by Effie Calvin
Inside the courtyard was a well-maintained grassy lawn, with a curving path of marble cutting through it. The inner walls were even more ornate than the outer, depicting scenes of caravans traveling on roads, farmers working at their fields, and judges presiding over their courtrooms.
The large doors at the end of the path that led into the interior of the temple opened, and a graying man wearing the garments of an archpriest stepped out. He walked with great purpose, shoulders back and chin held high as his yellow robe fluttered behind him. Sunlight caught the rings on his fingers, casting orbs of multicolored light against the walls. He was not without his own attendants, either. Behind him was an entourage of priests and temple acolytes.
“I have come to pay tribute to Iolar in gratitude for my safe journey from Rhodia,” announced Esofi, inching aside so that the footmen could come forward with the chest, which the acolytes were happy to take off their hands. “You will find exactly five thousand gold Rhodian pieces within. Captain?”
Captain Henris withdrew a key from the pocket of his long coat and passed it over to the archpriest.
“Iolar’s eyes are upon you, Princess,” said the archpriest. “Your devotion has not gone unnoticed.”
“I would also like to spend a few moments in the temple in prayer,” said Esofi. From behind her, she heard Lexandrie give a quiet groan.
Esofi elected to ignore it.
Chapter Two
ADALE
Despite the rapid downturn that her future appeared to be taking, Crown Princess Adale was anticipating a very good day. She and her waiting ladies, Lethea and Daphene, awoke early that morning, dressed quickly, and headed for the kennels in preparation for the day’s hunt.
Unfortunately, their journey was intercepted by two of Adale’s father’s guards, who informed her that she had a meeting with His Majesty. Over the eighteen years of her life, Adale had bribed countless squires, serving maids, and manservants to claim that they had been unable to find her when her parents summoned. But the guards, soldiers from the temple of Reygmadra, were not so affable. Adale was forced to promise Lethea and Daphene that she would catch up to them later.
Her parents’ rooms were behind a massive set of heavy doors carved with symbols of Iolar and gilded in gold. As the guards pulled the doors open for her, Adale was struck by the usual wave of noise. The parlor was filled with various members of the nobility and their servants, all waiting for her parents to emerge from their rooms so the day could officially begin.
Adale missed the days when the nobles were a rainbow of colors, each trying to outshine one another with their attire. But for the past three months, they had only dressed in shades of silver, and the only gemstones worn were pearls or jet.
Adale slipped past them without making eye contact, for she knew a conversation with any senior member of her parents’ court would only end in someone trying to make her feel guilty about her assorted failings. She went into her parents’ private rooms and shut the doors behind herself to seal off the noise.
Her mother and father were waiting for her, sitting side by side at a table with a stack of papers between them. She stood frozen in the doorway, a little unnerved, and tried to brace herself for whatever lecture was in store.
“Adalheidis,” said her father. He was the only one who called her by her birth name. “Come, sit. We need to discuss your future.”
Adale went over to the table and sat in the lone remaining chair, moving slowly in an admittedly pathetic attempt to delay the conversation.
“Princess Esofi has agreed to marry you, even after your behavior yesterday,” said Saski. “But there is much you must learn if you are to be the queen of Ieflaria. There is so much lost time that we must make up for.”
Adale knew what her mother meant. As a child, she had driven her tutors to despair even as Albion excelled at every task they set before him. The young princess’s focus was poor, her self-control nonexistent, her energy boundless. Even when she tried to behave more like Albion for her parents’ sake, it was always a miserable and short-lived enterprise. By the time she came of age, it seemed her parents had given up on her entirely. All their attention was on Albion, their heir and their hope.
“I can’t do it,” said Adale.
“It is not a question of whether you can or cannot,” said Dietrich. “You must. You are the heir to the throne now. Tens of thousands of lives will be on your shoulders. Every single person within our borders will look to you to keep them safe from dragons, pirates, and the Xytan legion.”
“Very well, you’ve convinced me,” said Adale, hysterical laughter covering her terror. “I have always wanted to move to Ko’li, and now I finally have a reason! I will pack my things tonight.”
“Adale, this is serious!” cried Saski. “You are not so old that you cannot learn to rule, and your father and I do not intend to retire for many years yet. We would not have made you our heir if we believed you were incapable of rising to your station.”
“You’re wrong!” Adale pleaded. “Pick someone else. Pick anyone else. The twins—”
“Adale, this is how wars start!” shouted Dietrich, rising to his feet so quickly that his chair fell back against the floor. “We have a contract with Rhodia! It is your responsibility to honor it in your brother’s place!”
“The twins can honor it!” Adale implored. “They are of the Verheicht family as much as I am. And they can behave—”
“Adale, you are a woman of eighteen, not a child who has yet to master self-control,” said Saski, lowering her voice as though she sought to compensate for Dietrich’s yelling. “There is nothing Brandt and Svana can do that you are not equally capable of.”
That was not even close to the truth, but Adale knew that arguing would only prompt more shouting. Dietrich righted his chair and spoke again.
