The Edict (The She Trilogy Book 1)

by P. J. Keyworth

  “Was that caused by the guards?” asked Garesh, his eyes looking at the bruise. “I could have them whipped?”

  Trevisian opened his eyes. “No,” he paused. “And yes.”

  Garesh looked as he always did: smart, clean, and in control. “Then why do you wish them to be whipped?” he replied calmly.

  “I curse them for capturing me.”

  “You wish you were still… wherever you have been for the past few months?” queried Garesh, attempting to keep his voice level. “Tell me, just where was that?”

  “Ah,” replied Trevisian, bringing his legs down off the table and leaning forward in his chair. “Now that would be giving away secrets.” Garesh might be the closest thing he had to a mentor but Trevisian’s mother had been killed for her magic by the government the High Councillor served in. Trevisian was hardly going to admit that he ran away not only from responsibility but also from the law that made him hide his true nature.

  “Stealing from your own carriages is what I heard.”

  Trevisian didn’t respond. All he afforded Garesh was a quick upturn of the corner of his mouth.

  “And receiving beatings.” Garesh gestured at the bruise.

  Trevisian touched his palm to it.

  “You have had your fun, my Prince, and now you must return to Emril city.” Garesh cut across his thoughts. “Women from all over the Empire are arriving at your harem, waiting for your inspection.”

  A faint flicker of annoyance stirred in Trevisian’s mind. “I gave no permission for that.” He didn’t speak the words loudly, they were unfamiliar in sentiment.

  “No,” Garesh’s voice turned soft, patronizing. “But you were absent. You decided to go off into the wilds and leave the governing of your country to someone else.”

  Was that not how it had always been? Trevisian didn’t want to rule, and he didn’t want a wife either.

  “A wife will secure your dynasty and your own rule, not to mention strengthen your public image. We had already talked about your marrying had we not? I simply put the idea into action.”

  “To bring me every attractive maiden so that I may choose?” Trevisian had no intention of making a spectacle of himself where women were concerned. That was why he had a harem, as all Reluwyn rulers had before him. He could satisfy his needs without complication. He had no intention of obeying a formality in order to gain his crown and his majority. “Tempting,” He stared at Garesh, intent on causing discomfort. “But I do not want a wife.”

  “You would not want the inheritance of your father to crumble, would you?”

  Trevisian felt unable to reply.

  “The Laowyn are forming a resistance to the west, and the Radichi warriors are stirring up trouble in the Chieftain Lands north of the Tao. The only people you may rely on now are your own. The rest must be suppressed, and how much stronger will your arm be if your enemies see you finally take your crown.”

  Again, Trevisian did not answer. Garesh stepped out of the room, aware he would get no more from the Prince. He returned a few moments later with Mishka, whose arms were filled with clothes made of silks and muslins. Such luxurious materials had not touched Trevisian’s skin since he had slipped out of the palace in servant’s clothes two months ago.

  “No doubt you shall feel much better when you are washed and dressed. The Lieutenant of this stronghold has agreed for your use of his private quarters, and a bath has been drawn for you. We shall talk more later.”

  Trevisian rose, knowing that Garesh was dismissing him in all but words. He knew how to obey, how to do his High Councillor’s bidding. After all, Garesh had helped him rule since he was a boy, faithfully, never failing in his duties. Perhaps Trevisian should be more thankful.

  Garesh spoke again, making Trevisian pause by the door, “Your accomplice, my Prince – apparently, you were not alone in your thieving – you know that the punishment for attacking royal vehicles has increased in its severity. The youth you were with will be hanged.”

  Trevisian’s hesitation only lasted a moment. When he had convinced himself that there was no point in his protest, that the boy’s naivety would eventually get him executed for some other crime, and that Garesh knew best, he exited the room. A careless ‘yes’ was cast back over his shoulder.

  Chapter 5

  Kiara couldn’t believe it. The thief had been asleep. They’d actually kicked him awake! How had he been able to rest in such circumstances? She only paused for a moment after he was taken, before scrambling over to sit on the edge of the bed.

