“Yeah I wasn’t going to say anything but you smell pretty bad,” Ronan remarked.
“We all stink,” Sayana pointed out.
“Bath house it is, then,” the sailor replied laconically, leading them around the corner and down the street. Shortly thereafter, Aiden took the time to soak in a warm bath and scrub away the grime, as well as the stench of stale alcohol that lingered from the previous night’s entertainment. Once they were done, they arrived back at the inn feeling refreshed and it came as a surprise when Sayana almost collapsed against the doorway.
“Are you okay?” Aiden asked of her, noticing that up close, she seemed to be covered in a fine film of sweat. “Was that display back in the thieves’ guild too much for you?”
“Maybe it was,” Sayana replied evasively, leaning against the outside wall of the inn to catch her breath. “I’m… having difficulty in the city,” she added, barely audible over the background clamour from the inn.
“How, exactly?” Aiden quietly asked, moving next to her to lean casually against the wall.
“Remember how I was when I first entered Bracksford?”
“As I recall, you were afraid that people were going to attack you, or yell at you for being different,” Aiden recounted, suddenly realizing what her problem was. “There’s a lot more people in this place for you to fear, is that it? I thought you’d be over that by now.”
“I was slowly getting used to being around so many people, but then we were attacked in the alleyways that night and I came to understand just how dangerous this city can be,” she explained in a quiet voice. “I’m trying to stay alert all the time, but there are so many people, and trouble could come from anywhere at any time.” Even as she spoke, Sayana gripped the edge of the wall behind her with one hand.
“Settle down, we’re safe here for the moment,” Aiden consoled her, making a genuine attempt to calm down the agitated girl. “Just breathe. You’ve got your back to a wall here, no-one’s going to sneak up and stab you.”
“You can’t know that,” Sayana griped, giving him a withering glance.
“Wait, does this mean that the past few times I’ve seen you looking tense, you’ve been -”
“Terrified? Yes,” she admitted, allowing her hair to fall over her face. Aiden took stock of this, pausing for a long moment to think through her problem.
“You might have said something,” he chided. “How can anyone help if you keep things like this to yourself?”
“I’m not sure anyone can help me,” she whispered. “I just need to… get used to it. Please don’t tell any of the others.”
“I will tell Nellise when I see her, and perhaps Maggie, but that’s it,” Aiden assured her. “They’re smart women, and might even have some useful advice for you. In the meantime, just relax for a while. We’re getting closer to tracking down these the assassins and once we’ve eliminated that threat, we’ll all feel a lot better. I mean, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t felt afraid these last few days – I’m not exactly trained for this sort of life.”
“You’re not really trained as a wizard, either, but you manage well enough there,” Sayana pointed out.
“Most of that’s just from all the reading I’ve done,” Aiden told her deprecatingly. “I think it all just sinks into one’s brain after a while. I don’t have your talent, not by a long shot.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if it is talent I was born with, or given,” Sayana mused quietly. “I need to speak with the one they called Terinus. The old wizards mentioned there were similarities between us and I need to learn more.”
“I have a sneaking suspicion that the King took all the talent with him when he left, and the men who remain are -”.
“Very strange,” Sayana interrupted. “At first they feared me going berserk, and then they looked upon me as some sort of freak. I don’t care for either.”
“I know what you mean,” Aiden agreed. “They think I’m an incompetent buffoon. Worse than incompetent – dangerously incompetent.”
“I would take dangerous over pitiful,” Sayana remarked.
“We both know you’re anything but that.”
“Only if I can make better use of my energies, instead of taking myself to the very brink of collapse after a few invocations,” she finished. “Thanks, Aiden, I’m feeling better now,” she added after a long moment of silence.
“You’re not alone in this,” Aiden added as a final thought. “I think we’ve a good group of people here. Stick with Valennia if things look bad, she really knows how to handle herself.” Sayana nodded, and the two of them looked out onto the street for a few moments in silence as people walked past, going about their lives, until Aiden brought up an issue that had been plaguing him for some time.
