Narine stood and tugged on her father’s arm, pleading in a voice loud enough to hear over the roar. “Please, Father! You mustn’t! They don’t deserve this!”
He glared at her, his eyes unfamiliar and inhuman. “Would you have me suffer such impudence? Should I reward their failure?”
“Of course not, but there are more appropriate means to punish them.”
His glare made her feel like running away. It burned with an intense hatred she did not understand. What has become of him?
Finally, he nodded. “Fine.”
With the flick of his hand, the tornado stopped. The performers and objects trapped in the winds sailed off in scattered directions. Bodies broke against columns and walls before falling to the floor in crumpled piles, one man landing just strides away from Narine. She covered her mouth and backed away while he stared back with dead eyes, his brain oozing from a cracked scull. Turning, she found the others in a similar condition – bloody with broken bones and organs exposed, dead.
“You got what you wanted, Narine.” Taladain’s voice sounded hollow, emotionless. “I had planned a longer, more painful end. For you, I was merciful.”
He spun on his heel and headed toward the door, leaving his horrified daughter behind.
Jace stood in the shadows, thankful to be out of the hot sun. The servant uniform he wore didn’t fit quite right. The breeches were too long, as were the sleeves of the jacket. Having just arrived that morning, Ruthers, the man who ran the palace staff, said he supposed it was the best he could do on short notice.
The man had read over the references Jace provided and asked some pointed questions. Among the places Jace claimed to have worked was Castle Lionne. His memory of his encounter with High Wizard Montague proved to be of great worth. Ruthers was familiar with the castle and the wizard, so the questions he asked Jace were clearly intended to disprove the claimed experience. While leaning heavily on his lone visit to the castle, Jace replied with confidence. Satisfied, Ruthers hired him on the spot.
After showing Jace to his quarters in the basement, Ruthers had assigned him to changing the bedding for High Priest Faldom and the other clerics. It was an ironic request, so very close to the nature of his prior visits to those chambers. Still, he did as requested, then had a quick lunch before he was off to his next task, which involved walking throughout the palace and replacing spent candles with fresh ones. Before Jace had finished the job, Ruthers tracked him down and told him he was required for a more important task.
Upon learning he was to attend Taladain during a performance, Jace had considered it a stroke of luck. He joined another servant named Hoann, the pair of them following Taladain out to an outdoor theatre of unique design. Tall columns atop marble stairs encircled the floor of the theatre. Taladain sat on a throne set upon a marble platform at one end. Guards then escorted four men dressed in colorful garb and carrying bags of props. The guards took position at the door while the four performers took the floor.
The troupe began to juggle and balance items. They had skill, but the tricks did not impress Jace. With a little practice, he was sure he could do the same. He could already juggle five balls at once and was quite adept with a knife. Swapping the balls for torches seemed a trivial adjustment.
A girl appeared at the edge of the arena, her hair the color of honey, her blue eyes sparkling like the water in Fastella Bay, her curves making Jace’s blood boil. The woman walked just inside the circle of pillars, above the rim of the performance bowl, and approached Taladain, her rounded hips swaying with every step.
Hoann elbowed Jace. “Come on. The princess needs a chair.”
Princess Narine?
He recalled her from years past, when she was a young, yellow-haired teen riding past in a palanquin, smiling and waving to the people of Fastella. Other than thinking her a spoiled brat, he could recall little else.
Stirred by Hoann’s reminder, Jace lifted the chair, while the other servant strode forward with a glass and a carafe of water. The two of them met the princess just as she reached Taladain’s side. As he slid the chair behind her, Jace noticed the curve of her bottom beneath her skirt and wondered how she might appear in tight breeches.
The princess sat and accepted the glass from Hoann, who filled it before backing away. The man tugged on Jace’s coat, and they both melted back into the shadows.
The act continued for a few more minutes. During the entire process, Taladain remained silent and unmoving. He just stared at the bowl and the men performing there.
