Musing on Johai, I missed Damara greeting the two women. I turned my attention back as one woman, an overlarge feather adorning her head, asked, “And who are your companions?”
Damara smiled in her charming way. “This is my charge, Maea.”
I couldn’t help but notice the way she avoided mentioning Johai or how he stepped back, leaving me in the forefront.
“What a beautiful girl, and what house are you from, dear?” the woman, whose pursed lips looked as if she had just finished eating a lemon, asked.
Damara prevented me from answering. “Maea is without formal house ties.”
Their regard transformed from curiosity to revulsion, as if I was a bit of mud on their satin slippers.
“I see…” the featherheaded one said. “Well, we must be going. We have other engagements.”
If I were wiser, I would have kept my mouth shut, but my brain was full to bursting, and I snapped at the slight. “Are you so shallow that only kings and lords are worth your attention? By your own admission, I am beautiful, but beauty is not worthy unless a hefty dowry makes it shine?”
The pair of them pressed their hands to their chests in unison. They looked like a pair of birds awaiting a worm, mouths agape.
“Why, I never!”
“Ladies, excuse my companion. She is careless with her tongue,” Damara said whilst squeezing my shoulders.
“Perhaps she should learn to guard her tongue better,” the pursed-lipped one replied, eyeing me disdainfully.
“I apologize on her behalf, ladies.” Damara bowed much deeper than their station required, I’m sure, because they seemed somewhat mollified. They nodded and waltzed away. But not before I caught a snatch of their conversation.
“She always kept strange company. Did you recognize the man with her? It’s his son.”
“I never thought I’d see him back here again.”
They disappeared around the corner, and when I turned around, Damara and Johai were speaking in hushed tones. He pinched the bridge of his nose as she leaned in towards him, her hand resting on his arm. I did not want them to know I watched them so I pretended to be admiring a painting hanging in a nearby niche. It depicted the royal family: King Dallin, swathed in the blue and silver of the royal house, wore a crown made of scrolling silver. The painter captured the furrow of his brow and the tight lines surrounding his mouth. He wasn’t someone I would want to cross. His wife, a handsome blonde woman, rested her hand on the shoulder of a curly-haired waif of a girl, Princess Sarelle. They made for a striking trio. My gaze lingered longest on the princess. There was something about her, something significant about her; a memory tugged at my brain, but I could not give it shape.
I had been so concerned trying to remember Princess Sarelle, I had neglected to eavesdrop on Johai and Damara. I caught the tail end of their conversation.
“… if he is back at court, that means the others will be returning soon,” Damara said with a hint of relief in her voice.
“I know; time is short. We will have to work quickly. Layton cannot know what we are about, remember.”
“I know.” Damara sighed.
Johai noticed my lingering gaze and jutted his chin in my direction. Damara smiled at me and waved as if signaling they would be but a moment more. They turned their backs to me and continued in hushed tones that I could not hear without moving closer.
After another short deliberation, they embraced, or rather, Damara embraced him while he stood rigid in her arms. Who is Johai? I wondered. Perhaps her illegitimate son? That would explain the scandal surrounding him. It would explain Johai’s purpose at court and his need to boss me around. She was surely old enough to be his mother. But on second thought, I didn’t think someone as unbending as him could be related to Damara. Perhaps her lover? That, too, seemed unlikely, just for the fact that Johai seemed unable to display human emotion.
She returned to me without Johai.
“Johai will not be joining us?” I asked and hoped I sounded genuine and not nosey.
“No, he will not.” She smiled, and I took that as a sign the topic was closed for further discussion.
We headed towards the gardens. I remained in pensive silence. Damara walked, her brow furrowed. She, too, seemed to be troubled. We turned the corner near a bubbling fountain when a guard wearing blue livery and a silver tree embossed upon the breast held his hand up, halting us.
“You cannot come this way.”
“Oh?” Damara said.
He clenched the sword at his belt. Several pairs of booted feet crunched on the gravel path.
I peered over my shoulder to see a pair of guards at Hilliard’s shoulders.
“Her Majesty is taking her afternoon stroll and does not wish to be disturbed.”
“Of course,” Damara raised her voice, “we’ll find entertainment elsewhere.”
“Darton,” a woman called, “who are you talking to?”
He scowled at Damara. “It is Dowager Duchess Florett, Your Majesty.”
A woman of late middle years, wearing a high-collared lilac gown, turned the corner. She walked with an upright carriage and a half smile on her lips. Even if I had not just been gazing at her portrait, I would have known her from the way she carried herself. Damara bowed, and I followed suit but looked up at the queen through my lashes.
“Duchess Florett, you’ve returned.” Her gaze flickered towards me as if to glance over me, but for a moment we held one another’s stare. I stared into her grey eyes until the weight of propriety dictated otherwise. “You may rise.”
“I hope the Goddess has kept you well,” Damara said.
“She has guided my steps in all things,” the queen returned. “I hope you’ve made a decision since last we spoke?”
“My answer has not changed.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Then turning to her guard, she said, “Darton, I’ve grown weary of the sun. Let us return inside.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said.