  Flexing her shoulder, she could still feel pain in the stiffening joint – but at least she could now use her arm. Why he had helped she had no idea. One minute he’d been threatening to kill her, the next coming to her rescue. Anyway, it hardly mattered now: he was gone, perhaps to another cell, and she was left alone.

  Shadows that had not seemed too dark before suddenly loomed thicker, blacker. The cold sea breeze came in through the window and laced around her body where her clothes were loose or open. She shivered and then touched a hand to her thigh. She retracted it immediately, inhaling with the pain.

  She needed to take a look at it though - she didn’t even know if Djeck’s bandage was still in place. She undid the buckles on her trouser leg and peeled back the blood-soaked fabric. She could see where the bandage had slipped and the wound had congealed. The blood was threaded in thick clots along the length of stitches.

  Muttering to herself in an attempt to alleviate the pain, she began unwinding the bandage in order to retie it. Voices in the corridor outside the cell made her stop. She cocked her head to listen to the sound. Would they come in? Then, as quickly as they had risen they faded, carrying on past the door.

  It took her some time but she managed to smooth and retie the bandage over her wound. She re-buckled her trouser leg and then rose and walked, limping slightly, over to the window.

  As she looked over the dark silhouette of Grûl’s dwellings, it suddenly dawned on her how fortunate she had been. No one had discovered she was a woman, not even that thief when he had fixed her shoulder. She stretched, still feeling his strong hands where they had pulled mercilessly on her arm. But her fortune could not last much longer. She had been in the dark most of the night, with only faint lanterns to show a face disguised with mud and blood. She could feel the grit and dirt under her fingertips even now. When they saw her by the daylight they might guess the truth.

  Kiara drew a necklace out from beneath her shirt, running it between her fingers. A coin bounced on the end of the long chain, as her thoughts ran towards the future.

  When they found out she was a woman what would they do? Would they send her to the palace for the Prince’s inspection? Or would they discover she was Laowyn and kill her for stealing from the Royal carriage? The thief had said that she would die. Her hands trembled a little making the necklace tinkle.

  Gazing up at the heavens, she hoped the stars that hung there might hold an escape plan, or any plan for that matter. But the stars were no use, they did not speak to her, no plan came. Dejected she removed her gaze from the sky and let it fall back down over Grûl. If they didn’t discover she was Laowyn, just that she was a woman, would she go to the palace? Would she want to live if the cost was freedom?

  “A curse on all this!” she screamed out into the night, pounding the stone windowsill and the movement inadvertently causing the clasp of her necklace to ping open. Before she could stop it, the heavy coin and chain flew through the bars and onto a ledge outside the window.

  Her father and mother had given her that necklace. It was a Laowyn symbol, a coin from their abolished currency, from before the conquest. They’d given it to her when she was a child, before they’d died. She pressed her face against the bars and stretched her fingers out, desperate to catch hold of the chain. It was the closest she had come to tears this whole evening.

  “Please, please, please,” she whispered through the bars, but her fingers would not reach. She put her foot i
n a notch on the inside of the stone wall and hoisted herself higher. She could see the necklace on the ledge, only about four feet from the ground below. Then suddenly, she paused, drew herself backwards and looked at the width of the bars.

  A small smile crept across her face. “This is good.” And with that she bent forward and fit her head through the bars, her shoulders soon following. Apparently the Reluwyn built their jails for men, not women. She was about to cry out in exultation when her clothes caught, making her too wide.

  She pulled herself back in, her mind racing. After all, they could come back for her at any minute. If they were questioning the thief, he would lay the blame at her door. She had no doubt - it was only a matter of time.

  She knew what she must do, but still she hesitated. Then, remembering the seriousness of the situation she was in, she began pulling off her clothes. Fearing at any moment a guard might come for her and everything would be lost she worked quickly. Before long she stood in just the material bound around her breasts, the bandage on her leg and her linen underwear. If they came in now, they would not only see that she was a woman, but recognise her as Laowyn by her marking.

