The Fiery Arrow

by Bo Burnette

  Arliss could barely move.

  CHAPTER FIVE: PEASANT AND PRINCESS

  Arliss almost felt sick as she walked back to the castle. So this was what the lords thought of her? Perhaps what everyone else in the village thought as well? She didn’t want to know.

  Ilayda had been silent the entire walk home. Now, she must have noticed Arliss’s troubled visage, because she broke the silence that reigned in the evacuated homes of second tier, whose inhabitants were mostly all at market down below. “I don’t think my father means it. I mean, he cannot really hate you that much. You aren’t all that awful.”

  Arliss shut her eyes. “You are extremely comforting.”

  “Thank you, my dearest,” Ilayda tittered. “I do try.”

  “Ilayda,” Arliss said presently, “your father spoke nothing but what is in his heart. People may put on a show for someone else. But what someone says in private can be nothing short of the truth.”

  “But what if it is not the truth?”

  “Well, it is what is in their heart, true or not.”

  “I know, but—well, what if they’ve convinced themselves of a lie? Lied to themselves so many times they do not know the difference.”

  Arliss gawked at her. “You think your father is lying?”

  Ilayda stared straight ahead, her stride stiff. “I think he is wrong.”

  “You mean, wrong about my father? And about the expansion?”

  Ilayda stopped, turning to look her in the eyes. “No, about you.”

  The sheer amount of light in the room dazzled Philip the moment he entered the open doorway. The entire great hall of the castle beamed with candle and torchlight, and the white-painted stone walls shone like ivory. Across the wide hall, the king and queen sat on carven thrones of wood. The three lords—Adam, Brédan, and Nathanael—sat in adjoining chairs.

  Philip’s uncle, aunt, and cousins shuffled in around him, leaving him standing alone near the doorway. Although a few already thronged the hall, many townsfolk still trickled into the warmth of the festive occasion from the deepening chill of the October evening.

  A glimpse of Queen Elowyn’s rich purple brocade and King Kenton’s sumptuous furs caused Philip to glance at his mean attire in shame. It wasn’t too shabby—a long-sleeved blue tunic, midnight cape, tan breeches and leather boots—but each piece of clothing had seen more than its share of wear. His father had worn the tunic and breeches many years ago, and now they fit snugly on Philip’s broad shoulders and lengthening legs. His father had been a smaller man, so he’d been told.

  When all the guests had arrived, a hush crept over the room, and two guards stood at attention by the curtain which hid the staircase to the second level.

  King Kenton rose to speak. “I would thank every one of you for coming to this merry celebration. Today, we celebrate the sixteenth year of my daughter, and we welcome her into the new heights of womanhood. We come for joy and cheer and food and dancing. Please welcome her grace, Princess Arliss of Reinhold.”

  The two young guards drew the curtain aside, revealing the princess poised at the top of the stairs. She descended the steps with a steady grace. Emerging fully from the shadows, she joined the golden light of the room in a flash of color.

  Philip became entranced, his attention fixed and immovable.

  She looked like a vision, a picture of some legendary queen of immortal beauty. The light blue satin of her dress streamed down about her heels like waves of the ocean. Her often unkempt hair was now smoothed and gathered to the side, resting over her shoulder like strands of pure gold.

  He’d seen her so many times before this week. He doubted she’d ever so much as noticed him. Still, what was she really like beneath the royal exterior? Wager or no wager, he would find out who the princess really was.

  Arliss fought to maintain her composure all the way down the steps. The flaming wash of light, the clapping crowd of people, the dresses and capes and furs and rings, all met together and overwhelmed her senses. Her mother had commanded her to stay calm and collected, to which her father had added, “And no unexpected antics, either. You must emanate the grace of the royal family.” This was rather a lot of posh.

  She reached the base of the stair and glided onto the smooth, polished stone floor. Brallaghan, the Lord Brédan’s son, stood at attention by the base of the stairs. He had been one of the ones to pull back the curtain. With a steady gaze ahead, she avoided both his eyes and those of her father. She dipped in a deep curtsy to the room at large. The clapping subsided as a trio of fiddlers began to play rousing tunes.

