by Jane Merkley
The cooks had spent the previous five days perfecting the meal they were to serve. There was no way to repay Byrone’s generosity for sheltering them in Greatmar, but at least this was a start.
And the food was good, better than Altarn’s usual evening meals, and though she was slightly affronted that her cooks would put more care into a meal for Byron than for her, she did understand that this was her cooks’ way to thank him, and he noticed and praised almost every bite. Altarn was surprised that he still retained some use of his right leg. His healers had done and incredible job reconstructing his hip so he could still lift his leg and apply some pressure to it with the use of the cane.
To each other, they said nothing. He sat next to her at the table to honor their equal ranks and often she felt his eyes on her, knowing he wanted to speak to her alone. But she couldn’t bear to have saved his life only for him to promise again on his threat to take Blindvar.
As dessert was served, costumed and masked people entered into the open space on the floor in the large dining hall. One of them was a silly re-creation of Huilian with a massive wooden mace he pretended was too heavy to lift. Another actor was Byrone and then a mix of Huilian and Ruid soldiers. They ran around in a foolish manner, taunting Huilian who still couldn’t lift the mace.
Byrone laughed especially hard when the depiction of himself stole the mace and thumped Huilian on his helmet with it. The silly madness ended with “Byrone” standing on Huilian’s body and lifting the mace above him, and the soldiers about bowing before him as if he were a god.
Byrone and his men laughed raucously as the entourage bowed and scuttled out.
Altarn took this opportunity to disappear to her room before the meal had broken.
News of Byrone’s visit spread like wildfire and the locals prepared a massive outdoor meal and bonfire in his honor. Altarn could have been jealous, but she supposed she had worn that coat threadbare already and the weight of her jealousy was thin.
Plus, she was weary of his company and dreaded every moment he didn’t leave. She excused herself from the feast and relished some time alone in her house, drowning Byron’s prickling presence in a rose scented bath.
At the start of the fourth day of his visit, Byrone announced he would be leaving the following morning. Rejoicing that her prayers had finally been answered, Altarn also dreaded that her house would again have to make a glorious retreat for him as they had for his glorious arrival.
Strictly by obligation and because her house would never forgive her if she did nothing, the town criers were notified and they announced that a formal dinner and dance would be held at the State House to prepare for Lord Byrone’s departure.
This invitation was answered vigorously, even by those who, if the travel was long, could still leave at that moment and make it to the State House on time.
The evening arrived and the ballroom and hallways filled to capacity. The people were grateful for Byrone, of course, but no citizen in good conscience would waste a free meal, either.
Altarn watched them march up the road from her window like a constant army to themselves, until it reached a number that Altarn was now just waiting for the walls to burst apart beneath her. Now that she thought of it, she had been the only State Head to never put on a formal dinner and dance. The Lords before her had done so, at least twice a year. She just didn’t see the point. She even believed she was saving the citizens from the pain since she herself was still required to attend some parties put on by other government officials, and all that she got from them was boiled cabbage and a man they disguised as dessert for her to date. But just like dessert, super sweet at first that then leaves with a lingering stomach ache.
Altarn had no intention of attending her own party. But Kyree found her, and Altarn had to admire the sympathetic and disapproving glances she pulled off at the same time.
“Everyone is asking about you.”
“I have a headache.”
“Byrone has less than half the use of his leg and he’s walking on it. They won’t believe you. It is bad graces to not bid farewell to the man who helped us win Blindvar back.”
“Look at your change of heart.”
“Not a change. We just need to continue to keep up appearances until we can find proof and expose him.”
“I like how you are saying ‘we.’ Please finish law school. You can come back as Lady and fix what I ruined.”
Kyree smiled. “We’ll argue about this another time. Get dressed.”
“Yes, Lady Kyree.”
“Oh stop!”
Altarn chuckled and went to her wardrobe, but frowned again at her selections. She didn’t know why she thought her wardrobe would magically refresh itself when she wasn’t looking, and she found she was irritated that her same options were still there. She couldn’t use the less unassuming one she had worn upon his arrival since she had worn it not four days ago. The rest were equal levels of princess.
Defeated no matter what she wore, she at least picked the dress that she liked most. It was a tower of red silk, more body forming than the others but still modest in its elegance. The neckline was a bunch of gathered silk, as if the silk had gone to the neck and then was relaxed to fall and gather there. Over the dress she affixed a long coat made entirely of black lace. It provided long sleeves and was mostly opened in the front, buttoned closed by loops of small silver chains at her waist. She looked in the mirror and she found that her dress actually suited her, reminding her of her black and red outfit she had worn at the ceremony and again into battle.
She combed her hair to smooth it out and put on a pair of flat black shoes on her way out of her room.
Windows and doors had been thrown open to combat the stifling heat of so many bodies. Her ballroom was decent in its size but not near big enough to comfortably hold this many people, so they were clustered down every hallway, talking at such a level that Altarn regretted her decision to serve wine.