  She pulled herself back up onto the window ledge and, looking around the path at the back of the Watchtower for any guards. Seeing none she pushed her trousers, shirt and cloak through the bars. They landed in fluttering piles below, and then it was her turn. With much wiggling, and some very unladylike words, she was balancing on the ledge. She scooped up her necklace and drew it over her head.

  Dropping to the ground she collapsed on her wounded leg. Biting her lip hard to stop from crying she tasted the metallic flavour of blood. There was no time to waste however; she could hear soldier’s voices around the front of the jail. She gathered up her clothing, not stopping to dress, and darted off into the cover of darkness.

  Trevisian looked like a new man. Gone was the unkempt stubble across his chin, a neatly trimmed beard, black as coal, lined his jaw. His hair, which had been tousled across his face and grim with dirt, was now clean, smelling of cinnamon powder and combed back off his face.

  He stepped out of the Watchtower with far more dignity than he had entered it, robed in a silk tunic, loose fitting trousers and soft leather shoes. A light muslin undershirt peeked out from his collar adding an extra layer of warmth and covering any hint of the Alakvalto tattoo that covered most of his back. He paid no attention to the surprised stares of prisoners and guards alike inside the Watchtower, nor those lining the street for his passage outside. He strode past them and into the carriage before even one set of eyes could gain contact with his. He was not looking forward to this journey.

  His assumptions were proven right: Garesh spent the majority of the three-day journey lecturing him on his foolishness. Did he not know that there was unrest in his Kingdom? That his council was suffering criticism? That his very person could have been in danger had anyone identified him? Trevisian allowed each speech to wash over him like dirty water, staring out of the carriage window, the High Councillor’s words melding into one long drone. The final warning of Garesh’s did not shock the Prince in the least. Instead he amused himself by remembering who would definitely have killed him if they’d known he was the Prince. Well, Trevisian gave himself some credit, the boy in Grûl’s Watchtower would have at least tried to kill him.

  Trevisian almost laughed. What would the boy have done? Would he have had the resolve to take a man’s life? Thoughts of the boy drifted intermittently through Trevisian’s mind, mingled with the knowledge of his lost freedom. It was not until they reached the palace, after he had been shown to his chambers and his traveling gear was laid out on his bed, that he realised the boy would surely be dead by now. It was the short silver-blue sword that brought it to his mind. Handed over at the Watchtower along with Trevisian’s possessions, Garesh’s servants had thought it the Prince’s.

  Trevisian picked it up, drawing it out from its embroidered leather sheath. He ran a finger along the flat length of it, feeling the swirls and engraving running down it. This was perhaps the only remnant from the boy thief’s rebellious existence.

  “Trevisian!”

  The Prince jolted out of his reverie and turned, sword in hand, to meet the intruder.

  “Please!” cried the man at the door in mock surrender. He held up his hands and grinned. “Don’t stab me.”

  The man could not have been more than thirty, although it was difficult to tell his age from his bright blond hair. He wore a leather covering which could only be described as a slightly fuller loin-cloth, and leather boots. An ensemble hardly suitable for a courtier, but most fitting for a Radichi warrior from the Tao desert.

  “Johan!” Trevisian re-sheathed the sword and dropped it on the bed. He embraced his friend affectionately, slapping him on his tattooed back.

  “Welcome back to the land of the living, for all I knew you could have passed into the Spirit Realm.” The laughter on Johan’s face did not quite match his pale eyes.

  “I know, I should have sent you word I was fine. I just…” Trevisian struggled to explain his reasoning to his friend.

  “Didn’t think about it,” Johan countered, suddenly taking up sparring with his friend. He bounced from one foot to the other with fists raised, chuckling away. “Having too much fun running about your Kingdom unknown, were you? I heard you were robbing carriages.”

