Fallen Queen (Mariposa Book 1)

by Y. R. Shin

  With sudden intuition, he directed his eyes upward.

  Up there, then.

  His black gaze landed on a man in light armor, standing behind the archers on the middle point of the cliff. The banner, bugle, and sword hanging by his waist verified Paseid’s suspicion. When their eyes met, the man took the bow from an archer standing next to him and aimed, as though he were laughing at Paseid.

  But he was not aiming at Paseid.

  As Paseid watched, he shot arrow after arrow at the Rarkians swinging their swords and shields to survive or to kill. Arrows of death rained on the necks and heads of Rarkian soldiers chasing after the retreating ones. In the blink of an eye, a total of four lives crossed the river from which they would not return. At last, the man’s arrow pointed at a certain young soldier crazed with the desire to kill.

  The black eyes flashed with deep rage, glaring at the man daring to shoot death from over his head. Paseid sheathed the Rionac and grabbed the bow that was hanging at Rotsa’s side.

  Will it reach?

  He nocked an arrow.

  The knights protecting Paseid all held their breaths. He aimed in silence. He drew his arm back…

  Just then, an object flying at an immense speed passed over his head with a gush of wind.

  The startled knights quickly turned their horses and guarded his back, chills running down their spines. Utilizing his sensitive instinct, Paseid turned back as well.

  Behind him, a woman stood expressionless, a bow in her hand. Where she had come from, he had no idea. Even after everyone’s attention was centered on her, she moved nimbly. The arrows shot from those little hands hit the archers on the cliff one by one.

  Paseid followed the arc of the arrow flying over his head. The enemy commander who had been shooting down death from that cliff was now falling down like a dead bird, an arrow piercing his forehead. It was a Rarkian arrow, but the woman who shot it was not a Rarkian soldier.

  Paseid recognized the horse standing next to the woman before he recognized her face. He remembered those spots on its forehead. A wild horse like that could not be easily forgotten.

  The violent, piercing sound of a gong started to ring, the enemy’s retreat signal. The black lions gushing toward them without order slowly went into formation and prepared to retreat.

  Rovantis’s soldiers gave up as soon as the Rarkians below the cliffs took their leader’s body and retreated after the knights like an ebb tide. Rarkian soldiers ran, chasing after them.

  Amidst the mayhem and the gong fiercely ringing for retreat, Paseid ordered, “Stop all pursuit. All soldiers back to formation.”

  A couple of knights, gaping and staring at the woman, snapped back to their senses and left. The rest of the knights kept their eyes fixed on her bow. They had no clue if she was a friend or an enemy. But the mysterious woman dropped the bow and mounted her horse before anyone could grab her. She soon disappeared out of sight.

  A few minutes earlier, using the upheaval of the ambush to her advantage, Reuyen had run across the camp and to the entrance to the cliffs without any obstacles. There, she’d searched for the enemy’s commander. It was an instinct rooted dreadfully deep within her.

  She’d estimated the number of people and the size of the battle from the shouts and the footsteps. Then she’d recalled the geography of the narrow entrance to the Anf cliffs. A large-scale battle was not feasible at this location, so she knew the battle would end if she found the commander and killed him. And her intuition had been pointing directly at a man standing on the midpoint of the cliff.

  It’s him. It’s you.

  Finding the commander shooting arrows and Sidan screaming vengefully at him was half coincidental. That coincidence made her heart skip a beat, but she remained cool.

  Reuyen had gone straight to the racks that were scattered across the camp and grabbed a bow with the longest shooting range. Then she’d run until the man was in her range and drew as hard as she could. And aimed.

  There can be no miscalculations.

  Her past self always hit the enemy commander’s head. An ordinary, natural deed.

  The world dropped to a hum. The screams of metal against metal faded away. All her attention was on the enemy on the cliff. The momentary silence swallowed all the malicious shouts ringing in her ears.

  Her arrow pierced the center of the enemy’s forehead.