Then calamity struck – a dropped torch, a sliced hand, a man down.
Lord Taladain stood and bellowed at the performers. The hair rose on Jace’s arms, warning him of magic being used. One man burst into flames, screaming and flailing about, while the others scrambled out of the way. The men pleaded with Taladain for mercy. His response was anything but.
The wizard lord whirled his arm and unleashed a magic-induced tornado. The men in the troupe lifted off the ground and spun in circles, faster and faster while rising higher and higher. The wind buffeted Jace, although he stood a dozen strides away from Taladain. A glance at the man beside him revealed Hoann’s face etched in terror, his back pressed against the wall. Rather than feeling lucky to be present, Jace suddenly wished for somewhere to hide
The princess appealed to her father. The wizard lord directed a menacing glare at his own daughter. Jace feared he might strike her dead then and there. After a long, tension-filled moment, Taladain waved his arm and the tornado stopped. Everything broke free from the wind, launching bodies and other items into walls and pillars before they fell to the marble floor.
A brief exchange between Taladain and his daughter took place before the wizard strode off and disappeared into the palace with the guards trailing him. Jace looked down at the nearest corpse, not more than three strides away. It was one of the jugglers, his eyes locked in a death stare, his neck bent in an unnatural way. Blood leaked from his ear and his eyes. He was undoubtedly dead.
The princess turned, her eyes meeting Jace’s. In those beautiful blue eyes, he caught a glimpse of a frightened girl. Just as quickly, the look was gone, replaced by a hardened princess.
“I have decided I’ll not be having dinner after all,” she said, looking down her nose at Jace, her voice irritatingly haughty. “Tell Ruthers I will take breakfast shortly after sunrise.”
The woman lifted her skirts and walked away, calm and collected. Jace watched her departure.
“Oh my,” Hoann said, swallowing hard. “This is horrible.”
“Thank Gheald it wasn’t us,” Jace said in agreement. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Hoann’s face turned red as he stepped into Jace’s path. Through clenched teeth, he said, “Didn’t you wonder why nobody wants this job? Didn’t you think it odd you would be chosen to attend Lord Taladain on your very first day?”
Jace shrugged. “I figured it was luck.”
“Luck?” Hoann pointed at the dead man beside him. “Does this look like luck?”
“Well, no.”
“Good. Because it gets worse.”
“How could it get worse?”
“You and I get to clean up this mess.”
36
Alarm
Narine rose with the sun, weary. Her sleep had been fitful, filled with nightmares and corpses while her father and brother laughed maniacally at her distress.
Across her chamber, she found Adyn sprawled out on the sofa, still clothed. The odor of alcohol wafted up from the bodyguard. Narine put her hands on her hips and stared down with a disapproving glare that was wasted on the unconscious woman. It wasn’t surprising. Burrock’s men liked to drink, and Adyn enjoyed competition. The only wonder was how she had made it back to the room. Even if Narine had been sleeping well, she would have heard Adyn stumbling about in the dark, trying to find the sofa. Everyone in her wing of the palace had likely heard it.
With a sigh, Narine turned and walked to the mirror. The wom
an staring back had bloodshot eyes, her blonde hair a mess. She considered heading to the baths, then decided a thorough wash could wait another day. Using soap, a sponge, and a bowl of water, she washed herself the best she could before donning a fresh shift. Next came the brush combing the snarls from her hair, grumbling and complaining at their resistance, eventually proving their master.
All the while, Adyn slept.
After perusing her wardrobe, Narine chose a simple, lavender dress. It wasn’t her favorite color, but the dress was newer than the others and wasn’t as snug in the chest or hips. She then placed a headdress of gold with purple stones onto her head to keep her hair back.
The person in the mirror had transformed. A princess now stared back, save for the bloodshot eyes. It will have to do.
A knock on the door drew her attention. She shot a glance at Adyn, who replied with a soft snore.
“Don’t bother,” Narine said. “I’ll get it myself.”
