The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 02 - The Yellow Palace

by Jeffrey Quyle

  The elf was hovering beside him, waiting to place a plate in front of him. Still looking down, he could see the ugly raw stump of a foot on the floor.

  “No thank you,” he said, looking up at the girl’s face. And then, he felt the world spinning around him, and he saw the girl’s eyes widen, as the plate slipped from her grasp and landed in his lap.

  “Clumsy oaf – stupid girl! Idiot elf!” Creata shouted, mortified by the breach of social graces.

  Kestrel did not notice the outburst, as he rose from his seat, the napkin and its contents falling from his lap, nor did the slave notice, as her eyes rolled up into her head and she fainted. Only Kestrel’s quickly extended arms prevented her from falling to the floor, as he caught her and cradled her against his own body, not even aware of what he was doing in his state of total shock. For the slave was Lucretia, the woman he had daydreamed about for so long, the woman he had thought was dead.

  Chapter 7– Lucretia Lives

  “I’ll have the girl whipped again!” Creata thundered. “She was a terrible choice as a slave; they should have killed her on the battlefield.”

  “It’s not her fault,” Kestrel said. “It’s my fault.”

  “Your fault, Kestrel? How could that be?” Margo asked, looking at him.

  He carefully bumped the chair out from behind him, stalling for time and wondering what to say. He took a slow, small step away from the table, still holding Lucretia in his arms.

  “It’s my fault because I pinched her,” Kestrel answered, suddenly spitting out the first excuse that came to mind. “I know she wasn’t expecting such crude behavior; I apologize for disrupting the dinner.”

  Creata laughed, as did Sleek and another man at the table. “She hasn’t fainted for a lot more than a pinch,” Slick said.

  Kestrel bent low and picked up his staff as he propped up Lucretia with one arm, conscious of all eyes upon him, then awkwardly hobbled backward with Lucretia in his arms, heading towards the doors out of the room.

  “Just put her on the floor and come have a seat,” Creata said. “The other servants will come pick her up in a bit.”

  Kestrel bit his lip as his temper flared. “Let me just lay her in a chair in the parlor, and I’ll be right back,” he said, continuing to move.

  There were delicate murmurs around the table, and he knew he was breeching the etiquette of noble society. “I’m from Estone, where elves are people in society, not slaves. I just don’t think of them the same way you do,” he hoped his words were sufficient apology, as he slowly exited the room and dragged Lucretia across the hall to the parlor where the gathering had begun.

  As he laid Lucretia on the sofa, her eyes fluttered. “Oh Kere! By all the gods, is it you Kestrel?” she asked, as she looked up at him leaning on his staff.

  He angled his body so that he could observe the doorway as he slowly knelt beside her.

  “Lucretia, my sweet,” he whispered in Elvish, making her cry at the sound of her own language being spoken to her.

  “What has happened to you? How are you here?” she asked, looking and reaching over to touch his ears.

  “It’s a long, long story. I’ll be staying in this house for a while. I’ll tell you everything,’ he said, staring into her eyes. With a glance at the door, he leaned towards her and closed his eyes, as his lips touched hers softly.

  For a moment her lips pressed back against his, then she turned her head away. “No, please don’t,” she said as her face was buried in the sofa cushion.

  With a heavy sigh, Kestrel pulled back. “We’ll talk, Lucretia,” he said. “I promise.”

  “Send for me tonight,” she told him.

  He looked at her in confusion. “Once in a while a man will send for me in the evening; I always fight them, and I always win.” She looked at him again, directly, with a challenge. “And when I win, I get whipped and beaten.”

  “I’ll send for you as soon as I head upstairs.” He stood, and started to limp back to the other room.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I’ll tell you,” he repeated, “later.” And then he returned to the other room, where numerous conversations immediately ceased.

  “She’s going to be fine,” Kestrel said. “My apologies, again,” he repeated as he took his seat next to Margo. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he leaned over towards Margo.

  She reached her handover and placed it on top of his. “It’s okay,” she whispered back, conscious of all eyes upon them.

  A different servant, a human man, came around the table, taking away the dishes that the others had finished eating, and setting down small bowls with cut, crisp waterroots, seasoned in a way Kestrel had never tasted before. Despite his jitters and confusion over discovering Lucretia, his appetite drove him to eat the dish, and the next one as well, as conversation began to perk up around the table among the others.

  “Have you always needed a crutch?” the girl beside Kestrel, on the side opposite from Margo, asked.

  “No, he just hurt his leg when he was rescuing Picco,” Margo quickly answered for him. “She fell into the river at our estate, didn’t you Picco?” Margo asked across the table.

  “We were racing horses, and I of course had the lead,” Picco began her tale. “Kestrel had acquired all their horses when he wiped out that gang of thieves, and we wanted to determine which were the best ones,” she explained. “But my horse hit a slick spot rounding a curve in the road right on top of the river bank, and it threw me into the river. But my hero rescued me!” she batted her eyes at Kestrel in such an exaggerated manner that those around the table laughed.

  “So you thanked him by stabbing him?” the boy next to her asked drolly.

