Sorrows of Adoration

by Kimberly Chapman

  Realizing such a relationship meant he too was royalty, I started to kneel. He stopped me and said, “None of that now. I don’t need it, and we don’t have time for such things.” He handed me a very light pack to carry and started down the slope of the valley.

  I told him I could carry more, and he said that he wasn’t about to ask a lady to travel across rugged terrain as a packhorse.

  “I’m hardly a lady, Lord Jarik,” I said, trying not to sound flippant. Abbottess Mercia was forever rapping my knuckles for being flippant. “Until yesterday, I did work for my living.”

  He looked back at me with a jovial smile. “I know you’re not a lady of the court, but you did, after all, travel a great distance to save our lives. That, in and of itself, deserves some measure of respect. And what I carry isn’t heavy. Not yet, in any regard. And don’t call me ‘Lord’.”

  “Forgive me,” I said in earnest. “By what title are you known?”

  “Jarik will do for now, and I shall call you simply Aenna, since you say you are no lady,” he said, winking like a rascal. I laughed at his teasing, for it was clearly that, and followed him down the side of the valley.

  * * *

  For many hours we walked amongst trees and rocks through the valley. Though the air was crisp with winter’s impending chill, the sun shone brightly overhead and I was not too cold. We kept up a steady pace, and Jarik was kind enough to ask frequently if I needed to rest. I rarely did, and when we did stop, I did not feel guilty of it because he seemed to appreciate the repose as well.

  We spent much of the time talking of many things, and I grew to like this man very much. He was pleasant, polite, good-humoured, and a little silly, which I admit I found quite endearing. He was so unlike the men I knew from working at the inn. Not that they were all ruffians, and some indeed were very sweet, but this man was like those of the bards’ songs—handsome, elegant, and well-educated, and yet he seemed to enjoy my company. Me, the little peasant girl, in the company of royalty. What a notion!

  I learned that he was not quite a year older than myself, and his cousin only two years older than he. It seemed strange to realize people of such high status were close to my own age.

  He frequently referred in his conversations to great writers, poets, and other thinkers who seemed always to have something to say about, well, everything. I was suitably impressed at first, and then I wondered if perhaps he was trying to impress me, which in turn made me wonder as to why a man of nobility would seek to impress a poor girl such as myself. I told myself I was being silly, that this must be how the nobility speak at all times—poised, informed, and proud to show it.

  Yet he was not poised at all times. He would often make a wry comment and then wink at me mischievously. The wink would inevitably be followed by a roguish smile that always made me laugh. This was how we remained throughout the day—laughing, chatting, and forgetting that we were supposed to be fleeing for our very lives.

  But the truth of the matter was that there seemed to be no sign of the would-be assassins. The few times I thought of them, I was filled with worry for the good Prince and the Lady Gilaela, a title which made Jarik laugh—he said calling her “lady” was like calling one’s nurse a Princess. Having not had a nurse, I didn’t know what he meant, but his infectious laughter made me giggle nonetheless.

  Jarik seemed to catch on quickly when my mood turned to worry and often assured me that the Prince would certainly be safe. In the evening as we sat to eat, he tried to convince me that they would already be safe at Endren.

  Endren—it seemed a strange thing to be headed there. It was the capital city of my kingdom, yet I had never imagined going there. What reason would I have had? I was neither a trading merchant nor nobility, no one who would ever have reason to travel to Endren. And yet there I was on my way, and with the cousin of the Prince no less. I must reiterate that fact, for every few minutes it reoccurred to me and my insides would feel shaky, my heart would flutter, and the spirit of adventure and living what was suddenly a remarkable life would make me smile broadly. Then I would blush, feeling so silly, and if Jarik spotted my red face, he would favour me with a gentle little smile that made me blush even more.

  At dusk we found a great, wide fir tree under which to sleep. The lowest branches swept the ground at their ends, but were a good deal off the ground near the trunk. A perfect little shelter, so long as it didn’t snow and weigh the branches down further. The ground smelled of cold and pine needles. I wrapped the blanket tightly around myself and tucked a corner under my cheek so the needles wouldn’t stick my face as I slept.

