Seirsha of Errinton

by Shari L. Tapscott

  My mouth goes dry as I watch the guard make his way to the bell tower. He winds up the stairs and disappears from view. In only moments, the death toll rings through the air.

  I leap from the window and race down the stairway as soon as my feet meet the stones. I trip, stumble forward, and my hands flail for something to grasp hold of. Just before I fall headfirst to the village streets below, I catch my balance. I set a steadying hand on the sun-warmed stone wall and hold the other over my racing heart.

  Using more caution, I continue my descent. I pick up my pace once I reach the walkway and fly through the first door I come to. Maids and servants are in a tizzy, and they stand in clusters. As I pass, I overhear their conversations. All wonder who the bells mourn.

  I turn a corner, and ahead of me a knight strides down the hall.

  “Argus!” I yell.

  The knight turns, irritated. “Where have you been? I was sent to bring you to the council chambers.”

  “Who’s died?” I rush up to him, out of breath.

  “You’ll find out soon enough.” He turns, expecting me to follow him.

  I grab his arm. Though he looks irritated when he glances over his shoulder, he sighs and turns toward me, crossing his arms.

  Letting my hand drop, I say, “Please, tell me.”

  “Everyone,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “The entire regiment.”

  The hall spins, and I press a hand to the wall. “Everyone?”

  “All but seven were slaughtered by the feral dragons.”

  Three-hundred-ninety-three men? The thought is staggering, and I take a step back. If Antone hadn’t escaped to Lauramore with Archer, he would be among that number. If Rigel hadn’t stood up to Father, he would be lost as well.

  I rub my temples. This news is too much.

  With a wordless jerk of his head, Argus motions me down the hall. The sound of arguing reaches us before we even cross the room’s threshold. I enter, hesitant. Nobles surround the messenger from the road, all asking him questions at once. As I step in the door, Lord Fisher asks the man about one of the nobles sent to lead—his son.

  The messenger pulls his hat from his head and crushes it in his hands. “I’m sorry, My Lord.”

  Fisher staggers back, leaving the group.

  My father sits in his usual spot. With his chin resting in his hand, he looks livid. I know it’s not the lost lives he’s lamenting. I can see the mad-calculations in his eyes. He’s plotting—revising his plan, already drawing up his next attack.

  I spot Rigel in the corner speaking with Archer, who thankfully returned from Lauramore without incident several weeks ago. The pair looks grim. Knowing Rigel as I do, I can tell he’s grieving. Unlike Father, it’s not the sculpture he mourns.

  I find my place and wait for the meeting to begin. Many of the men in this room have lost family today. It’s painful to linger amongst them. Surely Father will start soon.

  “We’ll send more men,” Father says after he commands the lords to sit.

  Lord Fisher is the first to argue. “The men you sent were slaughtered!”

  The marquis frowns, his eyes on Lord Fisher, and then he turns to my father. “Your Majesty, with all due respect, Fisher is right. This dragon magic is stronger than we’ve encountered before. If you gather more men, you will be sending them to their deaths.”

  Father’s eyes flash. “I will have this sculpture. I don’t care how many it takes to claim it.”

  “We don’t even know if the figure exists,” one of the eastern lords argues. “More men could be sent, and all for naught.”

  Father is reaching the end of his short patience, and Rovert intercedes. “A different attack may be needed.”

  “We have planned enough,” Father argues. “It is time to act.”

  “Perhaps we can acquire more information on these feral dragons,” Duke Everett says. “Learn weaknesses. Discover how to kill them.”

  Father narrows his eyes at the duke, but then he looks away, thinking. “A wizard,” he says finally, his voice quiet.

  A chill runs through me, but I keep my face impassive.

  “They are forbidden in Errinton.” Rigel’s words are not said with excessive force, but the room stills when he joins the conversation. “And they have been for generations.”

