by Anna Holmes
"I didn’t, really. It’s an illusion I laid over you. Anybody who looks sees a Plain."
Even me? I hold out my arms and examine them as though I’m trying on a dress, looking for my light as though it might spill through a crack in the veneer. "An illusion? But they’re usually so spotty…"
"Yeah, well…" He shifts, his mouth twitching. He doesn’t know what to do with the compliment. "It’s only temporary. It won't hold if I sleep."
"That could have been worse if you hadn’t done that." I frown. "You could have sold me right to them, given them their rebellion then and there. Why didn't you?"
He shrugs, slowing Maribelle to a little trot. "The fire burns the same, doesn't it?"
I've traveled all over this island by now. I've been feasted in taverns and castles alike, given speeches in small squares and cathedrals, rested with livestock and in guest palaces and I've never once heard of Hole.
Alain makes a face as though apologetic and does his best to jump off Maribelle. I am dubious, still holding to Navigator's reins. "The bandits will know we're here." That, and at least from here, the place smells of swamp gas and general…sludge. The fog is thick enough that it's tinged slightly green under the lights, and everything else is hard to see.
"And so what if they do? There are people everywhere."
And that's part of my general feeling of misgiving about Hole. Even at this late hour, I can hear the tavern echoing with slurred song and rhythmic thumping and laughter so loud the only reason can be ale. I don't doubt that a girl in fancy armor would be ripe for the ragging at best. I tug my cloak closer. Alain rolls his eyes. "Ran straight into a burning building and you can't handle a little provincial inn?"
"After what just happened, I get the feeling that a burning building may be friendlier."
He waves me off. "You can't let yourself be shaken by thugs. You'll spend a lot of time shaken."
I frown. "Is that true?"
He frowns right back. "Everybody lost something in the war whether they knew it or not, and now they're all hungry. Some sow fields and others won't wait for the fruit to fall off the tree."
"So they take it from strangers they find in tunnels."
"Or in alleys," he agrees helpfully.
Why is this the first I'm hearing of rebellions and widespread banditry? This is not my father's Elyssia, and it's nothing like what I hoped mine would be. Perhaps my absence is a still better thing than I thought. It seems I have much to learn away from the castle and its inhabitants.
Alain begins to lead Maribelle to the stables, and at the last second holds out a hand for Navigator's reins. "I'll get us situated."
"You've either forgotten that I have no money or have chosen to ignore that I'd rather not cheat our way into anything, airship or otherwise."
He silences me with a shake of his head. "If you're quite finished. I happen to know the proprietor of this establishment. We'll be fine. In the morning, I can find somewhere to trade something for some legitimate money. All right?"
He means something of mine, but that's all right. I start to think about what I have on me that I don't mind parting with, but that's a decision for the morning. Hesitantly, I hand over Navigator and wait. Sometimes he'll allow me to hand him over to other people, but I fully expect a tantrum after tonight's awakening. To my shock, he trudges dutifully alongside Alain. Alain is equally surprised, flinching as though he expects to be knocked through the stable wall. At last, he murmurs, "All right, then, monster horse. Let's go."
I laugh slightly and watch him limp away. Navigator trusts him, it seems, and for now, that'll have to be good enough for me.
Chapter Eight
Alain
I don't tell the princess that I know the proprietor of this establishment from the war, nor that I'd been his commanding officer. At least, I hope to gods I still know the proprietor. Neither of us was in a good way when we parted.
Hole is known particularly for its population of ex-Legion, some honestly resigned to this new rule, others like the bandits in the tunnel who cannot let go of the war even after it let go of them as it never did me. Once the horses are secured, I tell her to wait outside under the lamplight. She keeps one hand on her sword. Wise. There are plenty here who drink to the death of the crown.
Inside, I sidle my way past taverngoers, upended chairs, and overflowing tables, scanning for faces. Everyone looks marginally familiar at this point, but I’ve seen a lot of ex-Legion. No one seems to linger on me, and better yet, no one shouts at me or starts throwing knives. Still the dread wells in my throat past the stifling scent of stale ale. Perhaps he hadn’t made it back after all.
In a somewhat quieter foyer adjacent to the pub, I find Fram, pleasant-looking and agreeable as always. His crinkly eyes widen in recognition. "Sir!"
I laugh slightly even as relief at seeing him upright threatens to choke me. Fram is thirty years my senior, and I always thought it strange that he should salute me, but he seemed to insist on it even as the others bristled. "At ease. You know that's all done now."