  “No, I was unconscious,” she answered.

  “She went into the water and sank to the bottom of the river. By the time I got her out on land, her lungs were full of water,” Kestrel explained, as the others at the table listened.

  “What did you do?” Picco’s companion asked.

  “I rolled her on her stomach, and pressed hard on her back. That’s how we’re taught to eject the water,” Kestrel explained, “in Estone,” he added hastily. “The guard teaches us. Then I rolled her on her back, and pressed down on her,” he stumbled for a moment over the proper word, “chest, and she started breathing again.”

  “Did you put your mouth on hers, to breathe for her?” Sleek asked.

  All eyes turned to Kestrel. “I did,” he answered quietly.

  “You never told me that!” Picco said in amazement.

  “I heard that the elves do that,” Sleek said.

  All eyes turned to Kestrel again. “I believe they do; they probably learned it from us,” he said dismissively. “If you can save a life worth saving, the gods expect you to do so.”

  “The old gods,” Sleek agreed. “But the new gods, the southern gods, are looking for stronger subjects. They don’t want those who can’t take care of themselves, except for Picco, of course,” he caught himself with an awkward laugh at the last moment.

  “We could practice,” a girl down the table said brightly. “I know a couple of boys I’d like to drown, and then you can try to bring them back to life!” she made the table laugh, everyone but Kestrel apparently aware of which boys she had in mind.

  The conversation turned to discussing people who needed to be drowned, and Kestrel remained silent. He’d been in the spotlight twice during the dinner, and neither time was a positive experience. He wasn’t much good as a spy, he knew, but he didn’t care at the moment, for his immediate attention was mostly focused on Lucretia. Eventually the evening came to an end, and the guests started to leave. When Clarce was the last to leave, and the door closed, Creata turned to the group of houseguests left, standing behind him. “Kestrel,” he said, making the elf cringe at what was to come next, “you were marvelous! You kept this from being another boring, ordinary dinner! You must stay here with us for the whole season and help entertain these poor, dull people wh
o don’t know how to live!”

  Margo squeezed his hand in sympathy. She partially understood his feelings, he suspected. Yet he knew that with his next words he was going to hurt her, and perhaps Picco as well, with what he was about to ask.

  “I’d like to talk to your elf tonight,” he told Creata. “Can you have her sent to my room?”

  “She’ll tear you up!” Creata laughed. “With that injury you won’t have a chance of survival. Let me find another one for you.”

  Kestrel feltMargo’s hand slip away from his, and he felt the fullest sense of shame he had known yet for being a spy. She was such a sweet natured girl, it didn’t matter if she was human, elf, sprite, or gnome, that he didn’t want to lose Margo’s respect and friendship. Yet he was about to take the first step that would make that loss a certainty as he led her and the others to assume that his morals and scruples were at such a low and mean level.

  “No, I’ll take that one. If nothing else, we can talk and see if we know any elves in common,” Kestrel answered.

  Kestrel said his good nights and went upstairs to his room, slowly, one step at a time, using his staff for assistance.

  When he reached his room he sat on the bed, turned his lantern down low and removed his boots, then his pants, and lay upon his bed, waiting for Lucretia’s arrival. She knocked a few minutes later, and came into the room, accompanied by Creata.

  “You’re ready for her, I see,” Creata smiled. He held up a whip he held in one hand. “I’ve warned her to treat you right, or she’ll suffer,” he explained. “She doesn’t speak a lot of our language, but I’m sure you’ll make her understand what you want.”

  “I understand your language better that you probably do, you cretin,” Lucretia muttered in Elvish, making Kestrel stifle a grin.

  “She’s all yours,” Creata said, then pulled the door closed.

  “Come over here, and do something for me while we talk,” Kestrel said in Elvish, beckoning Lucretia towards him. He had thought of this girl from the moment they had met – he had thought about her when she was living, and he had thought about her when he thought she was dead. And now she was alive, they were together, and he was in a position where he would be able to be of assistance to this special girl – either they could work together in Graylee, or if she wanted to go home (which he wouldn’t blame her for) he could ask Dewberry to take her home and set her free.

  She approached him with a wary step, and he felt a wave of sadness overcome him at the intuitive realization of how the girl’s spirit had been so broken by her experiences she didn’t even trust him completely.

  “Here,” he picked up his knife and held it towards her. “I’ve got stitches in my hip, and I think they’re ready to be taken out. I’d like for you to cut them for me,” he said.

  “With a knife?” she asked as she circled around him and knelt on the floor. Kestrel moved the lantern to that side of the bed and increased the flame, then suddenly laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Lucretia asked, looking up at him.

  “This knife is a special one. I’m sure the edge is fine enough to cut the threads. But the funny part is that I was in a fight and I named my weapons. I named them after people I trusted and admired and wanted revenge for. I named my staff Mastrin, and I named my knife Lucretia,” he explained.

  She looked up at him with a quizzical look and a sad smile. “There must be a story to tell,” she said.

  “There is,” he agreed. “Go ahead and start cutting, and I’ll tell you my story, then you can tell me yours.”