  Father turns his cold gaze on the lord, but Rigel does not back down. He tilts his head, defiant. It’s a minuscule movement, but it speaks volumes. I hold my breath, wondering how Father will react.

  “The time you speak of is archaic, Lord Rigel. As your king, I am more than capable of changing laws as I see fit.”

  The room waits. There’s an eager look in many of the lord’s eyes. They want Rigel to stand up to Father.

  Rigel gives the men their heart’s desire. “Foolish is the man who calls upon dark magic.”

  The room goes silent after he quotes the old proverb. Nervous eyes flicker between the king and Rigel.

  A ghost of a smile crosses Father’s face, but his eyes are deadly. “Foolish is the man who challenges me.”

  Rovert clears his throat, attempting to break the tension. “Of course, Sire, we will gladly follow your instructions. Should you wish to contact a wizard, that is what we will do.”

  Father turns from Rigel, dismissing him, but I see a shadow of discomfort cross his features. Rigel isn’t an inconvenience anymore. He’s scared of him and the power he holds.

  “I don’t care if you have to go to Triblue or the islands beyond.” Father scans the room, daring another to oppose him before he looks back at Rovert. “Find me a wizard.”

  ***

  Somehow Rigel slipped from the council room before me. Irritated, I walk back to my chambers alone. I turn a corner, distracted in my thoughts. From behind me, an arm wraps around my waist, and a hand covers my mouth, muffling my cry of alarm. I’m swept into the shadows of a deserted alcove and pressed against the wall, my attacker in front of me.

  As Rigel removes his hand, his fingers trace my lips. “What have you done with your guard?”

  I kiss him instead of answering, knowing if we’re caught we’re both dead. He runs his hand down the length of my hair and then his fingers wrap through it as he pulls me closer.

  “Father’s losing his patience with you,” I say between desperate kisses.

  “I know.”

  I draw back. “A wizard?” I’m as exasperated as I am terrified. “What is he thinking?”

  Rigel’s eyes flash. “He’s obsessed.”

  Footsteps sound down the hall, and I tense. Rigel pulls me closer to him, hiding us deeper in the shadows. As we wait, the sound of my heartbeat thrums in my ears. Rovert and Zander pass, the two deep in discussion. They never even glance our way.

  I breathe out and look up, expecting Rigel to be as composed as usual. Instead, he looks troubled.

  “He’s inviting his own death,” I say. “And ours as well.”

  “The people are rising up, Seirsha.” He strokes the small of my back. “The news of the massacre is spreading quickly.”

  I nod. I’d already figured as much.

  Though Rigel still holds me, I’ve lost him to his thoughts. Finally, he takes a deep breath. He’s about to ask me something. Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it. I wait, knowing he won’t begin before he’s ready.

  “This wizard won’t work for free, and it’s rarely gold they want,” he finally says. “We need to know what your Father is willing to trade for his services.”

  I bite my lip and think of how I might go about this. “Father doesn’t trust me.”

  “I know.”

  His hand strays from my hair, runs down my arm, and brushes back up again. The motion is meant to be soothing, which makes me think I won’t like his next words.

  “In your father’s chambers, in the entry alcove, there’s a small door hidden behind a tapestry,” Rigel finally continues. “We must slip you through that door before the wizard arrives. From there, you will be able to listen to you
r Father’s plans.”

  “How do you know of this room?”

  He cocks his head to the side and raises an eyebrow.

  “Right,” I say.

  “I would do it myself, but the king has requested the lords gather to greet the wizard when he arrives.”

  I wrap my arms around Rigel’s neck, and I play with the short hair at his nape. “I’ll do it.”

  He gives me a stern look. “You mustn’t be caught. Do you understand?”

  “What about the guards?”

  His eyes harden. “I’ll take care of them.”

  ***

  Dryal waits for me by my chamber doors, and he crosses his arms when I draw near. “I covered for you when you disappeared. You better not have been seen with Rigel.”

  I feel a little guilty for losing him but not quite enough to feel sorry.