  * * *

  We woke early again and were off, after picking the needles from our hair and blankets. This new day was a cloudy one, and it was harder to be so cheery with the threat of possible snow. A cold wind had arrived, and blew through my clothing unpleasantly.

  We spoke of less jovial concerns that day, with Jarik occasionally referring to some matter of politics of which I was usually unaware. I would always ask him for an explanation, which seemed at first to surprise him, as if he had expected me not to take an interest in such things. He would patiently explain the issue to me, never once with a hint of condescension, and once he realized I was happy to talk about weighty matters, he began to ask me my thoughts on them. Had he been smug, I would have been reluctant to offer my opinion, as I would have feared it would sound silly. But his continued kind and polite demeanour served as inspiration to discourse, and the talk was enjoyable even if the subjects were not always cheerful.

  At one point, I asked him if he knew why someone would want to kill the Prince.

  “There are always those who wish to do such things,” he said gravely. “It is a fact of royal life. Are you aware of what Raen of Daufrae attempted several years ago?”

  I nodded. Everyone in Alesha knew the story of how the Lord of the small Aleshan city of Daufrae had been exiled for threats made against King Tarken. Lord Raen had claimed to be a direct descendant of King Korreg, Tarken’s great-grandfather. Raen claimed that Korreg had had two sons: Tarken’s grandfather, King Tursk, and some man named Reshtaen, whom Raen claimed was his own grandfather. Despite the fact that no record of such a man existed, Raen asserted that Reshtaen was the true heir to the throne as the eldest son but was tricked out of his birthright because he had been born to a poor Aleshan woman that King Korreg had bedded before his marriage to Queen Shantakh.

  Raen thus claimed the throne was rightfully his, and threatened to take it by force if King Tarken did not acquiesce. Of course, King Tarken dismissed the man as a fool, but when a cousin of Lord Raen’s was caught trying to sneak into the palace kitchens with a packet of poison, Raen was exiled from Keshaerlan. It was said that he escaped execution only because there was no direct evidence to indicate he had been part of an assassination plot, and he claimed his right under the law as a nobleman to be spared execution in the absence of evidence.

  These things were common knowledge, spoken of in taverns and pubs and inns, and I knew the story well. “But that was many years ago,” I said.

  “Yes, and it is certainly unusual for murderous desire to infect a sufficiently large group to actually present a threat. I do not know what the cause of this particular group is, but I am sure that the truth will be revealed once we’re back in Endren.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “Because any group that large and that dedicated to murder will have left clues to their crime along the way. Even if not one of the bandits is captured to be questioned, the King’s Guard will determine their path and deduce the rest.”

  “Yes, I suppose if their behaviour in the pub was any indication, folks in other places may have overheard their plot as well.”

  Jarik smiled at me in a way so marked with affection and appreciation that I felt myself blush. Then he said, “Thankfully, there was at least one brave soul who did something about what she heard.” I blushed deeper at these words and was thankful when he soon turned the
conversation back to less pressing topics.

  When we stopped for our noon meal, Jarik set a small trap and caught a rabbit. I offered to skin it for him—that having been one of my less than pleasant but typical duties at the inn—but he insisted on doing it, saying that it suited a man of the court to occasionally have to provide for himself in this way. He cleaned the carcass and carefully wrapped it to be cooked later.

  The snow began to fall lazily from the sky in the early evening, advancing the darkness by at least an hour. We were lucky to find a cave—or rather, a wide crevasse in the side of a rocky hill. Jarik said it was better than a large cave, which would probably already have an occupant that would not appreciate our presence. I agreed in mind, but as we crammed ourselves through the split in the rock to the narrow hollow behind, my heart longed to sleep comfortably and for the luxury of a bath. Oh, how I have always detested feeling dirty, and there I was with several days’ worth of dirt and sweat covering me. My clothes had been worn but still in respectable shape when I left the inn; now they were torn and looked truly ragged. My hair was a disaster, and trying to keep the smaller wisps about my face or the ends of the wrapped braids from flitting about my eyes and nose was quickly becoming a tiresome task. But I did not complain to Jarik, lest he should think me unable to continue and regret allowing me to accompany him.

