by Sharon Shinn
Soon enough, we were all washed and reassembled, eating the porridge that Jaxon had concocted. No one was too talkative and it was clear to us that the adventure was on the downward slope of excitement. Now we faced the long trip back without the illustrious goal before us. It was hard to be entirely lighthearted.
“Might be one more night on the road,” Jaxon observed. “Depending on the time we make today.”
Bryan rose to his feet. He had not so far said a word. “Then let’s strike the tents and be on our way.”
INDEED, THE TREK out of the forest seemed five times longer than the journey in, and no one made much effort to alleviate the others’ boredom. As before, Roderick amused himself, drifting off to hunt or merely enjoy the scenery while the rest of us trudged down the endless green miles of forest.
Once we broke clear of the woods, we had a collective improvement of mood. Kent fell back to discuss something with Roderick, while Damien actually ranged ahead of the group. I, by some great and never to be sufficiently appreciated stroke of fortune, found myself riding beside the red-haired prince.
“The fish you caught yesterday were the best part of the dinner,” I said, partly to open the conversation on a note of praise and partly because it was true. “How did you know to bring fishing line with you? I would never have thought of that.”
He glanced down at me with the slightest frown. “We were going to a river, after all,” he pointed out.
I smiled—my best oh-I’m-just-a-silly-girl smile, in which I very rarely indulge. “Well, maybe I’ll think of it next time. But you caught so many! What bait did you use?”
He laughed shortly, suddenly and deeply pleased with himself. “A few slices of that dayig fruit,” he said. “Everyone else seemed to find it so delicious, I thought the fish might.”
I laughed with him. “Well, the fish was wonderful—the dayig was wonderful—the whole trip was grand. But maybe you missed all the formal dinners and meetings with ambassadors.”
“There will be plenty of that waiting for me when I get back,” he said. “Dirkson of Tregonia will be there with his daughter, Megan, and I’ll be expected to squire her around for the next week or so. She’s a tiresome girl, always trying to get me to flirt with her. I swear, her only notion of a conversation consists of me telling her how beautiful she is and her replying, ‘Why, thank you, Bryan!’ ”
Coming from Bryan, this was actually exquisite humor, but I was shocked nonetheless. “Flirt with her!” I exclaimed. “But you’re betrothed to Elisandra!”
He flicked me a smiling glance, and I saw a touch of that arrogance that had been missing since the night before. “She doesn’t want me to marry her, she wants me to pretend to be in love with her,” he said. “You are not at court often enough. You do not know how these games are played. A little dalliance in the garden—a few whispered words in the hallway—everybody does it, and it means nothing.”
Unexpectedly, he held out one imperious hand. I laid mine against his palm, wondering, and he squeezed my fingers lightly.
“I’ll show you how it’s done,” he said. “I come across you in the breakfast room, perhaps, and you’ve just finished your tea. ‘My, Lady Coriel, don’t you look fresh this morning?’ I say. ‘The color of your gown so exactly matches your eyes—I feel like I could drown in them, they are so blue and so deep.’ And then you say—”
“My eyes aren’t blue,” I interrupted. “Brown eyes. See?”
“Well, brown eyes aren’t poetic,” he dismissed them. “And then you say, ‘Oh, Prince Bryan, I was just about to go to the stables for my morning ride. But I’m so afraid to ride out by myself, for the countryside is so vast and I’m so silly that I get lost even at home—’ ”
“You can’t get lost within twenty miles of the castle,” I said practically. “You can see it from every road—”
He ignored my interjection. “And I say, ‘Why, of course, Lady Coriel, I would be happy to ride with a woman so beautiful as you.’ And then you take my arm as we stroll down to the stables, and you pretend to be afraid of your horse so that I have to personally hand you up into the saddle, and then you extend your hand to me to thank me. And I kiss it on the knuckles,” he said, suddenly and unexpectedly raising my hand to his mouth.