  “To the dancing!” Kenton roared, and a few dozen younger people lined up for the first dance. They spun around each other, the two lines crossing and linking arms.

  Striding around the room, Arliss collected everyone’s wishes for a happy birthday. Some complemented her dress, some her crown—a thin silver circlet which had been one of the few treasures rescued from the island. Some had saved rings, necklaces, and even coins from the inferno. Others were not so fortunate, and had saved little more than the clothes on their own bodies.

  She watched the dance, smiling as she followed the intricate winding of bodies, the skipping of feet, the clasping of hands. All seemed happy with their partners. Yet the classes didn’t blend. Peasants danced with peasants, craftsmen with craftsmen, and nobility with nobility. Ilayda and Brallaghan had joined hands with another couple—which included Ilayda’s brother Arden—and now slipped around in a circle.

  Arliss folded her arms across her chest. How she envied Ilayda of having a brother! If she had a brother, he’d have whisked her onto the dance floor already. She wouldn’t be a watcher, an outsider.

  The dance ended.

  Ilayda poked her in the back. “Happy birthday.”

  Arliss grabbed her friend in a hug.

  “Thank you.” Arliss’s embrace spoke every word she couldn’t express. She paused a moment and leaned close. “I want to tell you something. Look around the room.”

  Ilayda scanned the hall.

  “Look—do you not see it?”

  She tilted her head. “I see people dancing and laughing.”

  “What I see is this: the king, lords, and other royalty sitting on one side of the room, but the main bulk of the people standing on this side of the room. I see an invisible line.”

  “But look.” Ilayda motioned. “All are mingling as one in the dance.”

  Following Ilayda’s eyes, Arliss glanced about.

  Her pulse quickened, and her heart thrummed beneath her silken bodice. From across the room, Brallaghan had begun striding towards them. She whirled to face Ilayda, her back toward the approaching guard.

  “Oh look, it’s—” Ilayda chimed.

  “Hush! Act like we’re deep in conversation.”

  “See, it’s Brallaghan! He’s coming to dance with you.”

  “I know. And no, he is not dancing with me.”

  “Arliss!”

  “Ilayda, stop.”

  Ilayda smirked. “Oh, look the dancers are lining up. Off you go!”

  With that, she gave Arliss a shove. Arliss tripped backwards, sputtering, and almost fell before a steady arm slipped around her.

  “Happy birthday, Arliss.” Brallaghan offered his hand. “May I have this next dance?”

  She forced out a breath. “I suppose you shall.”

  He dragged her into the line of dancers just as the music began. She couldn’t collect herself before they launched into it all—casting off around one couple, spinning around her partner, and feeling generally flustered.

  She huffed as he spun her beneath his arm. It is one thing to do something when you have had a drink and a few deep breaths; being thrown straight into it, on the other hand, is quite another. This fact, combined with Brallaghan and Ilayda’s combined impudence, left her breathless and hot-faced.

  Did he really think she fancied him? And, for that matter, that she could fall for him this easily? They’d always been friends, but
this step seemed a pace too far.

  Brallaghan maintained his dashing nonchalance throughout the dance, spinning her around with ease. He seemed to be having the time of his life. She deemed it the most uncomfortable experience of her entire day—which was saying quite a lot, given the incident at the tailor’s that morning.

  When the dance—which seemed to last forever—concluded, she honored her partner by curtsying to him, then stiffly allowed him to escort her back to the edge of the room. Once he was gone, she turned on Ilayda.

  “You are the most outrageous—”

  “Oh, hush. You needed to do that.”

  Arliss rolled her eyes. “And I suppose you needed to push me into it. Aye?”

  “Calm down. I had to or your father would…or…you needed to dance.”

  “My father?” Arliss stared at her. “What about my father?”