  He watches me for a moment longer, his expression unnerving.

  “I was supposed to be in the regiment,” he says. “Instead, they sent me here to be a nursemaid to you.”

  Startled, I raise an eyebrow. I haven’t heard him string so many words together in the whole time he’s been guarding me.

  He clears his throat and opens the door to my chambers. “So thank you, I suppose.”

  I step past him and then look back. “Do you think it’s right to provoke the dragons as we have?”

  His head twitches to the hall, as if he’s checking to be sure we won’t be overheard. “I do not, Your Highness.”

  Crossing my arms, I say, “There will come a time when you must choose where your loyalty rests.”

  “I am loyal to the true king.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “And that would be?”

  He fidgets, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I am loyal to Lord Rigel.”

  I nod and close the door between us.

  ***

  I bite my nail and look out the window. From my chambers, I can’t see the mob of villagers that have gathered to listen to Father’s speech, but I can hear their angry cries.

  Rigel rubs my shoulders. “Are you listening?”

  I turn toward him and nod. “What if the room is locked?”

  He slips a key from his pocket and places it in my hand. He smirks when he sees my shocked expression. “We didn’t give up everything when your grandfather defeated us.”

  I accept the key and slip it into my bodice. Rigel raises an eyebrow, and I flush. I’m not sure where else he thinks I could keep it.

  “This is most important; you must not leave until you are positive he is asleep,” Rigel says.

  “All right.”

  There’s a knock on the door, and Dryal enters. “The king has begun his speech.”

  My guardian knight knows nothing of our plans, but, again, he’s allowed Rigel to meet with me. Still, for now, I feel it’s safer to keep him in the dark—for us and for him.

  “Thank you, Dryal,” I say, dismissing him.

  He bows his head and shuts the door.

  “Be careful.” Rigel pulls me close. “Do not do anything foolish.”

  “You’ll take care of the guards?” I ask again.

  It’s the only part of the plan that makes me truly nervous. Father will be asleep when I leave, but if his guards are outside his door, I won’t have a chance.

  “I swear it.”

  I kiss him softly before I step out the door, nodding to Dryal as I pass. In a few moments, Rigel will leave, heading the other way. It will be bad if he’s caught near my chambers, but it would be worse if we were seen together.

  I’m nervous. Every little sound makes me jump. I turn the corner that leads to my Father’s hall. To my relief, there’s no one outside his door. His guards are all with him in the great hall. I’m sure at this moment, with the villagers livid and terrified, he needs all the protection he can summon.

  I’ve never opened the door to Father’s chambers, and it feels very wrong. Just as I had feared, the lock is set. I glance down the empty hall and slip the key from my bodice. I almost expect to hear a sharp word of surprise when I enter, but the chambers are empty. Still not wanting to linger, I quickly push back the tapestry.

  There is a door, just as Rigel said there would be. It’s not locked, and I slip through. My hand brushes over the wood, and I frown. There isn’t a lock on this side, either.

  The room is cold, and it smells dusty from disuse—enough so, I’m not sure Father knows it’s here. I rub my hands over my arms and scan the space, looking for somewhere to sit. It’s as dark as night. Do I dare go back into Father’s chambers for a candle?

  I don’t see how I have a choice.

  Though I wait for a moment, there’s only silence on the other side of the wall. I slip back through the entry. A candle sits on a table in the corner. It’s only burned halfway and there is a layer of dust on its surface. I don’t think it will be missed. After snatching it up, I search for a tinderbox. I shuffle through papers and trinkets on the desk, growing agitated. This is taking too long. Father’s speech will be short. He doesn’t actually care about the villagers; he simply wants to appease them for the time being.

  I finally find what I’m looking for on a table under the window. Striking the flint, I ignite the tinder and light the wick. I’m just slipping back into the hidden room when footsteps echo outside the chambers. With my heart racing, I nudge the door shut.

