The Remedy (Eyes of E'veria)

by Serena Chase

  “Saved him?” Her voice broke on the last syllable and a shudder moved across her shoulders, sending the thickness of her cloying, gnawing guilt into my awareness. Erielle shook her head as if to ward off the vividness of the emotion, but it wouldn’t be borne away.

  “Erielle, I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you did. You saved him in the only possible way.”

  “How can you say I saved him? It was my hand that drove the dagger into his—” She gasped in a breath and swallowed. “Your Highness, I killed a knight!”

  She made a strangled sound and looked away. Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “All these years I have trained so that I might someday be allowed to serve the King as my father and brothers. All that time, I have known I might have to take a life someday. But to kill a knight? One of the number I had hoped to someday serve alongside?” Another shuddered rippled through her. “Kile was kind,” she said. “He made me laugh.” She swallowed. “I danced with him last night. And then, only a few hours later . . .”

  “A few hours later, you defended the life of your Ryn,” I said firmly, though I felt her pain as plainly as if it were my own. “Ebonswarth is an evil substance, Erielle, and whoever slipped it into Sir Kile’s goblet is the villain responsible for his death. Not you. Kile could not control his actions. Somewhere within him, he knew that. His request of you was sincere. Were he able, Sir Kile would thank you for doing the duty he was unable to perform.”

  Her eyes were shut, her expression a mix of grief and disgust.

  “I will never forget the feeling of my dagger entering his heart. Or the look in his eyes.” Her hand lifted to her mouth. “It was shock at first, I think. But then . . . a strange sort of peace came over him just before . . . nothing.” She inhaled through her nose and let the long breath out through her lips. “It was almost as if he was relieved that I’d struck his heart.”

  “I think he was,” I agreed. “On some level, he was aware that he was being controlled by someone else’s will. Asking you to kill him was his final act of loyalty to the Knight’s Oath.”

  She nodded, but regardless of the circumstances, this was a memory she would carry with her for all her days. As would I.

  “The person responsible for Kile’s death is the person who poisoned him with ebonswarth,” I stated again, hoping the truth of it would seep into her soul. “You, my friend, did exactly as you should have and you have my thanks.”

  “It is my honor to have served you,” she said. “I only wish there could have been a better outcome for Sir Kile.” She took a deep breath in through her nose and sighed. The colors of guilt subsided a little bit. She nodded toward my goblet. “You haven’t drunk your eachanberry juice yet.”

  Just the mention of it caused my tongue to ache with thirst. I tipped the goblet, inwardly wincing at the memory of my dream, of seeing Sir Kile’s hand make the same motion. But I pushed the thought away.

  Erielle had called it “eachanberry juice,” but I knew it as honeyed half-wine, a rare and dearly sought product of Eachan Isle, home of the Seahorse pirates. I had recently sampled it aboard Cazien’s ship and found its taste delightful. But Cazien had warned me that the juice of the eachanberry was, in his words, “a bit wily, even prior to fermentation.” In this case, it would be medicinal, I supposed. But the pirate had seemed to imply that the berries of Eachan Isle produced a juice that was, perhaps, a bit too medicinal, if imbibed in excess.

  As I sipped the sweet, tangy nectar, I thought about the council to come. We had planned to confer about the departure from Holiday Palace, the point at which I would leave my father’s company to move toward Mount Shireya, and the progress toward finding someone to act as my double along Dynwey Road. But with this new treachery, I could only assume there was even more to discuss.

  A maid arrived bearing fresh clothes for both of us and drew a bath for me in my father’s tub, which dwarfed my own. Even with the night’s grief still pressing down on my heart, I couldn’t help but reflect that as pampered as I was as a princess, it was clearly quite good to be King.

  My hair was not yet completely dry when I was ready to dress, so I divided it into three sections, braiding each, and then braiding the three braids together before rolling and pinning up the excess at the nape of my neck.