“Are we good?” he asked hesitantly.
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, you seemed to think I’m a puppet of a dragon, which is why you sort of stopped…”
“Oh, that,” she replied hesitantly, giving Aiden an appraising glance. “I’m starting to think you may be right, Aiden, for if this creature does have some influence over you, it would have been more obvious by now. I still have my doubts but we are ‘good’, as you put it. And consider also the history of sorcerers such as myself is one of violence and uncontrolled power, so in a way, I’m just as much of a risk to this group as you are.”
“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better,” Aiden muttered, “but I’m glad to know we’re still friends.” She smiled back at him, appearing more relaxed than she had been in quite some time. Sayana was about to say more when a distracting noise caught Aiden’s attention. Turning, he saw a hooded and cloaked figure gesturing to him with a slender hand, tipped in neatly manicured fingernails painted a deep rose.
“This might be from the guild,” Aiden advised, cautiously walking over to see what the newcomer wanted. As he moved closer, she pulled her hood back a little and he was surprised to see a familiar face smiling at him.
“Criosa? What are you doing here?” he blurted incredulously.
“Hush, I’m incognito,” she replied, glancing around to make sure she had not been identified. Amidst the tumult of thoughts that whirled through Aiden’s mind at that moment, the most prominent concern was the security risk to the princess and the ramifications for Aiden’s future if she were to be harmed or captured by their elusive enemies.
“What are you doing out here?” he whispered harshly, glancing back at Sayana and receiving only an unreadable expression in reply.
“I couldn’t stand being locked up in the castle for one more day,” she informed him, her breath misting in the air with each word. “After months of being stuck in Fort Highmarch, I am at my wits end. I decided to go for a little jaunt through the city, and knew you and your companions were staying here so I thought I’d stop by and steal you for a while.”
“What did you have in mind,” Aiden asked warily.
“There’s a playhouse nearby where the legendary elven actress Isande Ellyan is rehearsing for a new production,” Criosa explained, excitement evident in her voice. “She is a poet and musician, and a national treasure of the elven peoples, here in the city for but a brief time.”
“I have provided my patronage to the playwright, so I’m certain he will have no qualms with allowing me sitting in during rehearsals, and I wouldn’t miss this for all the gold in the world. Oh come now, stop looking at me like that, Aiden - it’s the middle of the day. Nobody is going to try kidnapping me, and there are plenty of guards nearby should some fool take leave of their senses.”
“I don’t care, Highness,” Aiden said politely but firmly. “This is madness. The sort of people we are dealing with would stop at nothing -”.
“Balderdash,” Criosa dismissed, touching his arm, “My own guardsmen didn’t see me leave, so I fail to see how some malcontents living in the shadows will find me. It will only be for a few hours, and then I’ll be back in the castle without anyone having noticed I wa
s gone.” Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed Aiden by the arm and playfully pulled him along the street. He helplessly looked back to Sayana, but she had disappeared inside.
“How far is this place?” Aiden asked, resigned to his new position as bodyguard.
“Just a few blocks,” Criosa informed him, careful to keep her hood low. “I have enough faith in the City Watch to keep the areas close to the castle safe, so we only need the most basic precautions, I think.”
“Just make sure no-one sees you,” Aiden advised, keeping an eye on the bustling crowds in the street. Nobody paid them any undue attention however, so he relaxed a little for the time being. “You seem to be fully recovered,” he added. “We were very concerned for your health after the attack.”
“I slept for half a day, nothing more,” Criosa replied distantly. “To be honest with you, I haven’t slept that well since I was back at the fort. Some of the dreams I’ve experienced lately have been quite disturbing, to say the least.”
“I know what that’s like,” Aiden muttered under his breath.
“I can well imagine, as you went through much worse than I,” Criosa said with a knowing look.
“If I may ask - how did you get out of the castle?”
