Tranquility's Grief

by Krista D. Ball

  “Don’t give me any lip, boy! I don’t know everything that happened in elf territory, but I know enough.” He turned and faced Arrago, his face red with anger, though the anger wasn’t directed at him. “I’ve known this little weasel of a king his whole life. He’s no good, do you understand me? Taftlin politics isn’t like living with elves.”

  “But—”

  “No! Do as I say.”

  Arrago frowned, but inclined his head in obedience. “I miss being poor,” he muttered under his breath.

  Sir Eli apparently did not hear him. “Wait here. Give the servants a chance to get into position. I’ll hold them off.” He jerked his head at the door.

  “Sir Eli Greyfeather!” A masculine voice boomed outside, muffled by glass and walls. “By the King’s order, we demand to speak with Arrago Cedar.”

  Arrago’s throat tightened. “Sir, if you’ll permit me to just speak with them –”

  Sir Eli grabbed Arrago’s tunic and pulled him down to his eye level. “Have you been listening to a word I’ve said? You aren’t living with a dirt farmer. Any time a king’s soldiers set foot on my doorstep, they’re testing my strength.” He released Arrago and straightened himself. “Now, stay put.”

  Arrago did as his patron requested, though he didn’t like it. All he needed was to go outside, hear what the soldiers wanted, and talk his way out of the situation. He’d always excelled at diplomacy in one form or another. He’d even made his way into the Lady Champion’s bed...Arrago mentally kicked himself. It was not the time for that.

  Female servants dropped their buckets and trays to hurry off to the cellars, dragging with them all of the younger members of the household. Sir Eli’s three daughters also lived in Beachcomber Manor. They promptly made their way downstairs, their young heads held high and their silk trains gliding behind them, off to hide in the larders underground.

  Male servants, along with male relatives and the hangers-on that stayed at the manor, rushed through the corridors with swords, bows, and crossbows in their hands. Helmets, gloves, and leather tunics were quickly distributed by others.

  “Sir,” said a man servant, handing Arrago a sword.

  He declined. “I don’t need a sword to talk.”

  “Arrago, there you are!”

  Relief filled Arrago. Edmund, short like his father, raced down the corridor. Beads of sweat dripped down his red face. “I just heard there’s some trouble.”

  “Good morning, Edmund,” Arrago said flatly. “We get to argue with Daniel’s thugs today.”

  “Just like ol’ times,” Edmund said with a wide grin. He shifted his shoulders and tugged on his hip-length doublet, then fiddled with the row of gold buttons at his neck.

  Sir Eli rejoined them a moment later and scowled at his son. “All your training already gone? I spent more gold than you’re worth to send you to that temple and you can’t even run through the hallways. No true son of mine would be as useless as you. I’m convinced your mother whored around and stuck me with you.”

  Arrago offered his friend a sympathetic glance, but Edmund only scowled. Arrago turned back to Sir Eli. “Are we ready?”

  “All right, boy. We’ll do it your way. I’m right behind you, though.”

  “So am I,” Edmund said, still red-faced and panting. He accepted a sword from a servant, testing its weight.

  Arrago nodded at the butler, a grey-haired, hunched man who swung open the door. Outside, at the bottom of the short stairway sat four well-polished soldiers on horses. The king’s symbol—two eagles flanking a mountain peak—decorated their tabards, as well as a banner that snapped in the wind. The banner was attached to a pike and Arrago tried very, very hard not to imagine his head mounted atop it.

  Movement caught his eye and he counted six more soldiers across the cobblestone walk, standing next to the hedgerow. To Arrago’s left, the sun reflected off steel. He broke out in a sweat. He did not want to die today.

  “The ones by the far trees have bows pointed in our direction,” Edmund said, his voice low.

  Arrago remained focused on the soldiers standing at the bottom of the steps. He stood silent, staring at the men. A hand’s depth had fallen overnight and covered the cleared front park. Around them, snow was piled knee-height. In the distance, Arrago could hear the howls of sled dogs. He shivered in the frigid air, and his breath joined the fog of cloud created by man and beast alike.