  “Already? My, the gossip in court circles really isn’t what it used to be if you’ve only just heard about it.”

  “Cynic.” Johan winked at Trevisian, following his old friend to the large, plush cushions which were strewn around a low table in the adjoining chamber. A gentle breeze wafted in from the open balcony door.

  “Ha! Oh, how I’ve missed this place.” Trevisian grimaced.

  “Yes, I can see it in your eyes,” mocked his friend, leaning back and stretching his arms out on either side of him, showing the true size of the giant warrior. He surveyed his Prince. “Your own carriages?” He raised a brow questioningly.

  “Oh, my noble friend!” Trevisian sat down opposite him. “Surely robbing from myself rather than others isn’t something your moral compass can turn away from?”

  “And the purpose was?”

  “I merely needed money for food. Really, it would be no different if I walked down to the palace kitchens right now and took some bread to eat.”

  “Yes,” murmured Johan. “No different. And what of Dainus? I bred that horse specially for you and now I find he has not returned with you.”

  “He’s living free,” said Trevisian, knowing his horse would be happy wandering the wilds for a while, although the saddle on his back and the bridle on his head would be an impediment. “At least for the moment.”

  They sat in silence for a while, the sound of the fountain in the courtyard below serenading them. Trevisian’s mouth pulled up into the semblance of a smile as he looked at his old friend. Johan had been with him since he was a small boy. He had been kept as a companion and bodyguard for the Prince, after being captured during the conquest of the southern Tao desert. No matter his surroundings he always stayed true to his race and Trevisian admired him for it. He was the only man at court with whom he felt connected.

  Trevisian’s mind began to drift back to his time at court, watched by everyone. He wondered what Garesh would ask of him next.

  “I am to be wed,” He said suddenly, not knowing entirely why, and frowning as he did so.

  “A beautiful woman to bed and bear you babies. A hard life you lead,” said his friend, half a smile crossing the Radichi’s customarily calm face.

  Trevisian gave him a hard look, and Johan put up his hands in response, nodding his head in understanding.

  “You do not wish it?” he asked, dropping his hands again.

  “Others may not.”

  “What others? I believe the whole Council wishes you would wed and provide the Kingdom with an heir.”

  “Just others.” Trevisian’s mind drifted uninten
tionally back to the blue-eyed boy. He pushed the image away from him. The boy was dead and he had allowed it to happen. “And how has the court been?”

  “Much the same. Garesh continues to flatter every group to keep them at his beck and call. Rumours filter in, of rebels causing disruption in the Great Forest. Garesh believes they are Laowyn. From what I hear they are taking no offensive actions, only defensive, in the face of hardship, but Garesh sees them as acts of aggression. With his interpretation, people in the court are beginning to hate them. Even the Radichi have better relations with your people - do you know I was greeted by no less than three of the twenty people I passed on the way to your rooms today?”

  Trevisian smiled. His friend’s humour over his race always surprised him. He hadn’t noticed it much when he was young, but as he grew up he had seen how others shunned him. Discrimination against other races was simply accepted, but where Johan was concerned it irritated Trevisian. If he wasn’t so obviously Radichi it would be easier, but the tattoo pattern which lay just beneath Johan’s skin was a clear demarcation of his race. The faint swirling brown markings described what line he was descended from, but no one outside the Radichi had been taught to decipher the code. Even Trevisian knew very little of their people and culture. Perhaps that was why no one fully trusted the desert warriors.

  Johan carried on, his deep voice so familiar to Trevisian, “And then there are the many beautiful women flooding your harem. They have caused a great deal of talk amongst the courtiers.”

  “Ugh!” Trevisian threw his hands up in the air before going out onto the balcony. He looked down to where men and women talked by the fountain, birds swooping and playing in the water.

  He glanced above his head at the flight of a hawk wheeling far over the high towers of the palace. It swooped back and forth, proud wings stretched out wide, riding the winds wherever it wished. Free as Trevisian had been, less than a fortnight ago.