  Lucretia set to work, removing each of Alicia’s finely drawn stitches from his hip, each cut and tug just a small bee string of pain, as Kestrel began to ramble through his explanation of all that had happened. Alicia finished her work and sat on the floor listening to him, as he turned the lantern back down to a dim glow.

  When he was finished, Lucretia reached over to the lamp and raised the wick, lighting the room again. “Let me see your chest,” she said. “I want to see this mark.”

  He grunted as he sat up, and Lucretia rose up to sit on the bed, and helped him pull his shirt over his head. “Oh Kestrel, it truly looks like a gift from a god! It’s so beautiful. And let me see your back,” she casually pulled him forward to study the handprint scar, placing her own hand over the shiny red skin.

  At last she removed her hand and sat next to Kestrel, then she reached over and turned the wick back down. Wordlessly they lay back and lay against each other, their arms wrapped around one another.

  “Just hold me please, as a friend,” she said at last, and began to cry, for the first time feeling safe enough to release the pain and torment that had been bottled up in her soul. When the crying eventually stopped, she began to talk. “You can guess most of my story, from what you’ve been told by the commanders in Center Trunk and the slaves you set free and from what you’ve seen here.

  “I’ve thought about killing myself,” she said.

  There was a pause, as they both silently digested that.

  “I was going to ask you to help me,” Kestrel told her, “but if you want, I’ll ask Dewberry to come get you right now and take you back to Centre Trunk.”

  He felt her heart thumping, beating inside her chest, which pressed against his. “You could send me home right now?” she asked at last.

  “I could ask Dewberry, and she would carry you back to Center Trunk, to Alicia’s room,” he replied.

  “I never heard that Silvan was married,” Lucretia replied.

  “And if I didn’t go back right away, how would I help you? Help you do what?” she asked.

  “The two things I want to do are to find out details about their plans for their next attack on our home forest, and I want to learn more about this ambassador from Uniontown, and what his plans are,” Kestrel answered. “If you could tell me what you overhear, it would help me figure out what is happening, and maybe how to stop it.”

  “Two of the men at the table tonight, they’ve tried to use me. They’ve tried over and over again,” Lucretia said in a low voice. “I fought them every time, and they’ve slashed me with their knives to punish me. They haven’t tried lately, but I know they still want to – their eyes follow me constantly.

  “If I can stay here and do something to help you, as a way to get revenge on all the humans, I want to stay,” she said decisively. “I’ll stay here as long as I can stand it, and find out as much as I can. I was sincere earlier when I told that fool I could understand his language– I do understand most of what they say. I just haven’t been paying attention, but I will from now on.”

  Kestrel felt tears running down his cheeks. “I’m part human too, Lucretia,” he said. “Please promise me that when this is over you’ll understand there are good humans and bad humans, just like there are good elves and bad ones. Don’t hate the whole race.” He felt her body tense up against his, then slowly relax.

  “Oh Kestrel, it’s so hard,” she said, and then neither of them said any more as they lay in silence until they fell asleep.

  When Kestrel awoke the next morning the sun was shining, Lucretia was still sleeping with him, and there was a knocking on the door.

  “Sir,” a servant’s voice called, and then a man stuck his head into the room. “Breakfast is ready downstairs, if you would like to join the others.” He politely withdrew his head and closed the door.

  Kestrel closed his eyes and sighed. He would have to go downstairs soon, and face the ramifications of discovering Lucretia. He had no idea what he would say or how he would handle the questions or comments that were likely to arise from the sudden eruption of his seemingly immoral behavior with the elven slave girl. But his night with the elf slave was sure to be noted and remembered, even if no one said anything. The image of himself that he had wanted to establish with the Graylee humans, especially with these young nobles, who could have been his friends, an image of trustworthy, moral uprightness, had been shattered.

  He opened his e
yes again, and saw that Lucretia’s eyes were staring at his face. He saw further that at some point in the night she had removed part of her clothing. And there was the matter of his real relationship with her. The appearance of an intimate relationship was one thing; his longing for her over the past year was another thing; but now, under these circumstances, there was nothing comfortable about the thought of really coupling with the shattered girl. She wasn’t the same person, and her status prevented her – even with him, on some level – from having the ability to truly control her own destiny and her heart. He couldn’t help but foresee that he would always have some nagging worry about how freely she might enter into an arrangement with him, and he would feel insecure about the results.

  “Well, we are back to reality again, aren’t we?” she asked him, sitting up and pulling her clothes back on.

  “We need to make sure we say the same thing,” Kestrel answered. “What do you want our story to be?”

  “Tell them that you had me,” she said dispassionately as she stood up. “Tell them that you want to have me again, tonight and every night. That will protect me from the others, and it will let us talk.

  “Or would you rather not?” she asked, observing the emotions that flickered across his face.

  Kestrel also thought about the likelihood that he was cutting himself off from a real friendship with Margo, that her opinion of him would plummet. She would be outwardly friendly and polite, he suspected, but he realized that he wished he could earn and hold her real esteem, and now he knew he never would. Until he had seen Lucretia, he had let the whisper of the potential of something serious with Margo echo around within him, just below his conscious level.