  The middle soldier on horseback asked, “Are you Arrago Cedar?” His breath came out in puffs of steam in the chilled morning air. Reins in hand, he folded his gloved hands over the hilt of the sword that jutted across the horse’s back.

  “I am,” Arrago said, his voice steady, though his heart galloped. He focused on maintaining eye contact and not allowing his gaze to fall to the sword. Behind him, footsteps sounded and Sir Eli stepped beside him. Arrago took Sir Eli’s silent lead and waited.

  “King Daniel—” Arrago flinched at the name. “—is pleased to request that you join His Majesty’s most honored royal guard and accompany the army west to conquer the Rygent Islands.”

  The hairs stood on Arrago’s neck and were only partially due to being outside without proper clothing. Arrago and Daniel barely knew each other, except for a few days during training back in Orchard Park. Daniel had called him a peasant, Arrago called him inbred. It quickly devolved from there, ending with Daniel calling Bethany a whore and her breaking his nose.

  Arrago and Daniel were many things. Friends they were not.

  A young soldier, little more than a boy, jumped down. He’d been sitting behind the large man holding the pike. The boy walked up the half dozen steps to hand Arrago a scroll. Without taking his eyes off the soldiers in the distance, Arrago snapped the wax seal. Giving the soldiers in front of him another glance, he turned to the letter.

  Arrago Cedar,

  I command you to join the army and prove your loyalty to me by invading elven-allied land. I heard you finally gave up that red-headed whore’s bed, so I’m certain you would not deny a personal request from your king.

  His most Royal and Majestic sovereign,

  D

  Arrago gritted his teeth. He’d sooner kill himself than ally with Magic. It would mean separation from Apexia in the next life. He still had to atone for defiling Her holy child. There would be no redemption if he took this step. No, he would not abandon his morals or Apexia’s grace. His hands shook, both from the bitter cold and fear, but Arrago raised his chin high all the same, prepared to face his death.

  He would not yield.

  Sir Eli snatched the letter from Arrago’s trembling hands. Following a moment of silence, he crumpled the letter and threw it on the ground. Arrago stood in shocked silence; Sir Eli had figuratively spat in the face of King Daniel.

  “Now see here. I am the magistrate of this county and you cannot force anyone into the militia without my consent. The King knows this. If His Majesty needs compensation for his trouble, I’m more than happy to provide it.” Sir Eli’s voice turned hard and low. “Otherwise, leave before I forget who sent you.”

  The first soldier who had spoken patted his blade. “It would be unwise to threaten us, Sir Eli. King Daniel’s orders are clear. Arrago Cedar comes with us.”

  Arrago squared his shoulders. Nothing could willingly cause him to betray his beliefs and especially not risk eternal separation from the Gentle Goddess. He certainly wouldn’t harm innocents simply because a son of a whore king turned his back on everything his father stood for. Daniel was the idiot who opened Taftlin’s gates to Magi, for Apexia’s sake! There was no possible way Arrago would stand by any leader who would do something that stupid.

  Arrago steadied his thoughts. No. He would not surrender. He’d choose to die on Sir Eli’s steps. After his life’s blood drained away, he would meet Apexia on the wind and offer any atonement for defiling her most holy daughter. He could hold his head high and die knowing that he’d stood against evil and did as Apexia commanded.

  T
ears welled up in Arrago’s eyes and his breakfast churned in his guts. He did not want to die. He stood as still as he could muster, muscles twitching from the cold. He really did not want to die, but he would rather death over cowardly collaboration.

  “What if I refuse?” Arrago forced out.

  “I’ve been instructed to bring you to King Daniel by supper meal. He didn’t say if you needed to be breathing.”

  The cold autumn wind cut through Arrago’s clothes and he shivered. He could go with them and try to escape later, but he doubted he’d have the opportunity. Knowing Daniel, and the militia for that matter, he wouldn’t make a privy trip without a guard holding the door for him. Escape after accepting service meant treason, which meant death. Likewise, resisting now meant death.

  No, he would meet his death here, now. He would not be a coward.