I actually gasped aloud; this was the last thing I had expected, and it was over before I had truly grasped the fact that Prince Bryan of Auburn was kissing my hand. I willed the heat of his mouth to sink through my flesh and imprint upon my bones so that for the rest of my life I would carry the outline of that salute within the cells of my body—but he had dropped my hand, laughing carelessly and urging his horse forward, and my hand had already forgotten the precise texture of his lips against my skin. Numb, I kicked my horse forward to catch up with him again.
“So that’s what I’ve got to look forward to when I get back to the castle,” he said, relapsing into a glum mood. “It wouldn’t bother me if we were to spend another night on the road.”
I could come up with no answer. He had kissed my hand. The forces of gravity came unraveled; there was no cohesion at the core of the world, no order in the universe. Clouds and trees and birds and suns spun around of their own volition, freed from their laws and routines. Bryan had kissed my hand. I could not be rational; and so nothing in the world would make sense again.
WE PUSHED ON as late as we dared, but were forced to camp eventually because Jaxon didn’t like this particular party to travel by night. We had been quiet as we traveled, and we were nearly silent now. I went to bed inside my tent and dreamed the night away.
In the morning, a few hours of steady riding brought us in sight of the castle. A commotion at the stable yards and Bryan and Damien were gone before the rest of us were dismounted. Roderick, Jaxon, and Kent lingered to discuss the horses with the grooms, and I was left somewhat forlornly alone to gather up my belongings and trudge back to the castle. Greta was no doubt waiting to give me a terrific scolding, and Elisandra was no doubt busy with some of those visiting dignitaries. The Grand Adventure was over.
3
Late in the day, refreshed by a nap and still unable to locate my sister, I headed for the upper level of the castle, where the aliora lived. I had discovered this place on my very first visit to the castle, when I felt small, lost, and unwelcome—by everyone except Elisandra, of course. You could encounter aliora throughout the castle, gliding soundlessly down the marble passageways intent on some errand or another, but I only knew a few of them to talk to. In particular, I was fond of Cressida, who belonged to Greta and tended to my sister and—when I was at the castle—me. Aliora were not human, of course, so it was hard to tell, but she seemed matronly and middle-aged, more substantial than the willow-thin young aliora who moved with such grace it was like watching a sunbeam walk. Cressida was kind. She had comforted me more than once when she found me crying, taking me into her long arms and holding me until I was calm.
That was the thing about aliora, I learned later—that was the reason they were so sought-after, so richly prized. It was not just their beauty and what I had described to Jaxon as teachability—it was that sweetness, that gentleness, that great tangible aura of kindness that they could wrap around a weeping human child, a fuming princess, an angry lord. They brought civility to humans. They could make us happy.
So that day long ago I had gone to seek out Cressida, and toiled up miles of narrow stone stairs to find the aliora quarters at the very top of the castle. One wide doorway, guarded only by a curtain, admitted anyone to their chambers. Outside the door on a long golden chain hung a single golden key. It was a key that would turn the lock on every single shackle that the captured aliora wore around their wrists. But they could not abide the touch of gold; they could not lift the key from the wall and free themselves from their fetters. The key hung there as a reminder of the castle’s wealth—and the castle’s power.
Through the door was one great room, loosely divided into smaller rooms by hanging blankets and gr
oupings of furniture. That first day, I had stepped into the big chamber and stared all around me, but I did not focus on the arrangement of bed and dresser and wall. What I noticed was the glow, milky and iridescent, that coruscated through the room and laid a faint patina over the air itself. You did not see it on the individual aliora as they slipped through the castle—but here in this room, all gathered together, they glimmered with magic.
Cressida had welcomed me that day, had let me play with strange colored-glass beads while I lounged on her bed and listened to the soft chirruping speech of the other aliora. She introduced me to her fellow prisoners, giving me both their true names and the names by which they were called by humans. I tried, but I never caught the exact syllables of her true name. The others’ I did not even attempt. After that, I frequently went back to the aliora quarters whenever I was lonely or miserable, and I never failed to leave that place feeling happy and refreshed.
Today I burst through the doorway with my usual abandon. “Cressida!” I called. “Cressida! Oh—hello, Andrew. Bryan’s back, he’s probably going to be looking for you soon.”