Altarn took a small stairway that had not been discovered by the guests yet, and managed to reach the first floor in secret.
Upon stepping into the hallway, she almost ran into Perseth’s back who was in conversation with Byrone. Altarn’s stomach clenched and her back broke out in sweat.
The regal manner in which Byrone was holding his cane made it look as if it were a sword he had just drawn. And the manner of which he held himself straight, one would never know he suffered with injures that were only not fatal due solely to intervention. He was in his formal best, but still lacked a sleeve for the right arm, whereas the left arm was covered. Altarn met his blue eyes briefly, nodding once as she passed him and continued on her way. Out of all the places she could have traveled to get to the bottom level, she had to pick the only one Byrone was occupying. She was going to punch her anti luck in the face when she found it.
She finally made it to a cotton stuffed chair along the wall in the main ballroom without incident. Enough people clustered around that she hoped she could remain hidden there. At least she had made an appearance. Tables of food and wine were spread along the walls of the ballroom and into the hallways. Servants stood ready to replenish the items as they vanished under hungry hands.
The musicians were playing a lively song to which the Ruids were dancing enthusiastically, causing a heated rise to flush in the cheeks of their female partners as they tried to keep up.
Everyone, especially the females, were wearing their formal best, having obviously been waiting for such an excuse to wear it. After a moment of watching, Altarn realized there was a game playing before her eyes that every female gender in the room – minus her – were subconsciously players of.
It was easy to see the rules of the game. A lady would come into view and the other females around would pin her with a stare, rolling their eyes up and down as they quickly assessed if her dress was nicer than their own, if her hair was better, if her act and grace was well practiced. Like a battle was raging in their own minds and the weapons were daggered sta
res of those who lost the quick skirmish and a shield disguised as a back as it turned away in defeat.
Altarn rolled her eyes, glad she was above such pettiness. She even caught a few of the ladies trying to pull her into their war. Disgusted, Altarn relocated to a chair at a different view of them with a higher concentration of men.
The musicians finished the song and changed to a slow rendition of the traditional battle dance to give the previous dancers a break. It was created for rigorous dancing, but when slowed down it created a surprising slow-step dance that couples could leisurely meander to.
A group of them were dancing now. It was clear that the women had only come for the free food and to bait a fresh pool of men. Byrone’s men noticed too and their expressions told they were not disappointed. Byrone might have a hard time in the morning bringing the same number of his men back with him.
The song ended and as the dancing group began to break, one of the musicians spotted Altarn.
“Who wants the Lady of Blindvar and the Lord of Ruidenthall to dance?” he asked the room loudly.
A spike of shock burst up Altarn’s spine and her stomach clenched hard enough to vomit. She located the man and tried to slay him with her eyes for suggesting such a sin.
A loud call of approval echoed about the room. She stood, and in her haste almost fell over the arm rest in her attempt to flee. But too many dresses stood in her way and they assisted her back around because it looked like she was confused as to which way she was supposed to go.
“No. I’ll decline,” she tried to say, but there were too many hands who helped her along the way to the middle of the ballroom floor. They had likewise assisted Byrone to her location and in no time they were standing before each other. Sweat burst out all over her.
“This is highly indecent,” she growled to him, as if it was his fault. “If I were a man, they would not think that the two State Heads should dance together.”
“You think they will let you out of this?”
He was right. The people had pretty much trapped them in. The women had romantic glimmers in their eyes as they prepared to watch.
“And you are not a man. In their minds, you are the war queen who carried a war king out of the field of battle. It’s romantic to them. Just entertain their fantasies for five minutes.”
Five minutes was much too long. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. She had not realized she had balled her fingers into tight fists.
“You are making more of a fool of yourself resisting instead of just doing it and getting it done.”
He was right. Of course. When has he ever been wrong? The music started and she was looking more like a fool the longer she stood there and did nothing. Might as well finish the dance so she could escape to the safety of her room. Maybe even bury herself behind the stable. She had made an appearance. Nothing else was required of her.
She moved in awkwardly close and looked at her shoes, her skin burning so she feared her dress would start on fire as Byrone slid his left hand into the small of her back. His right hand still held the cane. Altarn touched his arm with her right hand as lightly as possible, trying to actually hover it instead just above his arm so as not to actually touch him but to look like she was.
She kept her head turned so she could pretend it was someone else. But it was impossible. Her skin was remarkably aware of how strong his hand directed her around in the simple three step dance and how he still managed to move with a grace akin to a soldier in sword play. It reminded her of when they were – no. Luthsinia was all a lie, and all lies were evil. She felt more flustered now then when they were swinging blades at each other in their duel. It was a sin to be dancing with the very man who was plotting to take Blindvar for himself and make himself king. Altarn’s hand turned so warm she feared she would start Byrone’s shirt on fire.
She hoped they could just endure this disaster in silence. As the music continued, more and more people began filling in around them, twirling about gently and the chances of that remained hopeful.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Like a stone dropped in a silent room, the sudden sound rattled inside her.