  Confirming that the enemy was retreating at the sound of the gong, Reuyen drew one arrow after another and hit three archers aiming at the defense line. And then she ran to Sidan.

  “I’m going to kill you allllllll!”

  Though drums were sounding from the Rarkian camp to signal the stop of pursuit, Sidan was jumping over his comrades’ bodies and chasing after the enemy. Reuyen pushed through the soldiers and grabbed the tip of her brother’s helmet.

  “I’m going to kill…!”

  “Sidan.”

  “Those bastards…”

  “Sidan Detua. Time to go home.”

  Sidan stood still at Reuyen’s voice and looked up at a crooked angle. His bloodshot eyes were brighter than the blood that dripped down into them. Reuyen bit her lips at the frightening malice and hatred in his eyes.

  “Why are you here?” he asked.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Why are you here? Let go! Let go, I said!”

  “This battle is over. Can’t you hear the signal for retreat? More than this is insubordination.”

  Unruffled by Sidan struggling to get her hand off of him, Reuyen kept her grip on the tip of his helmet and steered Den. As she dragged her brother like a choking dog, Sidan stabbed the air at the Morganaan soldiers running away.

  “Those bastards killed them all! My friend! My brother!”

  “There’s nothing your tantrum can fix.”

  “Shut…up! Shut up!”

  “You foolish halfwit! How dare you speak like that to the one who just saved your life!”

  Tears of overwhelming anger dropped from Sidan’s eyes. “Let them kill me! You think I’m scared? I’ll kill them all and die too!” the young man bellowed, devastated by the fear of war. His sister’s heart shattered to bits.

  They stood out like sore thumbs, standing on the bodies and having a quarrel in the middle of the soldiers.

  Paseid turned Rotsa around, staring at the woman with his quiet black eyes.

  “Let me go! Get lost!” cried Sidan.

  His shouts alone had enough vigor to squeeze the life out of an enemy’s heart. But she read fear underneath all that. He probably witnessed more cruelty in less than a month than he’d seen in his entire life. She understood how frightening that could be, so she suppressed her anger and spoke calmly.

  “You have sufficiently proven your grief for Eivan’s death. So, let’s go back now. Mother and Father are waiting for you.”

  Mother and Father.

  Sidan hesitated for a moment. But soon, he pointed at the body of his friend he stood on, and all the dead bodies of the enemies around them.

  “Do you not see that?” he howled. “Do you not see those men? Our brother would have died like that too! Died in agony! They did that!”

  “Grieve on your own. Stop bothering others.”

  “Are you saying that I should just be content with grieving on my own?”

  “We can’t grieve all these deaths.”

  “What about our family? Our brother is dead, and you haven’t even shed a single tear! How can you call yourself human?”

  At that moment, she felt as powerless as she would in front of a vast wall. In the split second her grip loosened, Sidan violently untied his helmet to get away from her, and then drew his sword. It was a ridiculously clumsy stance compared to Eivan, who had trained in sword fighting to become a volunteer guard of their town. How pathetic.

  “I’m not a child,” Sidan said.

  “The result of this war will not be determined merely by you. There are people far more adept than you.”

  “Do you thi
nk I’m doing this to become a war hero?”

  “Stop being so stubborn! Don’t jump in headfirst where your life will only be wasted like a moth in a flame!”

  “What do you know? You cold-blooded, apathetic psychopath!”

  “Call me a psychopath, a monster, or whatever else you want! But I will bring you back home,” Reuyen murmured determinedly, glaring at Sidan. He met Reuyen’s ferocious eyes and burst into laughter, almost to himself.

  “I thought it was weird when they looked for me to ask how many siblings I have, how many are in my family, and what they all looked like. That was all you? Impressive, Reuyen Detua. How did you even know to find me here? Is there anything that you don’t know or can’t do? It’s so awe-inspiring that it’s almost scary.”

  Reuyen calmly soothed Den, who was trying to back away, startled by Sidan’s blatant desire to kill. She tried her best to speak steadily, like nothing was going on. “Have you any idea why they put men like you at the front…”

  But for some reason, words refused to come out.