Andrew, like Cressida, had been in captivity ten years or more; his dark hair looked to be thinning somewhat, and his pale skin to be growing muddy and clotted. A sign of age, I thought. I had never come up with a polite way to ask any of them how old they were.
“I have seen him,” Andrew said softly. All the aliora spoke softly, with these delicious, whispery voices that made you feel as if you had been dipped in champagne. “I am to attend him more fully later.”
He was seated on a dilapidated sofa, his legs folded crosslegged before him, seeming to be merely a collection of angular arms and knees and elbows. Not for the first time, I wondered how furniture in Alora was built, and if it accommodated the aliora any better than these castoffs did.
I climbed up next to him on the sofa and leaned against his chest; his arm came around my shoulder. I took a deep sigh and released it on a sound of pure contentment. Troubles fall away when you’re in the arms of an aliora. No worries nag at you; even your physical aches lessen. The excitement of the journey had worn me down, but now I felt relaxed and at ease again.
“He wasn’t always in a cheerful mood on our hunting trip,” I volunteered. “You might find him a little difficult.”
I heard the smile in Andrew’s voice; he lifted a hand to pat my head. “Bryan is always difficult,” he said. “But he rarely takes out his ill humors on me. He allows me to charm him.”
I felt Andrew’s copper shackle bump against my skull, though he held his hand carefully to avoid hurting me. The aliora were so sensitive to gold that they would perish if they wore for long the gold shackles with which the hunters trapped them. Once the aliora were sold, their fetters were exchanged for baser metals—which still inhibited their movements, but pained them less.
“I charmed him, too, once or twice,” I said, smiling happily at the memory. “Jaxon and Kent would tease him, but I was nice to him, and I could usually cheer him up.”
“You could cheer anybody up,” Andrew said. “It always cheers me to see you.”
“And he kissed my hand,” I said blissfully. It was no secret among the aliora that I was desperately in love with the prince. “It was such a wonderful journey!”
Andrew laughed softly. “And did you and the great hunter Jaxon catch any unlucky aliora on your trip?”
“No. But we—” I sat up. “But, Andrew, we saw—”
Before I could complete my sentence, Cressida swept into the room. This had happened more than once, but it astonished me every time I saw it. One pace outside the room, she looked ordinary, frail, a little weary—one step inside and she seemed to expand, grow taller, gain a certain brilliance, just from the pooled magic in the room. It didn’t happen just with Cressida. Every aliora was transformed upon entering the communal chamber.
“Corie! You’re back!” Cressida exclaimed, coming over to kiss me on the cheek. My sense of well-being increased a hundredfold. She pulled up a small stool and sat before us, taking my hand in hers. “How was your trip?”
“Bryan kissed her hand,” Andrew informed her.
Cressida looked amused. “Ah, then it was most successful,” she said. “How is it you have not died of the ecstasy?”
“Perhaps she believes that if she lives, she will experience the ecstasy again,” he suggested.
I shook my head. “Oh, no. I know whose hand Bryan should be kissing, and it is not mine. But it was wonderful all the same.”
“And the purpose of your journey? The hunt? How did that go?” she asked me.
“They captured none of our people,” Andrew said before I could answer. Cressida’s hand, which had been tight on mine, relaxed a little. I frowned slightly, for it had not previously occurred to me—
I shook my head. I was too content and happy right now to worry over odd little moral dilemmas. Like what my friends the aliora thought about my hunting trip to trap more aliora.
“No, we did not capture any aliora—but Andrew, Cressida, the strangest thing happened,” I said, my words tripping over each other in my haste to get this mystery answered. “The night we camped by the Faelyn River, Jaxon and I slept by the campfire, under the stars. And in the middle of the night, I woke up to find him speaking to the most beautiful aliora woman, and she invited him to come back to Alora with him, and he wanted to, I know it. Then suddenly he tried to grab her, and she sort of flew away. Then she laughed, and she was gone. And the next morning, he didn’t say a word about it to anyone. He pretended like we had not encountered any aliora at all.”