“You have lived in this castle your entire life,” said Dietrich. “You have never been hungry. You have never been cold. When you were ill, healers were sent directly to your bedside. You have never lifted a smith’s hammer, never milked a goat, never tilled a field. You have never labored until your hands bled. You have never known the fear that your home might be nothing but cinders in a week’s time. It has been pleasant, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, but…” began Adale.
“Did you think you owed Ieflaria nothing in return for your idyllic, prolonged childhood?”
“That’s not fair,” protested Adale. “I never asked for it. I never asked for any of it!”
“The girl who scrubs your floors did not ask for her life, either,” said Dietrich.
“The girl who scrubs my floors cannot be forced to marry a stranger!”
“And that is my point entirely,” said Dietrich. “The lives of our ordinary citizens are not nearly as comfortable as ours. But in return, their responsibilities are not so heavy. Small mistakes are easily forgiven. Even large mistakes seldom result in the deaths of thousands. And when they return to their homes after a day’s work, they are freed from their responsibilities until the sun rises once more. I am the king of Ieflaria every moment of my life, waking and sleeping. No decision that I make is insignificant. The smallest lapse in judgment could cause untold damage to our nation, and even to our continent. Our people understand this, and that is why they allow us to live as we do. It is not entitlement, Adale. It is an exchange. You have enjoyed all the benefits of our station and none of the burdens. You are correct when you say it is unfair, but you fail to realize that it has been unfair entirely in your favor.”
Saski pushed the papers aside and looked at her daughter. “Our subjects trust us, Adale. We are able to live like this because they believe we will sacrifice anything for their well-being, even our own freedom. And they trust us to treat them fairly, as equals. Your cousins may know how to appear honorable to their fellow nobles, but you know they have nothing but contempt for the common citizens of Ieflaria. Do you think they could rule with compassion?”
Adale could not hid
e her shock. She had never heard anyone speak of her cousins in such a way. She had never heard anyone imply they were imperfect.
“You did not think we had noticed?” asked Saski, accurately interpreting the expression on Adale’s face. “The twins are not as sly as they believe themselves to be. Know this: your cousins will only be permitted to marry Princess Esofi as a last resort. We have spent decades cultivating the goodwill of our people. We are reluctant to allow those two to throw it away.”
Adale could hardly speak. She felt as though she had just been run over by a carriage. There was a very good chance she would be sick if she did not escape the room immediately. She turned her thoughts to the poor maid who would be assigned to clean it up in order to keep her stomach under control. “I-I need to think. I didn’t know. I…I need to think.”
“I think that would be wise,” agreed her mother.
Adale fled.
ADALE’S HORSE WAS a tall, dark bay stallion named Warcry. He was a stubborn creature, but he loved the hunts as much as his rider. By the time she arrived at the stables, he was already saddled and ready to go.
Daphene and Lethea spent the entire ride to the royal hunting grounds trying to wheedle a few words from her, asking her what her parents wanted and what the status of her engagement was. But Adale merely pressed her lips together and refused to look any of them in the face until they grew bored and gave up.
The party met at the usual place just within the borders of the hunting grounds. The royal huntsman and his dogs were waiting to direct the nobles to their quarry, a stag that he had been tracking for the past few days. But Adale found that she could not focus on his words today. All that her parents had said to her was running through her mind.
The Ieflarian nobility was relatively new, for Ieflaria had been a territory of the Xytan Empire until a mere three hundred years ago, when the empire’s power had waned enough for its outermost territories to declare their independence. Adale’s ancestors had been the first regents of Ieflaria, and had sworn they would rule very differently from the Xytan emperors.
The result was the very philosophy that her parents had shared with her that morning. Adale had heard endless variations on it throughout her childhood, but it had always seemed so abstract, until today.
Theodoar seemed to notice her distraction and pulled his horse up alongside her to prod her boot with his own, which of course began a subtle kicking fight, but Adale was smiling by the end of it.
The hunt began, and for a while, all was leisurely and pleasant. Theodoar rode by her side, speaking of all the things Adale needed to hear—namely, everything that wasn’t a wedding or a princess.
But soon enough, the forest warmed under the slowly rising sun and the gossip began in earnest.
“Crown Princess!” sang out Lady Brigit, and Adale flinched at the sound of her new title. “Is it true that your fiancée gave ten thousand gold pieces to the temple yesterday?”
“I’ve no fiancée yet,” retorted Adale. Her chest suddenly felt odd, constricted. She was having difficulty breathing. “And what she does with her money is her own concern.”
“It was not ten thousand when you told it this morning, Brigit,” called Lord Baldric from somewhere in the rear.
“I forgot!” huffed Lady Brigit. “That’s why I was asking!”
“I’ve only spoken to her once,” said Adale, keeping her gaze locked upon the forest path ahead. Her breath was short and shallow, her palms drenching the leather reins in sweat. “She told me nothing of her plans to pay tribute.”
“Then what did you speak of?” Brigit called, prompting much laughter from the party. “Come, Adale, you have told us nothing! Do you wish us to go mad from wondering?”