She padded across the room and opened the door. Ruthers stood in the corridor, the man as impeccably dressed as ever, his coat pressed, collar starched.
“Your father has requested your presence for breakfast.” Ruthers held out a note, her father’s crest of a crowned dog’s head pressed into the wax seal. “It will be served shortly.”
The man bowed and walked down the corridor, passing the guard on duty. Narine stared down at the note while closing the door. She broke the seal, tearing it open and unfolding it.
Daughter,
I suspect you are upset by my poor reaction to yesterday’s failed performance. In retrospect, I acted in haste. The judgment dealt was in excess of the transgression. I wish to apologize over breakfast. Join me in my chamber once you receive this missive.
Your father,
Lord Taladain Killarius.
Narine folded the note with mixed emotions. The look in her father’s eyes when she had last seen him had been terrifyingly cruel. His desire to apologize restored a bit of her faith in him, but doubts remained. Still, he was the Lord of Ghealdor, and it would be unwise to deny his request, even for his own daughter.
Folding the note, she approached the sofa and gave the sleeping woman a gentle kick.
“What?” Adyn sat up, blinking. “I’m ready.”
“Ready for what?”
Adyn rubbed her eyes and brought her other foot to the floor, remaining seated on the sofa. With her hand shielding her eyes, she squinted up at Narine. “Not for this sunlight, that’s for sure.”
“You smell like a taproom after a brawl. How much did you drink last night?”
Adyn shook her head. “I’m not sure. Just enough to outdrink Verd.” She smiled. “Last I saw, he was face down on a table.”
“What is it with you and him?”
“Dunno.” Adyn shrugged. “He’s a blowhard and isn’t very smart, but he is attractive enough, and the man’s body may have been sculpted by Gheald himself.”
“You didn’t,” Narine said, aghast.
Adyn chuckled in reply. “Not yet. I’m going to make him chase me a while. In the meantime, he’ll continue to challenge me, and I’ll do my best to make him look a fool.”
“It amazes me we can be such friends, yet I still cannot fathom your views toward men.”
“What’s to fathom? I see one I want, I get what I need, then move along. It’s no mystery.”
Narine sighed. “I wish I had your…open views.”
“You could try it, you know. If you find a man who knows his way about a woman, it’s quite wonderful.”
“Adyn!” Narine said, her cheeks flush.
Adyn chuckled, then held her head with a moan, as if the laughter caused her pain. “You are too easy.”
“Actually, I am not easy. I thought that part was clear.”
“I meant you are too easily embarrassed.”
Narine straightened her back, her tone shifting toward propriety. “I was raised as a princess, and we royalty must be careful to whom we gift our bodies.”
Adyn stood with a groan, stretching. “Well, don’t wait too long to share your gift. It might spoil if it goes unused for too long.”
Narine’s eyes widened. She gasped and took a swing at Adyn’s shoulder. “You tart!”
Lightning-quick, Adyn dodged Narine’s weak attempt at violence, then darted off, laughing.
“I’ll get you, Adyn. You just watch.”
“See. You are doing it wrong. Instead of chasing me, you need to find a man to target – a man who takes your breath away.”
“I would prefer a man who can make me laugh.”
“In bed?”
“No!” Narine retorted before applying further consideration. “Well, perhaps afterward. I am not like you. Before I give my body to a man, he must lay claim to my heart. He must have goodness inside him. He must make me laugh and have the ability to bring joy to my life.” Her gaze shifted toward the floor, her thoughts turning sour. “That is, if my father allows me to follow my heart. He may have…other plans for me.”
The thought of being bound to a man out of duty was disheartening. It had always been a possibility, and it was a subject Narine was reluctant to broach with her father. Avoiding such a fate, even if just for eight years, had been a driving factor for Narine’s journey to Tiadd. Now a fully trained wizardess, the pool of possible suiters had been reduced. No wizard would choose a wife whose talent outmatched his own. Still, it was possible her father could demand she marry some other prince to secure her future and the interest of Ghealdor.
