by Sam Farren
Michael and I were her servants. Michael chimed in to say he was the cook, though he'd never made the effort to prepare his own meals at home.
We were let through without too much hassle. The guards were far more concerned with keeping people out than keeping them in – if we wanted to venture into Kastelir, it was on our heads – and Michael and I dragged Sir Ightham and Rán's things through to look the part.
I tried to catch a glimpse of Kastelir, pushing myself up onto tiptoes for a better view, but the gate was a corridor of a building, and we were at the far end of it. Sir Ightham stopped on the way out, leaving Rán to look over our three horses – Michael had come to Benkor with his own horse, Patrick – as she went to speak with a man sat behind the iron bars of a small window looking into a small room.
He grunted in greeting. Sir Ightham emptied her pouch onto the counter, gold ringing against stone, and said, “We need to exchange our money to the Kastelirian currency,” for my benefit.
“Is it much different?” I asked, pushed up on tiptoes, watching the man reach through to gather and count the coins. It'd never occurred to me that Kastelir would use different coins; money was money, to my understanding.
“It's mostly aesthetic. See here—” She took one of the coins the man was counting out. It looked like a mark, was just about the right size and colour, but she turned it on her palm, revealing a bear's head worked into the metal in place of the royal family's sigil. Sir Ightham pulled aside more coins, showing me the backs: there was a stag with flowing antlers, a tiger's head, and that of a dragon.
I studied the coins, taking in the way that something so slight made so much of a difference, and knew I wasn't ready for Kastelir. Not that I had a choice: Sir Ightham collected her money, making ready to leave, and Rán led our horses away from Felheim. My feet followed, in spite of my reservations, and I saw Kastelir for the first time.
It was unremarkable.
There were gentle hills ahead of us, clusters of trees speckled across the landscape, along with the shapes of a few towns in the distance. I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting. The wall between Felheim and Kastelir was only a matter of meters thick; it certainly wasn't enough to turn the land to mulch, to make a swamp of the hills and sear the sky red.
Still, I wasn't expecting the transition to be so underwhelming.
I stepped away from the gate and managed to trip on a loose stone. Michael chuckled, patted me on the back, and climbed atop Patrick, deigning to take the lead.
Sir Ightham fell back, talking with Rán as we took the worn path towards a town in the distance. They made no effort to whisper; they were talking in what had to be the pane tongue, and I only understood the words Luxon and Thule.
My gaze darted this way and that, but I wasn't looking for bandits or pane. I didn't know what I was looking for, beyond something that would instantly make Kastelir feel distinct. It wasn't that it wasn't different; but Eaglestone had been different to my village, along with Praxis and Benkor, and there was nothing unique about those dissimilarities.
I'd let myself believe that Kastelir was in a constant state of turmoil, had imagined siblings fighting one another out in the fields, each commanded by a different territory, but Kastelir was whole, open and wide and quiet, beautiful in comparison to the wasteland I'd expected.
The town we headed for – Riverhurst, as Sir Ightham had told the guards – was only half a mile away, with no walls built around it. Its perimeter was made of buildings pressed close together with plenty of gaps to squeeze or stroll through, but the road led to the real entrance.
It was marked with a statue unlike the one of our King and Queen I'd seen in Praxis. It wasn't built upon a pedestal, and there was little skill to speak of in its execution. It was made from weathered stone and depicted three people. Kastelir's rulers, I assumed. The remnants of a fourth figure seemed to confirm this; a pair of pane feet remained though the rest of the statue had been destroyed.
Michael climbed off Patrick's back and scrutinised the statue.
“Queen Kidira, I'd wager. Although the height...” Two of the figures towered over Sir Ightham, while Queen Kidira's likeness was shorter than I was. “Probably emphasised here, as though the statue is some manner of joke. And as for the others, King Jonas and King Atthis—or the other way around. Neither of them are particularly distinct from the other, though I've read they have widely differing heritages.”
“He's a smart one,” Rán said dryly, and Michael would've looked pleased with himself if someone other than a pane had spoken.
“He just reads a lot,” I said, hopping off Charley.
“Yes, well...” came Michael's reply. He cleared his throat, and I decided I'd tell him that Rán was of no threat to anyone once it stopped being funny. “That, of course, leaves only Queen Kouris unaccounted for. Unaccounted for beyond the feet, that is. If the mob who did this had any sense or wit, they would've ceased their vandalism once they reached the shoulders.”
Michael was alone in laughing at his joke, but it was enough to bring him back to himself. He cleared his throat for a second time. Not out of a sense of discomfort, but because he was preparing another of his tales.
“What a farce of a Kingdom! Their Queen married a pane and everyone acted as though nothing untoward had unfolded,” he said, by way of starting things.
“Michael, I don't think—” I tried, but he hushed me with a wave of his hand and set about straightening his collar.
“Towns such as this one are more than used to all manner of performers,” he explained, though it was the thought of him telling a story about Kastelir in Kastelir that troubled me, not the fact that he might have difficulty drawing a crowd. “And since Sir Ightham has been infinitely kind and allowed me to accompany her on her journey, I ought to repay her in whatever way I can.”