They brushed past us, and I caught the scent of her perfume. It smelled of violets.
“You are friends?” I waved my hand in the direction the queen had left with her guards.
Damara laughed. “I wouldn’t be so bold as to call her my friend.”
More evasion, it served to deepen my distrust. “Why am I here?”
Damara smiled and led me to a bench, where she instructed me to sit. “You don’t remember anything, do you?”
Her direct response surprised me. I had expected her to avoid the question all together. “Not much. I know who I am, that I am the last of the Diranel Diviners. I have this feeling that I was trained for some purpose, but I cannot say what—”
She laid her hand on top of mine. “You were trained to reclaim your family’s title and to resurrect House Diranel and return the honor that they lost a century ago. You have been raised to be the advisor to the king.”
“Why?” The question slipped from my tongue of its own volition. Though I held back a “what’s in it for you?”
She sighed. “Times are changing in Danhad. The old ways of things are dying out. Ever since the war ended, the Twelve Great Houses are weak. We need to return to the old days, to the days when house Diranel advised the king by looking into the future. Before everything is lost.”
Her words echoed those of the other diviner, and it sent a shiver down my spine. I could nearly feel the other diviner’s eldritch presence hanging about these bright gardens.
I wrapped my palms around my forearms in an attempt to assuage the goose pimples creeping up my flesh. I knew then what their plot was: they wished to use me as a diviner to control the kingdom. Worst of all, I was powerless to stop them. I had nothing to my name, and I was dependent entirely upon them.
I had secretly hoped I could trust Damara. I really did. I had fond memories of her, of the ones I had retained. She had been like a mother to me once upon a time. But anything I could recall felt as if it belonged to someone else, not me. Did she ha
ve the best intentions in mind for me? Perhaps, but it did not change the fact that I was a pawn, a tool for them to use.
Perhaps suspecting my thoughts in my silence, Damara suggested we head back. We were headed back to the palace when the blast of trumpets and the clatter of hooves interrupted the tranquility of the gardens. Damara’s face lit up like a girl half her age. Unceremoniously, she picked up her skirts and ran heedlessly down the path. Hilliard and I chased after her until we came to a halt at the garden’s edge overlooking a paved street leading up to the palace.
An entourage of men rode past us, multi-colored banners flapping in the spring winds. Represented were several of the Twelve Great Houses. Each house controlled one of twelve duchies around Danhad. It was said that the original twelve were the twelve sons of our first king and the households they established were their namesakes.
Raleban, the ruling house was the first among them, ruling the duchy surrounding the palace at Keisan.
Wodell was the furthest south along the wilds of Biski territory; Florett to the northern coast; Ilore, just south of Raleban, controlled trade and had a booming port town; Slatone in the northeast was just below the mountain ranges that separated us from Jerauch; Sixton and Magdale to the west; and the remaining five—Nanore, Quince, Leonett, Hiloth and Tantorell—controlled the other duchies around the kingdom.
Among the myriad of banners, one stood out amongst the rest, a yellow flower in bloom upon a blue sky—Damara’s house. The young man beneath the banner had auburn locks clubbed at the base of his neck and a proud, square jaw. I could see the resemblance in the shape of his eyes, in his carriage and coloring—he had to be Damara’s son. She had mentioned him in passing often, but I had never met him. He waved when he noticed us and smiled.
A sigh of relief escaped Damara’s lips. My eyes, however, were drawn to the leader of the party. Light glinted off his chainmail, and emblazoned upon his chest plate was a silver tree upon a navy shield—the royal emblem. A helmet rested under his arm. When he inclined his head to the courtiers spilling from the garden and lining the road, sunlight haloed his chestnut hair and set it aflame in an amber glow. He had dark eyes the color of sapphires set in a handsome face. He smiled at the women who waved to him, and winked in their direction. After they passed, I continued to stare.
“He has returned safely,” Damara breathed.
“Who are they?” I asked.
Damara gave me a knowing smile. “That is my son Layton, Prince Adair, and his riders, come from the campaign in the south.”
He must be the Layton to whom Johai had referred, I thought. My next thought sent a chill up my spine. “Are we at war again?”
“Not exactly, the Biski have been restless, and they laid siege to Duke Wodell’s holding, Blackthorn.”
That must have been the news he had come to deliver, I thought. Something about the attack troubled me, however.
“But the Biski are fractious and normally peaceable. I’ve read of individual attacks, du-toath calling up storms, but they don’t have the power to siege a holding, it seems unusual.”
“It is strange, but just because someone has never done something before does not mean they are not capable of it.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I paused, “and your son joined the force to stop them?”
“He did. I begged him not to, but Prince Adair asked him, and he could never say no to him.”
“He’s very loyal to the prince?”
“They’ve been shoulder-friends since childhood. There is no one my son trusts more.”
Hilliard stepped closer to us, his leather boots creaking. “Milady, perhaps we should go and greet your son?”
