them and protect the man who’d done so much for her. Instead, she forced herself to play her part, and stood and watched.

  “You took something very precious to me,” Vicerin hissed between his too-large teeth. “The price to be paid for such theft is high. Very high indeed. Would you not say so, Elodie?”

  She flinched, not because of Vicerin’s question, but because Fessan’s steady gaze was now fixed upon her.

  “No price could be too high,” she said through numb lips. “This creature deserves everything he gets.”

  Without breaking his gaze, Fessan said, “Do what you will. I have already suffered the pain of betrayal. No torture can be worse than that.”

  Elodie looked away.

  “By the time I have finished with you,” said Lord Vicerin, “you may think differently. Now, which of you loyal fellows will take this wretched thing to the dungeon?”

  Stown and Gandrell glowered at each other, neither man saying a word.

  “Very well, since you have proven yourselves to be such a fine team, the duty is yours to share.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Captain Gandrell, saluting once more.

  “As you wish,” said Sergeant Stown, bowing low.

  They escorted the wagon away. As it rolled past, Fessan’s eyes caught Elodie’s once more.

  “I wish I’d never set eyes on you,” he said. Then he did something strange with his mouth, pursing his lips but faltering as his tongue caught on his broken teeth. As the cart disappeared out of the courtyard, Elodie realized what he’d been trying to do.

  He was trying to spit on me.

  She told herself that was good. Lord Vicerin was clever—frighteningly so. The only way he would be convinced by her performance was if everybody else was convinced as well.

  Including Fessan.

  But, oh, it hurts!

  “Now, I have many affairs of state to attend to, my dear,” Lord Vicerin said, making off across the lawn. “I will see you at dinner.”

  “I’m looking forward to it, Father.”

  Dinner? I hope you choke on it!

  Lady Vicerin whisked Elodie and Sylva up the endless staircases of the keep, all the while keeping up a constant stream of chatter about the latest goings-on in Castle Vicerin.

  “We had to get rid of three of the cooks, you know,” she prattled. “They were found throwing dice in the kitchens, and simply had to go. The food was ghastly for a while, but we eventually found suitable replacements.”

  They passed a window, giving Elodie a brief glimpse of the castle wall outside, and the green fields beyond. They seemed impossibly far away.

  “Servants have been such a problem,” Lady Vicerin went on, slowing her talk no more than she slowed her pace. “That dreadful maid Daphne disgraced herself with a stable boy, and as for the seamstresses, well, you should see the mess they made of Sylva’s new reception dress. I mean to say, do these wretched people have any idea how hard it is to find good silk these days?”

  Elodie let the talk wash over her. Since leaving the castle, she’d learned much about what she now considered to be the real world. Out there, life was hard. For some people, even finding enough food to eat was impossible.

  You live in a bubble, she thought, staring at Lady Vicerin’s rustling skirts as she turned onto yet another landing overlooked by gold-framed portraits of long-dead nobles. Sooner or later the bubble will burst.

  Samial was still with her, climbing the stairs two paces behind. His eyes were wide as he took in the opulent surroundings.

  “Anyway, I’m sure you’ll settle back in soon enough,” Lady Vicerin was saying, addressing Elodie directly now. “You have your sister to help you. And perhaps your brother will return too.”

  Elodie stopped, her whole body turning suddenly stiff. “Wh-what?” she quavered.

  Why is she talking about Tarlan? He’d been briefly held prisoner here, she knew, but she couldn’t believe that Lady Vicerin would even mention him, let alone that she would want him back inside her spotless castle in a hurry.

  Lady Vicerin stared down her nose and fluttered her fan. “Cedric. Your brother. Surely you have not forgotten him?”

  Of course!

  Cedric was Sylva’s older brother, and the three of them had grown up together: Cedric and Sylva and Elodie. They’d played and fought and done all the things ordinary siblings did. She hoped he’d return soon too.

  “I am so proud of my Cedric,” Lady Vicerin went on. She stopped beneath an ancient painting of a knight on a war horse. Old as the picture was, the resemblance to Cedric was unmistakable in the knight’s high cheekbones and aloof gaze. “So proud that he fights for our house.”

  Elodie recalled the day Cedric had marched away to war, the single glance he’d thrown her from his place at the head of his regiment. The look of excitement on his face as he rode toward glory in some future, imagined battle.