  The outside chamber opens. Through the wall, I can hear voices.

  “Why wasn’t this locked?” Father demands one of the guards.

  I bite my lip, cursing myself for forgetting to lock the outer door behind me.

  “It was, Your Majesty. I swear.”

  He and Father exchange a few more terse words, but then there is only Rovert and Father discussing the meeting.

  Safe for the moment, I glance around my temporary prison. I cringe away from a cobweb that hangs near my head. There’s no escaping them. They’re everywhere. In the corner, a fat spider watches me. I shiver and jerk away.

  The dust lies thick on the floor, discoloring what once might have been a red rug. The room is sparse, but there is a table and a single chair.

  Zander enters the outside chambers and announces the wizard has been delayed. I fight back a groan.

  “When will he be here?” Father demands.

  “Tonight…but late,” Zander answers. “Should we postpone the meeting until the morning?”

  I shake my head as I eye the spider in the corner. I’m sure it has friends.

  “No. I want to see him the moment he walks through the doors. Tell my lords to be ready to greet him as soon as he arrives, even if it’s the middle of the night.”

  Somewhat relieved, I attempt to sweep the dust off the chair with my hand. It clings to my palm. Gritting my teeth, I wipe the filth off on my skirts.

  “Do you smell smoke?” Zander asks suddenly.

  I suck in a quiet breath. The smell must have lingered from the tinder. I glare at the candle. It flickers merrily on the table.

  “No.” Father sounds too distracted to care.

  The afternoon crawls slowly along. I must keep still so they don’t hear me—not that there is anything to pass the time anyway. I scan the room and keep watch for eight-legged visitors. The spider in the corner slinks across its web.

  My neck prickles. I can feel imaginary insects on me. Under my skirts, my skin crawls as well. I cross my ankles and try not to think of it.

  Eventually, my eyelids begin to droop, and I lay my head on my arm. Father speaks little to Zander or Rovert. There isn’t much to keep my attention. The two men come and go through the day, and servants enter every once in a while. Finally, I drift off, unable to stay awake any longer.

  I wake to a voice I don’t recognize. I jerk upright, disturbing the dust on the table. It tickles my nose, but I hold my breath, willing the sensation to subside.

  “I traveled a week and a half. What is so important it couldn’t wait until morning?”

  The voice is dark, u
nfamiliar, and it carries a strange accent.

  Father explains the situation to the wizard, finishing with the new information about the feral dragons and their magic.

  The man is silent for a moment. “And what do you want from me?”

  “Power,” Father says without hesitation. “I want the magic necessary to take out the colony.”

  “It won’t come cheap.”

  “I’m willing to pay whatever it takes.”

  The tickling sensation returns quite suddenly, and I sneeze. I hold most of it in, so the sound is quiet, but to my ears it sounds like a landslide.

  I wait, frozen in place. My shoulders sag in relief when Father speaks again, offering treasures.

  “I don’t want gold,” the wizard says. “I want life.”

  My skin prickles, but this time it’s not from imaginary spiders.

  “Explain.”

  “This magic will cost you, Your Majesty. You are speaking of excessive amounts of power.”

  I shake my head, silently begging Father to refuse him.

  “What exactly is it you want?” Father demands.

  “I want five years of your daughter’s life.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I grab the table to steady myself.

  To my shock, Father doesn’t hesitate. “Absolutely not.”

  “She won’t miss it. She’ll simply pass five years earlier than she would naturally. What’s five years to an old woman?”

  I wait for Father’s answer, disturbed to my core.

  “No.” Father’s voice is stony. “I will not barter my daughter.”

  I finally let out my held breath, relieved and surprised he didn’t accept the terms.

  Then Father says, “Take some of my life, not hers.”

  I jerk my head toward the voices even though I can’t see the men. What is he thinking? Is he a complete fool—or does he believe his precious sculpture will counteract the terms? I have no doubt that one dark magic will not cancel out another.