  Do you even have the right to say such things? The karma returning to her with the stench of blood ripped her tongue apart. It rushed up to the nape of her neck and whispered: Do you, you who drove the country into chaos, dare to claim the rights to speak of such things? She clamped her mouth shut at the nauseating sensation of curdled blood coming up inside her throat. She gazed at Sidan, with his reddish-brown hair like Jess’s, and dark-brown eyes like Senila’s. He reminded her of Eivan.

  You have to look after our family now.

  She wanted to follow him to the afterlife, grab him by the collar, and scream at him if she could. Why did you tell this foolish, self-centered woman that she now bore that responsibility? Do you have any idea who the woman is you just chained down with a couple of words?

  Sidan’s shaking legs were threatening to collapse; he struggled to hold up his bloody sword. Reuyen forgot her duties for a moment and stared down at him, at loss.

  Why had he come to this? What should she do? Until Eivan’s death, Sidan was just a benevolent brother too.

  The soldiers clamored as they moved as one at the order to convene. Those being carried off on stretchers moaned and screamed. The cruel side of her that had been sleeping, the nature of a queen who raged at disobedience, started to remind her of its presence.

  “Then I will bring you back as a cripple, if need be. You’ll know to give up when you learn your own uselessness.”

  Reuyen grabbed the hilt of the sword hanging at Den’s side. Sidan’s lips crumpled at her, his face white, and then he fixed his grip on his sword. He didn’t show any sign of backing down, but neither did she.

  A rhythmic sound of hooves approached her from behind.

  “No, we will seize the swords,” a stern, apathetic voice ordered.

  Reuyen turned her head, suddenly aware.

  Before she could even realize what was happening, a knight was standing right behind her with his sword pointed at her lower back, like he would stab her without a second thought. She glanced down at the blade and slowly let go of her sword.

  “You two are exempt from the call,” said the knight. “The commander-in-chief has ordered you both in his presence. Follow.”

  Chapter Ten

  Reuyen stood still and gazed at the man who called her here. Her thoughts were racing a mile a minute because she had not expected to see him again so soon.

  But the man with hair as dark and eyes as black as Belbarote was too busy to pay any attention to her. He carefully listened to the post-battle reports and gave an order, then jotted something down on a piece of paper on the table, then listened to the reports again, and so on and so forth. Like he had forgotten he’d called her and Sidan there.

  “We have officially verified that the commander who died during this battle was Count Asvar from Rovantis’s army, sir. We are currently verifying the number of casualties and the identities of the dead on our side. Also, the scouts have reported that the enemy has completely moved over to Plain Ishas and joined their defense line, sir.”

  Half-listening to their conversation, Reuyen moved her tranquil gaze across the small tent at Camp Anf, then stopped upon an object.

  Rionac.

  The snow-white sheath leaned against the table at a slant. She recognized it at first glance.

  She, who was a queen of an older time, had once wanted to make an absolutely indomitable weapon like no other in the world, after she was greatly injured when an enemy broke off a shard of her sword.

  Narrowly escaping death, she’d searched every single vein located in the northern mountain range of Muiyadro, the capital city of Rarke, gathered all the renowned smiths, and forged the Galian steel, which many renounced as extremely difficult to handle. A set of armor, a shield, and three weapons were made.

  Rionac was one of weapons, which she’d given to Belbarote as proof of her noble trust.

  “Currently, we have reinforced our defenses and finished the installation of cannons at the entrance to the cliffs, sir. As soon as the dead’s identities are verified…”

  “The messenger sent to the main camp…”

  Their conversation faded away.

  Her gaze slowly moved to Paseid. Even now that she recognized he was a completely different person, just recalling the past drowned her in a stinging agony of yearning.

  “Tell Sir Ranu to report the rest to me in person when administrations are completed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  With the strange knight’s crisp exit, the waiting came to an end.