  “Now see here,” Sir Eli said, stepping forward and shaking his finger, “this man is under the protection of my house.”

  “If you stand in our way, I have the authority to seize your house, your daughters –”

  Sir Eli screamed, “You will never touch my daughters!”

  War exploded at Beachcomber Manor.

  Chapter Three

  The Diamond must cut down her enemies, like thieves in the night. Only then shall she triumph over the Viper and its eternal darkness. Only then shall she find safety in the shadow of the Elf King.

  -Prophecy of the Diamond, Second Tablet

  “Replace Allric?” Bethany struggled to keep her tone even. “Why does he need replacing?”

  Jud opened his mouth to answer, but Allric spoke over him. “My application to postpone my union has been denied.”

  “You’re getting married?” Bethany exclaimed. A flicker of memory concerning her own arranged marriage assaulted her. Sarissa had butchered her intended to circumvent prophecy. It turned out that poor Garran was never the pawn of gods like the clerics supposed he was. A king, and more importantly a good man, died for nothing other than a pointless, obscure prophecy chiseled into some stone and scribbled on some stupid bundle of parchment.

  A prophecy she never believed.

  A wry smile formed on Allric’s face. “I did turn four hundred three months ago.”

  Jovan whistled. “Married by four or out the door.”

  Bethany glared at Jovan, who fiddled with the gold loop dangling from an ear tip. He looked like a human pirate. “There’s a war on. Can’t they wait?”

  Jud cleared his throat and said, “Lord Allric has successfully delayed marriage for two centuries. It is imperative that he return to Wyllow to marry his assigned bride, who, I will remind everyone, has patiently waited for his return.”

  “The elves are at war. We’re in the middle of it,” Torius said, motioning to their surroundings. “His bride can wait.”

  Allric shrugged. “The marriage council refuses to budge.”

  “As well they should, Lord Allric. The bloodlines must remain pure,” Jud interjected. “I am here to assume the role of Lord Defender as determined by the War Council.”

  “Point of fact, Lord Jud,” Aneese said, her voice raspy from the cold morning air, “but should not Jovan be Allric’s replacement?”

  Jovan groaned. “Apexia’s tight ass, I hope not.”

  The brandy in Bethany’s belly turned sour. Refusing to marry once a match had been arranged would bar Allric from any position in the Elven Service. The Elven Council feared their pure bloodline would become so tainted with human blood that the entire line of elves would die off. Utter nonsense, of course, but that was the thinking of elves.

  The way I used to think, too...before Arrago…before he opened my eyes.

  “Lord Jovan will remain in his current role as second in command of the Silver Knight.” He shot a glance at Jovan. “His loyalties are questionable and the council...”

  “Pick up your blade and say that, coward,” Jovan interrupted. He stood straight and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Or better yet, why not use your other sword on your wife? Apexia knows she enjoyed mine at one time.”

  “Jovan!” Both Torius and Aneese snapped at once.

  Bethany, however, grinned. Occasionally, Jovan’s whoring had its uses.

  Jovan slipped his hand away from his weapon and muttered, “First Drea, now Jud. What the fuck did I do to deserve this?”

  Jud visibly twitched. “Lord Jovan, as you are remaining in your capacity as Lord Protector, I order you to refrain from vulgarity. Otherwise, I will need to discipline you and I feel it would not be the best start to our new relationship.”

  Jovan spat. “Fuck our new relationship.” He looked at Torius. “You can’t be serious, letting this idiot kick Allric out? Can’t you do something?”

  “His Holiness is far too busy to concern himself with matters of state,” Jud stated matter-of-factly.

  “His Holiness would be happy to write the Council for you, Allric,” Torius said, his tone flat.

  The following silence was appropriate to the magnitude of the priest’s words. He had once been Allric’s mentor, a lifetime ago. Now, a rift sat between them, one that even Bethany thought could not heal. Yet, here was Torius offering to use his influence to help his former pupil.

  Forgiveness. A skill she’d never learned. Torius’s act humbled her.

  “Thank you, Torius,” Allric whispered, his face filled with relief.