  Only that’s not what war is like. I know that now.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Cedric is brave.”

  “Such a shame about your hair.” Lady Vicerin frowned at Elodie’s shorn locks. “That red and gold was always so striking. Still, it will grow out again. Indeed, my dear, I do believe you have grown, even in the short time you have been away. We shall simply have to throw out your whole wardrobe and start again. Sylva, tell the head seamstress to meet me in Elodie’s room in the morning. There is a lot of measuring to be done.”

  “I will, Mother.” Sylva bobbed a curtsy to Lady Vicerin, but her gaze was fixed on Elodie.

  You know something, Elodie thought as they climbed the final flight of stairs to her tower chambers. No . . . you’re trying to tell me something. But what?

  They reached the door to her old room. It looked solid and impenetrable.

  Elodie’s hand stole to the green jewel around her neck, then up to the collar of her tunic, which seemed suddenly tight and suffocating.

  The room looked exactly the same as when she’d left it. In the center stood a huge four-poster bed. Beside the window was a large dressing table covered in jewelry and bottles of perfume. It was at once familiar and very strange.

  “Rest, my dear,” said Lady Vicerin, kissing her forehead. “You must be tired. Soon we will dine. Sylva, come.”

  Sylva gave Elodie another hug. But when she pulled away, the look she gave Elodie was so searching that she felt a jolt of worry.

  Has she seen through me? After all, Sylva knew Elodie better than the other Vicerins. She had been Elodie’s shepherd, always two steps behind her, always playing the part of the protective older sister. Elodie knew that the real reason Sylva had kept close to her side was to make sure she didn’t try to run away from the Vicerins. She could still remember the panic on Sylva’s face that day when Trident kidnapped her from among the market stalls, how she’d chased desperately after the carriage Elodie had been bundled inside. Had she simply been worried about the trouble she’d be in for losing her? Or had she been fearful for Elodie, too? Elodie wasn’t sure.

  And if she has seen through me, what will she do?

  Two castle guards arrived at the top of the stairs and took up station outside the room.

  “For your protection, my dear,” Lady Vicerin said smoothly, perhaps seeing the expression of alarm that had crossed Elodie’s face. “There are Trident sympathi
zers everywhere. You are too precious to lose twice.”

  As Lady Vicerin and Sylva left, the door closed with a solid clunk. Elodie turned to Samial.

  “What she means is she doesn’t trust me not to run away,” she muttered, dropping her voice so the guards outside wouldn’t hear.

  Samial nodded. He was sitting on the windowsill, staring around at the room.

  “It is very grand,” he said.

  “Yes, it is,” Elodie agreed. “But really it might as well be a prison cell.”

  She sat beside him, and something caught in the window frame brushed her hand. It was a feather.

  Elodie pulled it free. The feather was soft and downy, and very long—far too long for an ordinary bird.

  “It looks like gold,” said Samial in wonder.

  “It’s Theeta’s,” Elodie said.

  Carefully, she tucked the feather into the same pocket that held the arrowhead Samial had given her. The two objects nestled together like old friends.

  You were here, Tarlan. And you escaped. I’m going to escape too.

  CHAPTER 9

  The sea was a sudden, dazzling explosion of light. They came to it unexpectedly, after a difficult afternoon of flying through increasingly narrow canyons. Rock walls had turned to and fro, forcing the thorrods this way and that, their wings clipping the walls. Tarlan had been about to suggest they fly higher when the walls peeled back, spitting them out into a breathtaking vastness. The rich tang of salt, which Tarlan had been smelling all day, hit him like a punch to the face.

  “The Warm Sea!” proclaimed Melchior. “Also known as the Western Ocean or, in the old tongue, Dup-an-Aegis.”

  “Big water,” cawed Theeta. Her scratchy thorrod voice was filled with excitement.

  Tarlan laughed. He felt giddy. “That’s right, Theeta! I’ve never seen so much water in one place!”

  As the thorrods carried them out over a black sandy beach, he drank in the view. The sea stretched to an impossible distance, both marking the horizon and surpassing it. The sea was everything to his left, and everything to his right. It was ahead and beyond, a huge rippling blanket of color and light and endless depth.