Michael's stories were always more of a gift to himself than anyone else, but I couldn't deny that he was good at it. Michael was tall and lean – taller than I was by a head and a half – but when he tangled himself up in one of his tales, his presence was immense. People took notice, and he spoke as though he'd keep on speaking whether he had an audience of one or one hundred.
He found a place to perch himself, along a cobbled step with a lamppost built into it, and lingered until a few passing Kastelirians turned their heads. Michael was animated when he spoke, but most of that sprung from his voice; he never acted out scenes, never did much more with his hands than push his words higher and higher.
“Long before the young, thriving Kingdom of Kastelir was forged through peace, there were the four territories. For centuries, the only common ground they shared was that of the battlefield. When people speak of the War of the Territories, they mean to say wars—rulers came and went, borders were redrawn time and time again, and treaties were created with the intention of being broken.
“For centuries, it had been considered a human war, until the pane Kouris forced the entirety of the continent to take notice. Pane claim to be peaceful. If this is the case, then Kouris was, perhaps, the exception that proved the rule. But nonetheless: there the territories were, teetering on the verge of signing the first genuine peace treaty in over two centuries, when Kouris came down from the mountains, a falcon emblazoned on her armour, a rabble of humans who had fallen to her command behind her.”
I glanced skittishly at Rán, worried Michael's words might wound her, and noticed, for the first time, a dragon emblem pinned to her leathers, along her collarbone. Arms folded across her chest, she seemed dully entertained by it all. She knew as well as anyone that history was history, and had likely learnt plenty from the examples set by Queen Kouris.
“Kouris was tall—even amongst pane, she towered over her kin, as if trying to rival the dragons. Her horns were long enough to curve back and scrape her shoulder blades, and her cheeks were scarred deep by her own tusks. Kouris marched through the northernmost territory, burning villages as she went, slaughtering those who faced her and those
who fled before her soldiers had the chance to draw their blades. She sharpened the bones of her victims into weapons, as if to scorn us for what we do to dragons, dragons who have razed our lands; but not before sucking the meat clean off them.
“Kouris had the skins of humans tanned and stretched, forced the survivors to scrawl falcons across them and carry these grim emblems across the land. She marched through the territories with such determination, such ferocity, that those who had come together to unite the lands feared she had some plan to overthrow them; or worse still, that she wished to continue the war indefinitely, for her own amusement.
“But when she stood before the Kings – simply Lord Jonas and the Warlord Atthis at the time – she did not draw her blade. She didn't bare her fangs any more than she had the misfortune of doing so naturally. She simply fell to her knees, horns scraping against the floor as she bowed.
“When they asked her what she wanted, she made no reply. She didn't understand a single word of Mesomium, and neither of the leaders knew what to do.
“There was a glint in her eye like the spark of dragon's breath, blood staining her teeth and armour, caught in her hair, mixed with the dirt smeared across her face. She shook, quite like a mad woman, and all in the room expected her to attack. And though the Kings Atthis and Jonas drew their blades, there was little need for it.
“Queen Kidira – merely twenty years old at the time – had recently arrived to sign the peace treaty. She wasted no time on words as the Kings had; she leapt upon the pane's back, struck her against her skull with the heel of her boot, and had her behind bars before Kouris could regain consciousness.
“She paid no heed to the way Kouris growled and snarled, rattling the iron bars of her prison, and met her with both sharp words and kindness. Kouris didn't understand what was said to her, of course, nor did Kidira understand what was being snapped at her in return, but in time, the two of them learnt from one another. Kidira never forgave Kouris for what she'd done, but took it upon herself to have Kouris brought back to what she believed were her true senses.
“The pane was fed and washed, and as the months passed, Kouris showed herself to be less and less of a savage beast. As if reflection was all she truly needed, Kouris slowly pieced herself back together, and the two began to speak of official matters. Peace was still out of reach; no matter how the leaders agreed it was the only path for them to take, the people found reasons to continue fighting amongst themselves. And Kouris, it turned out, was as skilled at nurturing peace as she was at manufacturing strife.
“Needless to say, in time, Kouris was let out of her cage. She agreed to represent her territory, where the pane are numerous, and within three years, Kastelir was finally formed. The only objections to Kouris being crowned Queen were spoken of in disgruntled whispers, and for three long years, as the city of Isin grew around them, Kouris ruled alongside Kidira, Atthis and Jonas.
“But note by note, those whispers became louder, until the roar of a mob found its way to the castle gates, pounding and pounding, demanding justice. For no matter the change she had been through, no matter all that she'd accomplished, Queen Kouris had yet to answer for her crimes. It is said – though I do not know who first said as much – that Queen Kouris went to Queen Kidira in the night, and asked her to steal away with her.
“When Kidira told Kouris that her duty was to her land, and that she could never betray it, Kouris understood what she had to do. And though she left the castle that very night, she did not run. She gave herself over to the mob, where she was put to death by beheading; but not before they took her eyes and fed them to falcons, as she had once done to all those who crossed her path.