Adyn must have read Narine’s mood shift. Closing the gap, she wrapped her arms about her, hugging her tightly, her face in Narine’s hair. “Don’t ever change,” Adyn whispered.
With Narine’s head on Adyn’s shoulder, she could smell the woman better than she wished. “Speaking of changes, you could use a change of clothing.” Narine turned her head and pinched her nose. “And a bath.”
Adyn stepped back, nodding. “Yes. I figured as much.”
Narine reread the note in her hand, unsure of how to perceive it. “My father requested I join him for breakfast. I… I should go meet him now.”
“Perfect,” Adyn said. “I’ll walk you there, then head down to the baths.” She grinned again. “Too bad we aren’t in Balmoria. I hear the men and women share baths there.”
A smile on her face, Narine followed Adyn across the room. “You are incorrigible.”
“I do what I can,” Adyn said, opening the door.
The two women walked down the corridor, past the guard, and up a flight of stairs. When they reached her father’s chamber, Narine knocked. A moment later, Ruthers opened the door and stepped aside to allow her in.
Adyn said, “I will grab a quick meal after my bath and should be up here waiting by the time you finish.”
“Very good,” Narine said before entering the room.
Her father’s chamber was more like a series of large, connected apartments. The room she entered had a light, airy feel with a high ceiling and windowed doors open to a long balcony. In the room were two plush sofas and two chairs to match, positioned before a tall, arched fireplace made of pale marble. A purple, woven rug covered the floor in the sitting area, the rest of the floor consisting of glossy, alabaster tiles. Elaborate artwork covered the walls, and two chandeliers hung from the ceiling, one on each end of the room. Below one chandelier was a modestly sized, ornate dining table with eight empty chairs.
Taladain’s bedroom and private bath waited beyond the table, through an open doorway. Beyond the bedroom was the man’s private study – a room strictly forbidden to all others, even Ruthers. Narine and Adyn had snuck into the room once years ago. It was filled with books, diagrams, and odd relics of unknown power. The only window in the room was on the east wall, facing the moon. While Narine and Adyn had dared to venture into the room, the mere thought of being caught had kept them from snooping any further. Instead, they had run off and hid in the orange grove beside her favorite courtyard. There, th
ey told each other stories from their imagination, inventing outlandish magical applications for the objects hidden in the study. The memory brought a smile to Narine’s face, recalling a simpler time, a time of innocence and discovery.
“Ah, Narine,” her father said from the balcony where he had been sitting. He rose to his feet. “I am pleased you have come.”
The smile remained on her face, feeling less forced than it would have otherwise been. She crossed the room and stepped through the open door into the sunlight.
“Thank you for inviting me, Father.” She curtsied. He waved it off, stepping close to give her a hug. She returned the gesture, awkwardly. She couldn’t recall the last time the man had hugged her, if ever.
He stepped back with his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes. “If I frightened you yesterday, I apologize. It was a trying day, and I had little sleep the night prior. I…may have overreacted.”
Narine maintained a straight face. “Thank you, Father.” She urgently searched for a proper response but grasped only empty air. Anything would either be a lie or risk his anger.
“Please.” The man took his chair at the end of the table and gestured to the one beside him. “Sit.”
Narine did as she was asked. A soft clap from Ruthers sent the servants, who had been lingering in the shade along the outer palace wall, into action. Cups were filled with fresh-squeezed orange juice directly from the palace grove. Warm bread was placed on the table, along with fresh fruit and hot sausages.
Both father and daughter ate in silence as birds in the trees below serenaded them. In the distance, ships set sail, heading out of the harbor and off to another port. Narine hated sailing, or at least her stomach did, but she found herself longing to sail off to another place. Her time at Tiadd had changed her in many ways, and she now found her life at the palace disjointed – lacking purpose and filled with discomfort. There seemed to be little she could do about the latter, so she chose to address the former.
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