Andrew’s hand had come back up to stroke my hair. Cressida’s fingers had once again tightened and loosened on my own. The two aliora exchanged one long, meaningful glance before answering.
“So. She is still hovering on the banks of the Faelyn River, waiting for her loved ones to come back,” Cressida said very quietly. “That is a dangerous place for her to wait, with Jaxon Halsing prowling the forest.”
“That is why she waits on the riverbank,” Andrew said, in a voice even lower than hers. “Because Jaxon Halsing hunts there.”
They made no sense. I drew my hand away. For the first time while sitting in that room, I felt a faint sense of unease and premonition. “What are you saying? What do you mean? Do you know who that woman is?” I demanded.
I was looking at Cressida, but she was looking at Andrew. Finally he answered. “She is the queen of the aliora, as you understand the word ‘queen,’” he said at last. “She has led our people for longer than you have been alive. Everything that is good about us is magnified in her—her beauty, her gentleness, her intelligence—”
“Her strength,” Cressida interjected.
Andrew nodded. “Her strength. It has been her goal since she attained rulership to see a halt put to the depredations of the humans upon the aliora. She has done what she can to close Alora, to keep our people from wandering outside its protected borders. But the young ones are foolish still, wandering where they will and getting caught in the nets of hunters such as your uncle.”
“And she wants them back,” Cressida said.
Andrew said, “So she drifts closer and closer to the human settlements, studying their buildings, studying their ways. And the closer she comes and the longer she stays, the more danger she puts herself in. And if the queen of Alora is captured by Auburn hunters, I do not know how long Alora itself can survive.”
“But they are slaves, these captured aliora,” I pointed out, my voice sounding harsh and stupid against the melody of theirs. “And they wear metal shackles that can only be undone by a golden key. Even if she could find them all, she could not free them. She only puts herself at risk.”
“She is strong,” Cressida murmured again. “If there is a way, she will find it.”
“If Jaxon Halsing is in her way, she will find nothing but bondage and misery,” Andrew said darkly. Again I felt that curious, unwelcome sense of disturbance and uneas
e. I gave Andrew a troubled look.
“What you said before—about Jaxon—why does she look for him?” I asked diffidently. “Why does she seek him out?”
“Because, like any foolish girl, she is drawn to the thing she should most fear,” said Cressida in the hardest voice I had yet heard her use. “Because she knows danger when she sees it, but thinks it looks like euphoria instead.”
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
She bent a stern look on me. “Don’t you? You of all people should.”
My face must have shown my fright and anxiety, because suddenly her features smoothed out and Andrew gathered me into a close embrace. “Ah, child, words I should not say, words you should not hear,” she said gently. She patted my hand and then let me go so I could curl up more tightly against Andrew’s side. I felt safe again, comforted; worry slipped from my mind like sand through a sieve.
“But what is her name?” I asked. “The aliora queen?”
Cressida spread her hands as if considering. “In a tongue you can pronounce? The closest word would be Rowena, I suppose.”
“And will she be safe, do you think?” I asked, for though I had gone hunting aliora just a few days ago, this one somehow seemed precious enough to deserve her liberty.
Cressida looked as if she might give an equivocal answer, but Andrew smoothed my hair with his long, thin fingers. “She will be quite safe,” he said soothingly. “Do not worry. All will be well.”
* * *
THREE STEPS FROM my own chamber door, I was unlucky enough to run into Greta. When she saw me, she actually stamped her tiny foot and pointed a finger in my face.
“You!” she exclaimed, and wrath drew her patrician features into the most dreadful scowl. Her face was as pretty and delicate as Elisandra’s, but she was fair where her daughter was dark, and so small that, if she would ever be silent for even the shortest period of time, you could overlook her completely. But she was never silent. “How dare you disobey my explicit orders and leave this castle without a chaperone? Do you know what kind of censure you have laid yourself open to? Do you know what damage you have done to your reputation—which is fragile enough, being who you are, but for you to shred it like that for no good reason—”