Up until that moment, Adale had always enjoyed the openness and informality of the nobles she’d chosen to associate herself with, and the fact that such behavior would scandalize her parents had only been part of the appeal. Her social group was made up almost entirely of second-, third-, or even fourth-born children of the Ieflarian nobility. With no titles to inherit unless four or five people died in rapid succession and no significant obligations upon any given day of the year, they spent their time roaming from city to city, enjoying their parents’ wealth and accomplishing nothing of note. It was a life Adale had always loved, and the fact that she commanded little respect had never bothered her until this moment.
“I say nothing because there is nothing to say,” said Adale at last. “She is still a stranger to me.” Perhaps she always would be. Perhaps it would be easier that way.
“Did you not invite her today?” asked Gauslen. Gauslen was a neutroi and used the title “Noble” rather than Lord or Lady.
“I did,” said Adale. “But she has only just arrived, and declined the invitation.”
“That’s a pity,” sighed Brigit from somewhere nearby. “I think her figure would benefit from a day upon horseback.”
It was a relief to finally have something to yell about.
“Brigit!” snapped Adale. “I’ll tolerate your stupid questions because I know you lack the wit to keep them to yourself, but you have no right to insult Esofi! She has done more for the benefit of Ieflaria in these past three days than you have in your entire life!”
“I am only speaking the truth!” retorted Brigit. “Does she not remind you of a tiered cake?” There was some tittering from the back at these words. “Besides, even if she was Dayluue given mortal form, her temperament is not at all suited for yours. She will drive you mad! Perhaps you ought to leave her to one of your cousins.”
“And then abdicate entirely and live out my life with you ruffians?” asked Adale darkly. She had occasionally joked darkly about the possibility, before she had known her parents had objections to her cousins. Now it seemed she was even more trapped than ever before.
“Only if my princess wished it,” Brigit said with a dramatic toss of her braids. “And you do wish it, do you not?”
Adale looked at Theodoar for help. Besides Albion, there was no one who had ever known her mind as well as him. But he only shrugged.
“It would certainly be more satisfying than ruling Ieflaria,” he said. But before Adale could respond, the horns sounded and the chase began. In that moment, Adale forgot everything, save for the thrill of the gallop and the crying of the hounds.
Soon enough, the hunters had the stag at bay. The hounds were restrained to keep them from stealing the day’s kill, and Adale dismounted and drew her sword. As the highest-ranking member of the party, it was her right to make the kill or grant it to another. Today, there was nobody in the party that she didn’t feel like kicking in the head, and so she chose to keep it for herself.
Once the stag was dead, the huntsman came forward to help her finish cutting the carcass into pieces. The meat would be delivered to the kitchens, and the rest would be made into trophies. Adale fed a few small pieces of meat to the dogs as a reward for their help.
Adale remounted and let her thoughts wander as the others gossiped and shouted to one another. She wasn’t looking forward to returning home tonight and wished that she could make a rapid excursion to the countryside without her parents ordering her home to court Esofi properly.
It wasn’t that Adale disliked Esofi; she didn’t know her well enough for that. From the little she had seen, Esofi struck her as very formal but also very gentle. Yes, she was not as thin or as tall as the average Ieflarian, but Adale did not think that was a bad thing. She looked warm, Adale decided, for lack of a better descriptor. Warm and soft.
But Esofi seemed to represent everything Adale had never wanted. Her only consolation was that Esofi probably didn’t want her, either.
Maybe the princess could be convinced to marry one of her cousins. Her parents wouldn’t like it, but they just weren’t being reasonable. Yes, the twins could not be accused of being kind, but surely that was secondary to competence? Her parents claimed Adale was capable of rising to her station, but parents always overestimate
d the qualities of their children, didn’t they? Adale felt a twinge of confidence return. She knew herself better than anyone else. She knew her cousins would be better regents, if only by default.
Adale rode slowly on the way back to the castle, with only Theodoar beside her. At some point, someone broke out the flasks, but Adale found that she wasn’t inclined to drink that night. Her friends went on ahead, laughing and screeching into the dusk.
“What do you think?” asked Adale quietly.
“I think you’re already miserable,” said Theodoar. “Imagine how much worse it will be once you are married.”
“That is not helpful, Theodoar!” Adale snapped.
“It is the truth,” said Theodoar. “I see your unhappiness. Everyone does. But you don’t have to marry her. Your parents wouldn’t be pleased, but they would not disown you. Let her have one of your cousins, and live your life the way you have always meant to.”
“Perhaps,” said Adale. But something still seemed to be holding her back. Was it her parents’ words or her memory of Albion? She had no idea how her brother had managed to live his life in the way he had, a perfect balance between obligation and revelry, never too rigid or too irresponsible. And he’d always been able to speak with their parents openly without angering them, an art Adale had never mastered.
He would have been…he would have been a good husband for Esofi, a good king for Ieflaria.
“You are still uncertain,” said Theodoar. “Why? What is there to debate?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Adale. “I can’t explain it. And becoming queen is only half of the problem. I’d have to marry a foreigner I barely know. And I know it’s foolish and selfish for a princess to expect she’ll be allowed to marry whoever she likes, but my parents always promised they’d let me pick for myself because—”
Because Albion was there to be the responsible one.
And now he was gone.