  For the truth was, and I knew it then, I greatly enjoyed his company. I was happier during this struggle of a journey than I had ever been in my life, all because of this good man. As much as I longed to be indoors where it was warm and clean, I feared the end of the journey, since it would inevitably mean we would part ways. I was, after all, a mere peasant girl, enjoying the temporary company of a nobleman, but temporary it certainly had to be.

  We ate the rabbit after grilling it to a succulent crispness over the small fire Jarik built with flint and tinder along with twigs and wood I had gathered for him. As we ate, the snowfall increased, gradually building up to a veritable blizzard. It seemed unending, piling up at the edge of our shelter, threatening to bury us alive. Jarik would kick the pile down the slope of the hill, but it grew in spite of him. He reassured me that it would not bury us, that the pile would fall outward and not seal us in, and most of me believed him.

  We stayed awake longer than we should have, watching it fall. Then, within the space of a few minutes, the snowfall stopped. We were glad until we realized that nature had traded the snow for a sudden drop in temperature, and despite the fire, we became very cold. We both huddled and shivered in our blankets, but as it got colder it became impossible to sleep. I heard Jarik’s teeth chatter even over the sound of my own.

  Jarik sat up suddenly and looked at me, his face lit by the red glow of the fire’s coals. “Aenna, this is silly. We’re going to freeze to death like this. I know this sounds awfully impudent, but would you consider sharing the blankets and staying warmer beside one another? I give you my solemn word as a gentleman that I shall not abuse your trust. I would never accost you in any way, I swear it, and I also swear not to tell a soul so that your good name would not be sullied by the rumour and innuendo of idle tongues on our return to Endren.”

  My heart thudded in my chest. He was so forthright, so bold, and yet so eloquent. In truth, I wanted to consent immediately because I was so very cold, but I made myself appear to consider his request. I looked at him, and the thought of lying beside him made me blush. I was glad of the red light of the coals, knowing that it would mask the colour of my face. I schooled my expression to one of practicality, and agreed, telling him I believed his word as a gentleman and hoped that he did not think less of me for accepting the offer.

  “On the contrary, I think you’re wise to put appearance of propriety aside for reasons of survival. We’ll both sleep better for this,” he said softly as he moved to me, put his blanket over me, and then crawled underneath both of them.

  I lay on my right side, my arms folded across my chest as my teeth continued to chatter. He faced me, close but not quite touching except where his own arm crossed his chest. His left arm was folded under his head as a pillow. He shifted briefly to pull the blankets up to my ears and tuck them around us both, and then he lay back down. Our arms before our chests were pressed together, and once he accidentally knocked his foot into mine and apologized. I said it was no concern and smiled at him as I began to finally feel some small warmth from being so close. He smiled back and whispered, “Sleep. I swear you shall be safe.”

  “I know,” I whispered back, because I did. I completely trusted this good man. I had no reason not to. Had he wanted to accost me or take advantage of me, he could well have done so many times over, knowing that I would have no defence but to run away, likely to my death. There would have been no punishment for such crimes when we reached his home, for his word against mine would have suffered no contest. But I didn’t trust him merely because he had not abused me thus far—I trusted him because he seemed to genuinely care for me. He asked my opinions, went to great lengths to ensure my comfort where he could, and made a point of reassuring me even when it was unnecessary. I had never experienced such kind concern before, and it touched my heart.

  He fell asleep first—I could tell so by his light snoring. I found the sound to be soothing—if he could sleep so soundly, things could not be entirely bad, I reasoned. And the rhythm of his breath was constant and relaxing. I found myself dreaming of loving such a man and quickly banished the notion from my mind.