Altarn agonized on the inside, hating this party, hating her people… hating that musician that suggested this crime. She would discover where he slept and –
“Did you hear me?”
Altarn cleared her throat. “Why have you been trying to find me?”
“Clearly, I want to speak to you about... something.”
“Thus is the reason I’ve been avoiding you.” She continued to move her head side to side, to look anywhere but directly at him. Strange emotions were too high in her to trust. She was afraid if she made eye contact, she would proceed to beat his face in despite all the witnesses.
“Well… since I have you now… do you mind telling me why you rescued me?” He dropped his voice low, which caused his tone to turn smooth and sincere. “I know your intense dislike for me. Why not leave me to die?”
Altarn found herself shaking. The intensity of his question was too much for her right now. She wanted to leave that thorn in, to pull it out at a time and place where a healer could be standing close by to bandage the festering guilt and let it heal cleanly with minimal scarring. There was no healer right here. Byrone was going to rip that thorn out and she would bleed to death. Maybe if I wait long enough he’ll drop it.
“Did you hear me?” Again, that low voice, sounding softer than it should have.
She took a deep breath, preparing to bleed out. She finally looked at his face, into his blue eyes.
“I rescued you –” Her voice caught in her throat. A strange, remarkable intensity washed over her in a hot blue wave. The void inside her roared like a trapped tiger seeing the door out of the cold blackness open to freedom.
She put a hand behind Byrone’s head and kissed him… hard, hungrily, drinking to fill that howling void within her. Byrone pulled her against him so she felt the full length of his body. Her mind filled with warm blackness and she drifted away into it; a weightless ocean of starved need. Then in a harsh snap, she realized the music had stopped. She opened her eyes and saw the people were staring. At her.
How long it lasted, she did not know. Horrified, she stepped away from Byrone as if he had turned into a snake. Gathering her red skirt in her hands, she rushed out of the room, vomiting into the first flower pot she passed in the hallway.
She slammed the door to her room closed, leaning against it and falling into a distressed heap on the floor, stuffing the skirt of her dress into her eyes as she desperately tried to find a way to make a whole room of witnesses forget what they just saw. Her throbbing blood threatened a heart attack. She stuffed the skirt into her mouth and screamed to chase out the poison she didn’t know was there, the poison called, I’m so lonely that I can’t forget how honest and sincere Byrone was when I first met him and I desperately want that to be real again.
This was Byrone she was referring too. BYRONE! The man whose letters were in front of her on her desk, the man…
She hated herself. Raw and pure she hated herself. She had betrayed everything she knew and believed in a brief moment of black desperation to fill an endless hole.
Did Kyree see?
She wanted to vomit again. She also had to get out of that dress and burn it because it was a reminder and he had touched it. There was no fire in the hearth so she undressed and left it in a red silk puddle in front of the door as she went to the bathing chamber. She needed to wash this off her.
Kyree had filled the tub already and the water was kept warm by a long metal box under the tub filled with embers from the fire. She dipped a foot in and eased the rest of her body after, wishing she could melt away. She tried to drown herself but she kept coming up for air.
She was going to run away tomorrow – tonight! She would run away tonight. There was no fixing her broken self, no sheath for her emotional sword. She had to escape before she actually sucked someone into her void and suf
focated them. Some people would be confused as to her sudden disappearance. She doubted anyone would care, minus Jasper and Kyree. She’d be sure to tell them. That was it. She would write them a note.
Of course if Altarn had been in her right mind, she would have been more stable to realize this option was absurd. But agony at what she had done instilled in her limbs that fighting it was useless. The damage was already done. She needed to flee everything for the sake of her sanity. And she cursed, not for the first time, the decision to run for Head of State. She had waged more wars in her court room than the old kings did on the battlefield. She had survived until now, but the final blow came from within the wreck of herself.
She laid in the tub longer still, her emotions finally numb which made her feel as if she had entered a simple blind calm. It wouldn’t last long, this brief reprieve. So she would take advantage of it while it lasted and gather the details she needed for her escape.
She pulled the plug and listened as the water gushed down a pipe where it would drain outside somewhere into the gardens, wishing she could drain with it.
She grabbed a towel and dried. She debated whether to make it to her bed in her current state of undress, but a shiver decided that she would be warmer for the journey if she wore a robe. Throwing one on, she opened the door and stepped into her chilly bed room.
Byrone was laying on her couch, his bad leg hanging over the arm rest with Lotus in his hands above him, as if he were inspecting it for damage before purchase. Upon Altarn’s gurgled scream of shock, he looked her way.
“I thought you had made this up.” Calm. Simple. As if he were an idiot to his own intrusion and had confused her couch for his own. “I suppose we both do tell the truth, after all.”
Atlarn clutched the front of her robe, too aware she had almost come out naked. “Get out!”
Byrone put Lotus gently on the couch beside him as he sat up. “And this is so different from the time you barged into my room?”
“I could have been naked!”
He tilted his head to the side, as if to say, see last statement.