  They did not need the grandstanding of an apology. When Allric reinstated Eve back into the Knights, it was his way of apologizing. This was Torius’s acceptance of that apology. Words were unnecessary when the actions spoke so clearly.

  Jud locked his hands behind his back and paced around the stable-study. “I am keenly aware this change in leadership will be fraught with difficulties as you all adjust to working with me. However, we are Knights and we shall behave as such.”

  Bethany took a deep breath and tried really, really hard not to fall asleep as the liquor’s effects tugged on her. She looked at Jovan, who smacked his lips and yawned.

  “Lord Jovan, I recognize that this change must be most keenly felt by yourself, since you did outrank me until today.”

  “I still outrank you,” Jovan said. He casually stretched out on the hay bale, leaning against the wooden crates marked ALLRIC in black paint. “I never wanted Allric’s job, in any case. It requires too large of a quill to be shoved up my ass, for my tastes.”

  Bethany snorted and then faked another coughing fit. “Sorry. I think I’m catching the coughing sickness.”

  Torius shot her a reproving look and she winked at him. “Please take care of yourself, Bethany. We wouldn’t want our Lady Champion falling ill.”

  “Yes, indeed not,” Jud said. “Which brings me to the next point of business. I had hoped to address this tomorrow, but Father Torius’s comment hits home the importance of my new orders.”

  Bethany cocked an eyebrow at Torius, who gave her a little shake of his head. Though, the corners of his mouth curled upwards. Torius hated pompous fools as much as she did.

  Jud stopped pacing to look at Bethany. “Lord Allric’s decision to allow you into a full combat role has been a source of significant conflict between the Council and the Silver Knights.”

  Bethany blinked at that. She knew her appointment to the Silver Knights’ elite had been difficult for Allric to justify, as she was the first woman to achieve the rank of Lady Champion, or “Lord Champion” as it was historically known. “I didn’t know they were still giving you trouble.”

  Allric shrugged and Jud answered for him. “Most of the council was unaware of your unique status as our sacred Goddess’s eldest daughter, of course. However, once your true identity was revealed, every member of the Council agreed that you cannot remain in your current position. It was wrong of Lord Allric to indulge you, more so since he knew of your parentage from the beginning.”

  They’d punished Allric, because of her. She narrowed her eyes, seething in anger at the cowardice of the Council. />
  “Therefore, I am promoting Lord Kiner to the position of Lord Champion. You will, of course, retain the title of Lady Champion, but will be moved to a ceremonial role. You will be transferred to Wyllow, where you will be able to live your life in safety.”

  Bethany’s heart pounded. The fog of liquor cleared, replaced by a storm of emotions. Being a Silver Knight was the only thing in her life that was still good and pure. They wanted to take it from her. Her jaw clenched.

  Never.

  Allric took one look at her and stepped in front of Jud. “We should discuss this first.” He flashed a warning glance at Bethany.

  “I do not require your council, Lord Allric.”

  “You want to remove me?” Bethany said, slowly, as though the words were in a foreign tongue. She rose and stepped around Allric, so that she could glare Jud in the eyes. “You want me to stop being a Knight so that I can be safe and cozy?”

  Jud spread his hands. “You must admit that you are wholly unsuitable for the role. It was quaint to have you elevated to a rank that no female has ever held before. Your identity has been exposed now. You have a duty to your mother and to all true believers of Apexia to act appropriate to your station. The daughter of our Gentle Goddess cannot be killing people and cavorting with human servants—”

  Bethany spat in Jud’s face.

  “Bethany, stop,” Allric said, though he reserved his harshest tone for Jud. “That’s enough. No one is replacing Bethany without my consent. I am still in charge here.”

  No one was taking away her Knighthood, everything she’d worked for. No one.

  She pulled her Blessed Blades a hand’s length from her back scabbards. She glared at Jud, who wiped the spittle from his face, his cheeks flushed. “You will have to kill me first.”

  “Calm,” Aneese said as she struggled to her feet. “Everyone, please be calm.”

  Without the Knights, she would be worse than dead. She would mold and rot in the elven sun. She would have nothing that was hers.