  Silly girl, I told myself, he is so far above you in station, you should be glad if he lets you mop his floors when you get to Endren.

  Indeed, he had spoken several times of rewarding me for my warning at the outpost, and every time I insisted I needed no reward. I didn’t. I could find work in Endren and make a life for myself, and I intended to do just that. I thought perhaps if he continued to insist on reward, I might be persuaded to accept a new change of clothes, a bath—oh, how I desperately wanted a bath!—and perhaps a meal to set me on my way. But I wouldn’t consider that a reward if it were offered; it would be an appreciated act of kindness on his part.

  Yet that thought of having feelings for this good man who slept beside me was hard to banish entirely. I prayed that if the Gods saw fit to reward me for doing my duty—which should not necessarily be rewarded—that they might bring my way such a good man closer to my station. I tried to imagine such a man and discovered he had Jarik’s kind face, his smile lines, his bright eyes and layered dark hair. I erased the image and tried to replace the face with another, but Jarik’s visage kept breaking through the image, right down to that bit of hair in front that was too long and hung over his eye.

  I chastised myself. I had to stop myself from thinking such things before I went and spoiled what pleasant parts there were to this otherwise difficult journey. I reminded myself of the cold, hard fact that this man was the cousin to the future King, was no doubt betrothed to a refined and elegant lady of court, and was probably simply being polite to the dirty little peasant girl in order to have a more pleasant journey himself.

  I fell asleep telling myself repeatedly that allowing my heart to get involved with anything about this man was a foolish notion, one that would undoubtedly result in great pain.

  * * *

  In the morning when we woke, we looked out upon a world blanketed in white. It looked beautiful for the first few moments, until I remembered that we would have to walk through it; then it lost its charm. Jarik leaned against the rocky wall, sighed, and suggested we wait to see if the sun would come out and melt it away.

  “Only if you care to wait all winter, which I certainly do not,” I grumbled, seated at the mouth of the crevasse. Our words had that softened, muffled sound that always comes from speaking whilst surrounded by snow.

  “We can still make it to Endren. I still know my way, and we have enough food that even if we aren’t lucky enough to get another rabbit, we shall not starve. But I am concerned for you,” he said.

  “I’l
l be fine. It’s just snow,” I replied.

  “I know, but your boots look so thin. Do they remain dry inside?”

  “No, of course not. Why, do yours?”

  “Well, yes,” he said. “That’s the point of good boots, to keep your feet dry and warm.”

  “I suppose I’ve never had good boots.”

  “You shall have some when we return. I shall see to it,” he said, kicking aside the snow that had drifted at the entrance to our shelter.

  “I need no reward, Jarik. I—”

  “You were only doing your duty. I know. You keep saying that. Well, I consider it my duty to ensure that you at the very least are properly outfitted before you leave the palace. That is, if …” He paused, then stammered, kicking idly again at the snow, “That is, if you want to leave.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant. Was he offering me work at the palace? I dared not hope for it and certainly dared not ask. I chose to say nothing rather than risk saying something absurd.

  He turned to me, seeming to expect a response. When none was forthcoming he continued awkwardly, which was quite different from his usual elegance. “Because, you know, there is no one who would make you leave. Not after what you did for me. And the Prince. The Prince, of course, you saved his life. He, well, he’s unlikely to forget that. In fact, I can assure you with certainty that he won’t. And he’ll definitely want to reward you whether you want it or not.”

  Again he looked at me as if expecting a response, and again I was afraid to say anything lest I should appear presumptuous.

  “Well, regardless of that, that’s days off and we should start moving, if you think you’re able.”

  I nodded, because truly I was saying yes to his seeming offer of employment.

  “But your boots. Aenna, the snow will melt under your feet and make them wet. You’ll catch your death of cold. We have to do something about them.”

  I looked thoughtfully at the thin, cloth boots. The leather soles were almost worn through and had already been patched from the summer. I looked back at Jarik and confessed that I didn’t know what to do.