  That task completed, I dressed. The color of my gown reminded me of the rich, fresh soil found around a long-fallen tree in the wood. It had a subtle orange sheen when I stood in direct sunlight, but its only decorations were the green laces across the bodice. Even though I could easily get myself in and out of this gown without help, the ease of its use did not detract from its simple, earthy beauty. Truth be told, it was one of my favorites.

  When I returned to my father’s antechamber, Erielle was gone, but the King had returned.

  “Rynnaia.” He looked tired and I gathered he hadn’t slept at all after the events in my bedchamber, but his voice held the special smile reserved for me. Seated across the wide desk from him, Julien took to his feet.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Your presence could never be an interruption,” my father said. “Come. Sit.” He motioned to the chair next to Julien’s.

  I was barely settled in the chair when a knock sounded on the door.

  My father sighed. “Enter.”

  The door opened and the guard announced the herald.

  I laughed.

  Julien tilted his head and whispered, “What’s so funny?”

  “The herald was just announced.” I giggled again.

  “And . . . ?” He arched an eyebrow. He didn’t get it.

  He didn’t get it? I explained. “Don’t you see? The guard just heralded the herald.”

  “Ahh.” He looked down, but his beard quirked.

  “It was funnier in my head,” I admitted. I bit my lip, wondering if my Veetrish nature had caused offence by allowing humor to escape so quickly after a tragedy.

  Humor and the comfort of family was how the Veetrish dealt with difficult times. But perhaps, as in so many other arenas, the rest of E’veria dealt with pain with more solemnity than did the Veetrish. I would have to apologize to Julien and my father later, for it appeared I wouldn’t be given a minute longer to muse over my probable breach in etiquette now.

  “Your Majesty, the post.” The herald passed my father a thick sheaf of parchments. “Twenty came with instructions of urgency.”

  “And are they?” My father asked, but frowned as he scanned the first page.

  “That is, of course, not my place to say. But I believe you will find the urgency of their authors to be much more ardent than the need to reply.”

  My father flipped through the messages. With each page, the line between his brows deepened. Finally, he set the parchments down and turned his gaze to the herald.

  “Is there anything here that might shed some light on the attack on the princess?”

  Earlier we had agreed that Sir Kile would be remembered for having died while defending the Ryn from an attack. And, due to some unknown person’s treachery, it was the truth. The details didn’t matter outside our small circle.

  “I’m afraid not, Your Majesty.”

  My father flipped through a few more parchments. “Is there a single message here that does not pertain to the courtship of my daughter?”

  The herald’s lip twitched. “Yes, Your Majesty. Several do not speak of courtship at all but instead contain proposals of marriage.”

  “What?” I stood. “You must be joking.”

  At my outburst, Julien laughed aloud. I turned toward him, but he just grinned and arched an eyebrow as if to say, “I told you so.”

  “It seems there is a mad rush of love in Dynwatre,” the King said with a dry smile.

  Julien snorted.

  “You doubt the sincerity of these men, de Gladiel?” My father’s tired eyes sparkled as he held up the pages. “Why, one claims he has been aware of her existence for years and was just waiti
ng for—” He paused. “Wait. I’ll read it.” He sorted through until he found the right one. “Here it is. ‘We were only waiting for the time we could declare our mutual affection and receive Your Majesty’s blessing upon our marriage.’”

  The sound that rushed from my throat was a cross between a squeak and a snarl. I reached across the desk and grabbed the parchment out of my father’s hands. I scanned the script. “Leflin de Monnyn? I don’t even recall his name! Did I even dance with him?”

  “You did.” Julien’s laugh was so hearty he bent at the waist and put his head in his hands. When he arose his eyes danced. “He’s the magistrate from Port Dyn. A short widower with three long hairs combed around his bald head.”

  I groaned as the picture formed in my mind. “I remember him!” I wrinkled my nose. “He smelled of gutted candles and . . . and broccoli left too long to boil!”

  Julien leaned back in his chair and rested the back of his head in his clasped fingers. “I had no idea the competition would be so fierce.”