“An excellent idea.” Damara smiled at him and offered me a bended arm. I allowed her to lead me inside, all the while my mind racing. Several thoughts crowded for attention, but the one that pushed to the forefront was the prince’s eyes, they were the same as the one the other diviner showed me.
Chapter Three
To celebrate the triumph at Blackthorn against the tribes of the Biski, the palace hosted a banquet. Johai, blessedly, declined to join us in the festivities. So it was that Damara and I entered the entertainment hall. The peers of the realm gathered in tight circles; their muted conversations and the sprinkling of laughter overlapped and turned to a buzzing in my ears. A flautist played a tinkling tune that weaved with the light air about the gathering. Servants circulated the room, gilded trays aloft, laden with wine and delicacies. At the far end of the room was a dais with two enormous chairs, presumably for the king and queen, and additional seats on either side, for the other members of the royal family and their guests, I assumed.
The court herald announced us, and his voice carried over the din.
“Now entering: her grace, Dowager Duchess Florett, and her charge, Lady Maea.”
Damara cut an elegant figure in her emerald gown. As she glided across the room, stares of admiration and jealousy commingled. I, attired in a muted grey, appeared as her shadow, eyes downcast, hoping to avoid the judgmental stares. I thought the lack of surname would cause a stir, but the courtiers either did not hear or did not care.
Under normal circumstances, I would claim the surname of the house that had fostered me.
Because I was not an official scion of a royal house, I was not given this luxury. My lack of title and surname marked me as an outsider and an invader in their world. Despite my dire thoughts, we crossed the hall without incident. The banquet hall hummed as we wended our way through the crowd. We paused to greet acquaintances and endured another round of polite inquiries about my heritage and family ties.
Perhaps my enigmatic entrance had not gone entirely unnoticed. I nearly missed Johai. At least he helped draw the attention away from me. Once or twice, as we made our way through the revelers, I caught people staring. Most of them stared sidelong at me, as one would assess a possible opponent, perhaps a bit curious. One man pointed at me, his ham fist was covered in jewels, and in a stage whisper he said to his companion, “That woman’s eyes, did you see the color? Violet! I have only heard the stories. You do not suppose she’s—”
I hurried out of earshot, not wanting to hear more. Betimes I hated the speculations and the stares; my eyes marked me as clearly as if I wore a brand upon my forehead. Violet eyes, the sign of a diviner.
It may have been over a century since the last Diranel Diviner walked these halls, but the stories had not died with the fall of my house. People remembered, and that meant my abilities would not stay a secret for long. We found a space at a table draped in white linen, close to the royal table. Servants filled our goblets as we took our seats.
Across the table, a man with a receding hairline and a full dark beard sat between two young women, who shared an uncanny resemblance to him.
“My Lord Thelron, what a pleasant surprise.” Damara smiled and reached across the table to him.
He laid his hand over hers and said, “My dearest Duchess Florett, you look breathtaking as always.”
She laughed, throwing her head back. She pressed her hand to her breast as if she were breathless from laughing. I noticed a bit of parchment that she slipped into her bodice as she did so. He had passed her a message. I regarded the lord, he seemed unassuming enough, but it was readily apparent he was one of Damara’s allies.
“I have heard your daughters have found service in the princess’s household.”
“They have.” He beamed at his daughters. The taller of the two looked down at the table, and his second daughter smiled back at her father. “I am most pleased. Queen Idella was kind enough to recommend them to her highness.”
“Her Majesty is very generous,” Damara replied.
“Who is your companion?” Lord Thelron asked.
“This is my charge, Maea.”
I bobbed my head in their direction. His daughters gave me a small hello each, and Lord Thelron smiled, but it did not light his eyes. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Maea.”
An unfortunate side effect of my abilities was being able to see into an unguarded heart and feel their emotions.
I tried to avoid using it, but at times it came upon me unexpected.
Lord Thelron and his daughters excused themselves after that, and I remained staring at the tabletop. A weight bore down on my chest, and a thought pressed at the back of my mind, but no matter how I tried, I could not give it shape.
“I wonder if Layton has arrived,” Damara said, breaking my brooding thoughts.
She craned her neck, scanning the room for her son. I wondered how long they had been apart, and I tried to imagine her agony not knowing if he lived or died out on the battlefield.
“There he is.” She sighed, and I followed her line of sight.
Layton chatted with a group of young men, all of whom wore swords at their belts. Damara caught his eye, and he gave her a wave of acknowledgment accompanied by a smile. He shared a few words with his companions before turning and heading in our direction. Silver glinted on his breast, and as he drew near, I spotted a silver pin there, an encircled tree in silver upon a navy shield. The young men he chatted with also boasted similar emblems on their uniforms.
Damara rose to her feet as he approached and gathered his hands in hers in greeting. “My darling son.” She kissed him on each cheek before pulling back and scanning his face. “I trust you are hale?”
“Not a scratch to be found.” He smiled, furthering the resemblance to his mother. “And who is this charming creature?” He turned his gaze on me.
I bowed deeply, befitting a man of his station. “Your grace, it is an honor to meet you.”
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