  Ilayda cast a furtive glance about the room, focusing on the king, who had risen from his wooden throne. “You mustn’t speak a word of my telling you this. Your father asked me to do it. You know, to get you to dance with Brallaghan. He said you would listen better to me. I’m sorry. Please, don’t tell him I said anything.”

  Ilayda seemed to be expecting Arliss to explode.

  Arliss walked away. That was enough! She couldn’t bear to hear another word. Ilayda had simply been doing as she was told—but her father? How dare he!

  She wanted nothing more than to walk up to him and shout at him until he recognized the darkness that was growing in the land of Reinhold. If only he’d listen to her! These wrongs needed to be mended before they became irrepressible. Could he not see that?

  But of course he wouldn’t listen to her. Why should he? In his eyes, she was the one who had disgraced him before the entire village with her lateness.

  Yet she had to try. All these twelve years, he had never once chosen to explore the land, never once named Reinhold’s rivers and mountains, and never once given thought to his daughter’s adventurous spirit.

  She would never change his mind. Maybe her mother could do it, or perhaps the divisions would grow to the point where her father could not possibly ignore them, but she—Arliss, the sixteen-year-old princess of Reinhold—had no such power.

  Someone behind her cleared his throat—that young man from the fields. His eyes were as curiously colored as ever. Perhaps it was the light of the room, but he looked a fair sight nicer when not in field-work clothes. His tunic had seen better days, but she could sympathize. Her fine dress had been worn by her mother years ago.

  He bowed deeply, then offered his hand. “Might I have this dance, my lady?”

  Arliss caught her breath. “Of course.”

  She felt like she was floating as they walked into the center of the hall. Was this what it felt like, to be danced with by one’s brother? Did it really feel so like magic?

  The fiddlers played a soft, unobtrusive melody as other dancers began to glide towards the center of the room. Her parents had seated themselves again to observe the dancing.

  Despite his simple charm, the young man seemed to be unaware of how to dance with a partner.

  “No,” Arliss touched his hand. “Your right hand goes…here, and your left hand holds mine…here.”

  He smiled, almost laughing as his hands found their proper place.

  “Then,” Arliss continued. “Your foot steps forward—”

  “I know how the steps go.”

  She said no more and allowed him to prove himself.

  Then the dance began in earnest. In this dance, couples stood not in lines but in simple pairs, weaving in and out and around each other throughout. The fiddles quickened their pace as Arliss and her partner floated through the steps.

  They separated once, each spinning to the outer edge of the group of dancers. She felt uncomfortable dancing on her own. Alone, she felt exposed to the judgment of every eye in the room. They all watched her: Ilayda would be giddy, Brallaghan jealous, her mother curious, her father critical.

  Her partner met her again and clasped her hand. The music swelled until it filled the entire hall. The hands that held hers were strong, rough and callused, yet tender and subtle. A new feeling spread through Arliss’s crisscrossing legs and whirling torso, a feeling so strange and wild she could not give it a name. They spun faster and faster, wider and wider, longer and longer. Then the fiddles ceased their building reel. Arliss found herself spun backwards into the young man’s arms.

  She was panting as she stepped out of the dance, her arm extended but her hand still gripped by his.

  His words were so quiet Arliss had to lean closer to hear them. “I’m Philip, from the village.”

  “I’m Arliss, the princess.”

  Philip released her hand and stepped away.

  CHAPTER SIX: FORBIDDEN

  When the noise of the ball had ceased and the lights dimmed, Arliss’s father half-guided, half-dragged her up the stairs and into her bedchamber. She pushed back from him and stepped away, facing him as he closed the wooden door. When he turned, his face seemed marred by sorrow and disgrace. Her breath came in short, rushed intervals.

  “Arliss, why must you do this to me? Why? Why must you disgrace me in such a brazen manner?”

  “I don’t understand. What in the world are you talking about?”