  The King rifled through the messages. “At least there are none here of whom I will have to lower my estimation of their character.”

  I lifted my chin. “Is it so hard to believe that I would merit the attention of suitable men?”

  “No, Rynnaia,” he replied. “But suitable men know a lady more than one evening before issuing a declaration of love or proposing marriage.”

  “Some even threaten the lady’s life at the tip of a sword once or twice before requesting her father’s permission to court,” Julien added with a grin.

  I barked out a laugh. “Indeed.”

  “I don’t believe I’m familiar with that story,” my father said.

  “I am!” Erielle announced from just inside the door. Behind her, the guard stammered out an apology.

  My father waved at the guard in dismissal while shaking his head at Julien’s sister.

  Erielle pursed her lips. “I should have waited to be announced. Sorry.”

  Julien let out a heavy sigh. “Nothing new there,” he grumbled.

  My father just chuckled. “Well, you might as well come the rest of the way.”

  Erielle took the third and final chair facing my father’s desk and proceeded to tell him about the first time Julien had met his new “squire”—me.

  This, then, is how we will make it through Sir Kile’s passing, I thought. Not by ignoring the tragedy, but by trusting that life is bigger than the pain death brings.

  Perhaps some Veetrish ways were more universal than others.

  I smiled through the story, proud of Erielle for not only her actions in protecting me, but for her strength in not succumbing to the misery that might have overtaken a weaker person in her position.

  In the days to come, I reflected, evil may force us to take regrettable action, and death may rob us of friends, but neither will be allowed to steal our joy or rob us of the benefits of friendship itself.

  “Even you, Your Majesty, would not recognize your daughter in her disguise,” she finished.

  My father leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers at his waist. “Oh, I might surprise you.”

  Erielle wrinkled her nose. “Well, if not for the Andoven connection you wouldn’t.”

  Julien nodded his agreement. “It’s quite a convincing disguise.”

  “Of that I am glad. Unfortunately, I believe it’s time we move to the War Room,” my father said. “Some of the knights have likely already gathered.” He stood, and although his smile didn’t entirely disappear, it seemed a bit sad. “We’ve much to do to ready for your journey, as well as Sir Kile’s honors to arrange.”

  At that we all sobered.

  The council met again in the War Room, among them, Sir Kiggon of Sengarra, under whom my brother Lewys served.

  My father outlined the plan we had discussed to rescue Uncle Drinius and Sir Gladiel. No one questioned whether I would be able to unlock the cells, but they didn’t have to. Disbelief was carved in each knight’s brow. Well, each but Julien’s. His confidence bolstered mine and I could only hope it was well-placed.

  “I’ve lost a good number of men and a score are still within the infirmary, recovering from their wounds,” Kiggon said when my father had explained his strategy: six regiments, depending on the element of surprise, would attack and hope to draw the enemy away from the fortress while I, wherever I happened to be at the time, would unlock the cells and guide the prisoners out of the fortress and to the awaiting troops.

  “If your Majesty would grant it,” Kiggon continued, “my men and I would be honored to join the troops you’re sending to recover Gladiel and Drinius.”

  My father nodded. “Granted. There is an individual member of the third regiment whose welfare must be assured in order to facilitate the knights’ release. I would like to put him in your especial charge.”

  “Of course,” Kiggon said. “It would be my honor. And might I ask his name?”

  “Harbyn.”

  “The horse trainer?”

  “Indeed. His grandmother was Andoven, and while his gifts are not strong enough to allow him to unlock the cells at the Cobeld fortress, he will be able to communicate with the princess concerning the timing of her efforts to that end. He has also been instructed to report to me periodically to keep me apprised of your progress along the way.”

  “Your Majesty,” Kinley spoke up, but his eyes were on the maps laid out on the table. “By my calculations, the princess may well be within Mount Shireya by the time the regiments reach the fortress.”

  “Yes,” my father said, his brow furrowing.