“I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” she answered with a sly grin, visible for a brief moment from beneath her hood as she turned toward him. “I have access to my collection of spell books once more, and there is a rather useful little incantation that allows me to move around with being seen.”
“Invisibility?” Aiden inquired, his ears pricking up at the mention of magic.
“Quite,” she answered. “Ah, here we are then. As I said, only a few blocks from the inn, so I’m sure we’ll be quite safe.”
“The Final Curtain,” Aiden intoned, reading from the odd little sign hanging above the large double-doors of the building. The structure itself appeared to be a renovated warehouse of some sort, though it had been spruced up quite a bit with colourful paint.
Although it seem to be closed, Criosa walked up to the doors and knocked softly. After a moment a small hatch slid open, permitting someone to peer out from within. Aiden kept watch on the street, wrapping his longcoat tightly around him to keep the cold at bay while the princess spoke quietly with the man behind the door.
“Come inside,” Criosa beckoned to him a moment later as one of the doors opened just wide enough for someone to enter. The nondescript man gave him a polite nod as he closed the door behind them, then picked up a mop and bucket and set about his task.
“Don’t mind Gerald, he’s harmless enough,” Criosa advised. “Unless of course you think he’s some sort of master assassin, lying in wait for my arrival?”
“Of course not, that would be paranoid and ridiculous,” Aiden remarked dourly.
“Now you’re being sensible,” she noted with satisfaction, completely missing his true meaning. They came to an archway that opened into a spacious chamber, filled with rows of comfortable chairs facing a wooden platform partially obscured by lavish red curtains. The floor gradually inclined towards the rear of the room, affording those seated at the back a better view of the show taking place on the platform. A sense of grandeur was evident with the colour scheme and plush carpeting, as well as unnecessarily elaborate marble columns rising up to meet the ceiling.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Criosa said, her voice filled with admiration. “It’s hard to imagine this place was once a mortuary, built during the time of the inquisitions to burn the unfaithful. Did you hear about that story?”
“I read about the Church morality police who were active in the city a long time ago,” Aiden replied in a hushed voice. “They went too far at one point, killing the lover of a young musician who subsequently took up his sword and avenged her death, if I recall correctly.”
“Isidore Kerrich was his name, and his love for Adelaide was the stuff of romantic legend,” Criosa sighed, taking a seat in the middle of the theatre and beckoning Aiden to sit with her. “After all that blew over, this building was transformed into a playhouse in his honour. The name is sort of a half-joke actually, but it was thought he would have approved.”
“Father used to bring me here all the time as a little girl, and I would sit and watch, enchanted by the spectacle and the stories being told. Something of a home away from home, as it were. What was your childhood like, Aiden? Was growing up in a frontier town on the edge of the mountains difficult?”
“Not really, though the winters were long and colder than here,” Aiden explained. “I actually spent a lot of my teen years reading and researching from every old book I could get my hands on, so I was more of a town boy than a young frontiersman.”
“I can almost picture you back when you were tiny, scampering around in the snow when you were still too young for books and adventure,” Criosa teased. Aiden smiled back at her disarming manner, but his smile slowly faded as he tried to recall what he was actually like as a child.
Long moments passed and still nothing sprang to mind. He could recall the cave he had fallen into, and the day he had been running through the fields before falling into it, but nothing prior to that event. His palms began to grow clammy as he struggled to remember anything from his childhood, yet was unable to recall even the simplest thing.
“Too shy to talk about it, hmm?” Criosa chided, oblivious to his distress. “Never mind, I’ll find out one way or another. I’m sure Pacian could tell me a few interesting stories.” Aiden gave her a brief smile, then licked his lips in consternation.
“Your Highness,” a man called, walking down a clear path in the centre of the seats towards them. “It is a singular honour to have you here at the Final Curtain, as always.”