“And thus Queen Kouris atoned for what she had done, forever leaving one of Kastelir's thrones empty, for no pane would ever take her place.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. He'd modified the story; it wasn't the tale I was used to hearing. It didn't show Kastelir as a savage land, didn't make all involved seem as senselessly brutal as Queen Kouris. Michael filled in gaps of his own accord, made everything softer, and somehow, it felt closer to the truth than anything I'd heard before.
Michael had drawn a small crowd. Most were at least interested in what he was saying, while a few were there solely to judge him. I supposed the accent gave him away, as I heard one man say, “What do the Felheimish know about our history, anyway?” under his breath. Someone chimed in that we were always hiding away behind our wall. This didn't deter Michael. He saw the story through, and when he finished, he was met with applause, and bowed apologetically when he found himself declining requests for another story.
“Cheerful,” Sir Ightham said, enticing Michael to bow once again.
“Read that in a book, did you?” Rán asked, amused. She'd earnt no shortage of wary glances from the audience, and they were still watching her, waiting to see how she reacted.
Made bold by the mostly positive response to his performance, Michael managed to reply.
“Are you suggesting that I missed some details? Didn't do justice to the historical truth?”
“Invented some details, more like it,” Rán said with a chuckle. I doubted she knew the truth any better than Michael did, but that wasn't going to stop her from teasing him.
She headed into Riverhurst, having errands of her own to attend to, and Michael recovered from his prejudices enough to bolt off after her.
“My good pane, if I might have a moment of your time—!” he called out as he went, leaving me with the horses.
We saw them to the stables, and once they were secured, I followed Sir Ightham through Riverhurst. She didn't say where she was going, nor did she ask for my company, but after a few minutes, I realised I'd been hovering for too long to make an abrupt departure. Sir Ightham didn't say anything, but neither did I.
I kept thinking of things to say, but the words never reached my lips. She didn't care about anything that came to mind; didn't care that the weather had really warmed within the past few days, didn't care that I was taken aback by Michael's abrupt and bold presence; nor did she care about his story, or any of the remarks I could've made about the unfolding town.
I glanced up at her, and if she noticed, she didn't look back. She seemed distant and distracted, but not cold. I wanted to tell her that she could confide in me about Luxon or anything else that was troubling her, but only dug my hands into my pockets and stared down at the pavement.
Sir Ightham stopped outside a small corner store with a dark red awning covering the doorway, but didn't enter. A chalkboard propped up outside had caught her attention. There had been a few in my village. The elders would share news with the villagers that way, would let them know of anything pressing that had happened in the surrounding areas, any reports of dragon attacks, or just to say when the next meeting was.
“Excuse me,” Sir Ightham called through the doorway, to the man behind the counter. “Which Prince?”
I leant to the side, getting a look in the store. It was full of a dozen different vegetables, as well as a rows of bottled ale and stacks of newspapers, all of which were kept cool and dim. A young boy shopping in the corner paused to look at Sir Ightham, and the shop owned pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, and said, “What's all this now?”
I tried to take in the nuances of the Kastelirian accent – perhaps some letters were rougher, some syllables longer – but before I'd met Sir Ightham, I'd never really considered words to be spoken in a way that differed from my own dialect.
“Your sign says that a Felheimish Prince is to marry a Kastelirian noble. Did your source happen to say which Prince?”
The man let out a low hum, closed the tattered book he'd been reading around his thumb, and said, “Something with an A. Adam?”
“Prince Alexander,” Sir Ightham said briskly, then nodded her head. “Thank you.”
She turned on her heels, heading off as though tearing herself free of something. She moved with such a force that I was left standing s
till, watching her charge through the street, until she came to a crossroad and stopped, looking left and right, left and right, not knowing which way to turn.
I took the opportunity to catch up with her.
Her hands were balled into fists, and I tentatively said, “Sir? Do you know him—? The Prince?”
Her lips were pursed together, her chin held high. I didn't expect an answer, and when she finally tilted her head to the left, deciding on a direction, I thought that was to be the end of it. But she swerved off the street, towards a bench.
She sat down and I took a seat next to her, watching the people of Riverhurst come and go as she did the same. Or stared straight ahead, at the very least. I sat with my elbows propped on my knees, turning towards her every few seconds. She looked as though she ought to have been shaking, but wasn't.
“He is my brother,” Sir Ightham eventually said, not turning to face me.
“You have a brother?” I asked, so startled by the thought of Sir Ightham having a life outside of Knighthood that the most obvious question was jilted out of my mind.
“I have two. Princes Alexander and Rylan,” she said. “These past months have been... I ought to have heard such news from Alex, not from a shopkeeper's chalk scrawlings.”
Sir Ightham tried to unbundle her fists and succeeded, for a few seconds. It wasn't anger or frustration that had driven her away from the store front; she was upset, and I felt I'd done the right thing in hovering around her after all.
“Hold on. If they're the Princes, then that means—”
“I am a Knight. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Sir Ightham was as stern as ever, deflecting any further questions, but she couldn't help but finally look my way. My brow must've been furrowed, confusion written all over me, for I didn't understand how the sister of two Princes could be anything but royalty herself.