  “I think you know quite well what I am talking about. That dance with the peasant! I said no fooling around, no unexpected acts. Nothing! And yet you proceed to dance with a peasant in front of the entire village. Did you not think the lords would notice? Or Brallaghan?” He paused while the force of his words sank into Arliss’s realization. “Did you not think that I would notice?”

  Her blood chilled. So this was where he stood. He was responsible for all of this. He was the one who drew the invisible lines. And now his pride was severing her from her newfound friend.

  “I danced with no peasant at the ball.” She held her head high.

  He scoffed. “Lies are not befitting one of so royal a bloodline. I saw you, Arliss.”

  She shook her head, and her hair swished free from her mother’s meticulous arrangement. “I danced with only two young men, both free, honest, noble citizens of Reinhold. I danced with no others.”

  He stepped over to pull the curtain over the window. “There are certain rules which we royalty must follow, rules which help us maintain our standing over the people. Without rules, no country can last long.”

  “Without good rules, no country will last at all.”

  His head snapped toward her. “Your disrespect has grown too great. You seem to think you can lecture and command me. No more.” He stepped toward her.

  She backed away, nearing the door.

  “I will be blunt with you, daughter, since subtlety seems to have failed me. You are the heir to the throne of Reinhold, the only true heir of my bloodline. You are a daughter of kings, and I would have you marry as such. A queen needs a king at her side, not a commoner.”

  Arliss licked her lips. “So you would have me marry Brallaghan. That is your plan, isn’t it?”

  “No, don’t be ridiculous. I would not push you to love one who did not have your heart. However, I do deem Brallaghan to be a noble young man.”

  “And what about the other young man I danced with, Philip? Was he not noble?”

  “Arliss, he is a peasant.”

  “Yes, because you call him one. But your words have no power over me!”

  He growled, his broad shoulders silhouetted by the lone candle at her bedside. “I think you might find that statement false had you tested it before it flowed from your mouth.”

  Arliss backed away from him. Who was this man who so criticized her every action and word? She feared even to think, lest he discover that as well. “Do you not care for any of my wishes? I want adventure, excitement. I want to know more about this world I live in.”

  “Many men have said that very thing at the wrong time and for the wrong reasons, and have paid for it deeply. A man mus
t first plant his feet before he can stretch out his hand!”

  “Well, I consider myself fortunate not to be a man.” The volume of her own voice surprised her. “I have wounds, wounds that you continue to ignore. Do you really think I have forgotten the hurt, after all these years?”

  He stared at the stone wall behind her. “Those are my wounds as well, but we must bear them with dignity.”

  “You mean forget.” Arliss wept. “Forget everything, and pretend like nothing ever happened, pretend that I never wanted a brother.”

  “I do not ask you to forget. I only ask you to move on. You have come to a new stage in your life.”

  “I can see that! A stage in which all my friends are chosen and rejected for me, and my husband is handed to me on a platter.” Anger burned in her lungs, her arms clenched. “If I want friendship with a peasant, why should you forbid it?”

  “Peace!” he commanded. “You are speaking like a child. And I see now that one who acts like a child has no place thinking of marriage. You may not see that peasant boy again. I forbid it.”

  Her face flushed, her head shook in defiance and terror at the harshness of his words. She yanked the door open and flew through the hallway, down the stairs, and out the front doorway.

  Even there she did not stop, but kept running at a great pace. It was nigh unto midnight as she ran down the lower tiers of the village, fumbled with the iron gates, and slipped through them. Crossing the small drawbridge that spanned the moat, she fled into the forbidding blackness of night.

  Blinded by hot tears, Arliss stumbled across the fields, her feet guiding her to the place she knew all too well. The sky was dark, the moon veiled by menacing clouds that promised to bring one of the brief showers which were familiar to the land of Reinhold.

  She stared heavenward. Let the shower come. Nothing could dampen her spirits any further.

  She did not slow down until already inside the forest clearing. Panting, she leaned against the ancient, gnarled tree which had been her companion for so many years. There she wept, the tears stinging her eyes. She wept until the tears refused to come.