“Thank you for allowing me to sit in on rehearsals, Rodney,” Criosa replied warmly. “You have no idea how relieved I am to be back here in Fairloch, and this lovely theatre in particular. May I present one of the heroes of the Battle of Culdeny, Aiden Wainwright - a man of remarkable intellect and surpassing character. Aiden, Rodney is the playwright I mentioned earlier, and today will be the first opportunity to see the results of his work”
“Mister Wainwright, it is a pleasure,” Rodney greeted him, offering his hand. He was a lean man in his thirties, well-dressed and sporting a neatly trimmed moustache which was clearly the prominent style in Fairloch these days. Aiden shook his hand absently, struggling to remain relaxed while trying to recall his earlier years without success.
“Rodney, I think my character should have a beard,” a handsome blond man called from the stage. He was clean shaven and neatly groomed, with regal features suggesting a noble lineage. “Should I go and have a fake one put on?”
“No, Wesley, King Alaric was always clean-shaven,” Rodney sighed with barely suppressed exasperation.
“But my face is cold,” the actor named Wesley complained.
“Everyone was cold back then, Wesley! Just… go with it, make it part of your performance.”
“Splendid idea old chap,” came the reply.
“Is it just me or is that actor a little challenged in the brain department,” Aiden remarked.
“I’m afraid he is rather simple,” Rodney agreed, sitting down in the row of chairs in front of them. “Honestly, if the Bartlett family wasn’t so well-connected he wouldn’t be part of this production, let alone the lead.” Aiden’s ears pricked up at the mention of ‘Bartlett’, and he exchanged a worried glance with Criosa, who seemed to feel the same way.
“Wesley Bartlett is Ronald’s son,” she whispered. “I hadn’t really thought about it before now, but his family might have heard about his demise, or at the very least be curious as to his absence.”
“Do you think he might have learned who was responsible?” Aiden asked in trepidation.
“You’re not the one who put an end to Ronald Bartlett’s life,” Criosa pointed out. “You have nothing to be concerned about, should Wesley have learned of his father’s fate. I must say, though,
if he had, I find it odd that he would be looking so cheerful this soon after the fact.”
“Ah, here comes the real star of the show,” Rodney murmured, standing up and applauding as a winsome elven lady glided onto the stage to join the other actors. She was tall and graceful with large almond-shaped eyes that seemed to radiate tranquillity. Criosa stood up and nudged Aiden in the ribs, indicating he should do the same.
“You do our humble theatre a great honour, Isande,” Rodney loudly called to her after he had stopped clapping. “Ladies and gentlemen, you have the honour today of reciting before our patron, Her Highness Princess Criosa Roebec, and one of the heroes of the recent Battle of Culdeny, Mister Aiden Wainwright,” he called to the stage.
Criosa stood and gave a slight bow to the assembled actors who did likewise, adding some light applause for her benefit. Aiden also stood and gave an awkward wave, unsure how to act in this situation.
“Now then, how about we try some of the new lines in act two, shall we?” Rodney mused, flipping through some sheaves of papers in his lap. “Yes, page thirty-eight, if you please. Wesley, this is the scene in which King Alaric and his wife Gwenwyfar are about to spend their last night together, though neither of them know it at the time. See if you can layer some of that into your reading.”
“Certainly, Rodney, and may I say what an honour it is to stand here with this icon of the elvish stage,” Wesley replied eloquently, receiving a slight inclination of Isande’s head in reply.
“In your own time,” Rodney prompted somewhat impatiently, leaning back in his seat to watch the performance.
“Dearest Gwenwyfar, although the thought of our separation pains me, I… uh… canst not ignore such a discovery, and the untold wealth it promises,” Wesley intoned, the power of his words undermined only by the brief interruption to look at the page.
“Alaric, thy Kingdom is still in its infancy,” Isande said, her voice as smooth and honeyed as her long, flowing hair. “Thou wouldst leave it at this critical time, in whimsical pursuit of legends lost?”
“She’s good,” Aiden whispered to Criosa, “but was Alaric’s wife really an elf?”
In Defence of the Crown (The Aielund Saga Book 2) Page 21