  In contrast to the composed Reuyen, Sidan was still trying to catch his breath. His tired, uneven huffs broke the silence. Paseid, who had been pressing a hand to his forehead like he was lost in thought for a long while after the knight’s exit, awakened her sunken senses.

  “Did Sir Chesa authorize you to come here?”

  Instead of answering, Reuyen quietly looked down.

  Paseid didn’t ask again, since he did not need a verbal verification to guess the answer to that question. Jacalrin was indeed a free spirit, but he was not a senseless one. In fact, Count Chesa, Rougak, claimed that Jacalrin was a headache because he was a troublemaker who used his senses. Besides, Paseid had ordered and received a detailed report from the knight who overheard the fight between this young man and woman.

  In a battle where even trained war horses threw a fit at the stench of blood, her eyes were clear, an unrevealing shade of mahogany.

  “You came in search of your brother,” said Paseid.

  “Yes, sir. He is a short-tempered boy, unfit for war. His nature will only be a hindrance in your army.”

  Glaring at his sister, Sidan bowed down as low as he could to the ground and beseeched Paseid. “I won’t go, sir. I can’t, sir. I will fight for Rarke right here until every single one of those bastards drops down to hell too!”

  “The Detuas have already lost their eldest son, Eivan Detua, who volunteered at the Great Battle against Morgana,” said the commander. “As I understand it, it’s stated in the law to protect the only heir to a family, unless it is at a desperate time of war.”

  “I would rather end my own life here than be kicked out. Let me fight, sir!”

  Paseid swallowed a small sigh at the two obstinate siblings. He looked at the woman. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Reuyen Detua from Gyujen, a town in a forest five days away from the border, sir. This boy is Sidan Detua. We are both children of the Detua family, who has been selling war horses to the royal family of Rarke. Please, sir, have mercy on my foolish brother. He ran out to war, not even knowing what war is.”

  Is she truly just a daughter of a mere horse dealer? Paseid still remembered the speed and murderous aim of the arrow that had passed by his head at a hair’s breadth. Her concentration on the top of the cliff. The enemy commander who’d been hit and fallen down like a dead bird. Had the arrow been shot at a slightly lower angle, it would have pierced the back of his
head. There was no way this woman was just a lucky shot.

  But her fingers were thin, and their tips were covered with scabbed wounds. That actually proved her lack of training.

  “It’s possible,” Paseid answered, suspicion building in his mind. “But as a volunteer, his own will cannot be overlooked. Patriotic motive does not matter on a battlefield.”

  Reuyen slowly raised her head and gazed into Paseid’s pitch-black eyes. Then she pulled up the ends of her trembling lips.

  How pathetic is my foolishness in thinking of Belbarote upon seeing him? His unaffectionate eyes and dry, stern voice were nothing like Belbarote. Feeling a burst of anger of which she did not know the origin, she broke her composed demeanor and continued, “Of course it doesn’t matter, sir, since luring innocent lads into thinking they’ll all become patriotic war heroes and putting them in the front by enticing them with noble titles if they slay an enemy is the cheapest way to go.”

  Her words started out like a reproach but ended like scorn at herself. Paseid scowled.

  “Don’t weigh a man’s life with such recklessness,” he answered with certainty.

  “May I say one thing, sir?”

  Paseid nodded. “I will allow it.”

  “I am not unaware of the meaning of the enemy selecting the Anf region as the battlefield, where there is Plain Amarze to the left and Olzore to the right. Defending the border connected directly to the capital is, indeed, important. But is using a boy who cannot even look out for himself to buy time a minimization of damage? If that is not weighing a man’s life, then what is?”

  “Itaka.”

  “What?”

  “Itaka, not Plain Amarze.”

  A hundred years ago or so, Plain Amarze had been renamed Itaka, along with the lowlands of Sanka. Paseid pointed that out in an utterly cold tone. Reuyen slightly opened her mouth, thrown a little off guard. She did not care much about the names and geographies of places other than those around Gyujen, so this was the first time she’d heard anything about a renaming of a region.