  Kinley continued, “If the scrolls’ prediction of her possible . . . incapacitation,” he paused and looked over at me then, his eyes troubled, “should be accurate, I’m caused to wonder if Harbyn will be able to reach her.”

  My father looked down at the maps, nodding. “You’re wondering if we should have a secondary plan, should Rynnaia be unable to unlock the cells.”

  “I think we all are,” Sir Risson spoke up. “Regardless of Her Highness’s condition, a secondary option would be a good idea.”

  Quiet descended. Faced with the prospect of figuring out how to release prisoners whose very cells were armed with hairs from a Cobeld’s cursed beard, no one could think of another option.

  “Between transporting the King back to Salderyn and helping the Ryn accomplish her quest,” Sir Risson added, “we can hardly afford to send more troops to Dwons.”

  I wanted to shout, “If it were up to me, I would send the whole army to save my uncle and Sir Gladiel!” But my mind treaded back before that thought could take another step in that direction. No. I would not. And they would not wish me to. There were more pressing matters at hand, and regardless of their loyalty and my love for them, the task of finding the Remedy had to come first.

  “These knights are dear to me,” I said instead. “Nothing but death will keep me from answering Harbyn when he contacts me. I have to believe the plan will work.”

  “And if for some reason it does not,” my father added, his gaze resting first on Sir Kiggon and then moving to the knight who would serve as this action’s commander, “I trust you will do whatever seems wisest.”

  The knights nodded and my father moved on to the next topic, deferring to Julien to explain the strategy for delivering me safely to Mount Shireya.

  Julien spoke with an authority that not even the older, more experienced knights questioned, even internally. I felt a tad bit guilty for looking into the thoughts of the council, but admiration for my suitor overcame the restraint I should have exercised to follow Andoven etiquette. I was curious to see where he stood in the minds of the other knights and gratified that it was at such a well-earned height.

  “Sir Kile’s memory and loyal service will be honored at table tonight,” my father said when Julien finished. “Since we have an Andoven elder present, Dyfnel will preside over the burial rites at sunrise. You are dismissed.”

  The mood was
solemn as we left the War Room. Beyond the treachery that had led to Sir Kile’s death, other concerns abounded.

  Would the woman serving as my imposter be believable enough to draw the Cobelds from Shireya? And if the ruse was successful, would the King and his army be able to thwart a concentrated attack from the Cobelds and the Dwonsil warriors? Would Gladiel and Drinius survive long enough to be rescued? These questions and more were heavy upon us all.

  “I refuse to accept the possibility of failure, Kiggon.” Sir Risson’s low voice caught my ear as I made my way to the door, but I doubted he meant for me to hear. “Mourning the Ryn was costly the first time. Should we have cause to mourn her again, I fear the Kingdom will not survive.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The last full day before our departure found nearly every occupant of the palace engaged in travel preparations. The majority of my time was spent perfecting my disguise and learning how to work the hatch in the floor of the carriage by which I would sneak out to meet up with Julien once we were well enough away from Port Dyn.

  The carpets had been removed from my bedchamber but had not yet been replaced. I was relieved to avoid seeing the bloodstained reminder of Sir Kile’s attack and subsequent death, but my chambers seemed colder with the stone floor echoing every step I took.

  I hadn’t slept here again. Instead my father ordered a bed placed in what had been my mother’s personal sitting room, adjacent to his study. I was glad to be nearer to him, but I had objected to putting anyone to the task of moving my things when we were soon to leave Holiday Palace anyway. I didn’t linger long in my dressing chambers when the need arose, but I couldn’t see the sense in packing it all up twice.

  I had just finished packing the few wardrobe items I would need to regain my identity as Rozen de Morphys when Erielle arrived with a tall young woman in tow.

  “This is your imposter, Princess,” she said as soon as the door was closed. “Vayle de Ellis, may I present Her Royal Highness, Princess Rynnaia?”

  “Your Highness.” Vayle gave me a low curtsey.