He leans over the desk, his voice low and his eyes cautious. "I'd thought you were…"
"Not dead. Captured, yes. I got away." For a while.
"I'm relieved to hear it." He settles back behind the counter, and a woman bustles in, a tray of empty glasses in the crook of her arm and a harried expression on her face. Fram brightens. "Oh, love! I've got someone for you to meet!"
So this is Helen. Fram spoke of her constantly, muttered her name in his prayers to come home in one piece. She's pretty, but she's tired, and she clearly wants some help with the rowdy folks in the hall next door. She tucks a piece of her graying red hair out of the way and turns a smile on me. Fram announces, "This is—er…"
He can't mention my title, and shouldn't mention how he knows me. He can't risk this little piece of happiness, even tucked all the way out here in Hole. I come to his rescue one last time. "Alain," I offer, holding my hand out to her.
She juggles her platter to place her hand in in mine, and I give it a squeeze. She smiles again. "Thank you," she says, "for getting him home. Thank you slightly less for giving him so many stories to tell over and over again, but we're just glad to hear them."
A laugh escapes my taut chest. "This is my Helen," Fram says, pride written all over his face, and suddenly, I'm happy for him. It's a bizarre feeling, and it aches a bit. It's happiness and it's jealousy rolled all into one. He seems to have walked through the fire all right, and I hurt for what he has. I let go before Helen can realize how my hand shakes, and she excuses herself in a murmur. "She's my life," Fram says, echoing himself of a few months ago.
"She's lovely," I say, and I mean it.
He slides me a key. "Upstairs, to the left. Third door."
"Thank you, Fram. We'll move on in the morning."
He gives me a short nod and a smile. "Good to see you alive, sir."
"You, too." And I mean it.
But still I ache.
***
I retrieve the princess, who keeps her hood up. I feel Fram's eyes on my leg more than her, but his gaze still questions. She smiles nervously and keeps moving. My face burns. I can't explain her presence to him, who knew and served under Jori. I want to tell him that this is absolutely in no way what it looks like. That I don't love this girl, in fact the furthest from it that it could possibly be. I hate her, I want to tell him.
I stop cold on the stairs. Is that true?
She's spoiled. She's a pretender. She's willing to let people die for her rule. She's absolutely infuriating. I must remind myself of these things.
She turns on the top step. "All right, Alain?" she asks, glancing at my leg.
"What difference does it make?" I mutter.
She holds out a hand, long, delicate fingers reaching to help.
No, I don't hate her.
It kills me to take her hand, but I do. It's warm, like the heat of the ember in her arm spreads into it.
Sleep never comes
, and I spend an uncomfortable night on the window seat, watching the moonlight stain the sprawling marshland with my forehead rested against the dusty pane of glass. I am watching Hole, but I still see the battlefield. I see Fram yelling for help while one of our men lies bleeding. I feel my unwounded legs pumping underneath me though they sit still and crippled. I see Jori, smiling, and then—
I jump to my feet, even though the motion sends pain shooting all through my leg. That sharpness keeps me tethered to the room in the inn. By now the noises of the drunks have ceased, and the only sound is the creak of the wood in the wind. Wildly, I spin to check that she is still there.
Her face is back to hers, gently glowing amongst the folds of the pillowcase. Stray strands of her red gold hair drift with her breaths. Again, I'm struck by the unusualness of her.
Lightfolk are rare and getting rarer, and I think that's something that even I would have known as a boy about our king and his daughter. It seems like something they might have mentioned in school, as part of history. I can't help but wonder.
She thinks she's the princess, and so does the rest of the kingdom. That's trouble enough.
I do wonder what Elyssia would do if she was found to be false. But I don't think I want her to be. She's spoiled and impossible and many other things, but she does wish to see the truth..
I resume limping around, my thoughts moving much faster than I do. There's something uncomfortable in the back of my mind, and it takes some digging to figure out what it is. I turn and look back at her, and once I realize that I am lingering on the full curve of her cheek, the mess of her hair, the way she paused on her own way up the stairs, it comes rushing at me. "Damn," I say out loud.
Chapter Nine
Caelin
The room is empty, and I panic.
I run downstairs, past guests milling around, waiting for breakfast, past the innkeeper, and out to the stable. It takes a few tries for me to force the gate open, but eventually it gives and I look around. "Come on, come on," I plead with the world at large as I search from stall to stall, peering over the heads of other horses.
I find Navigator—that's not hard, as his ears basically brush the support beams. It's not until I run to his stall that I see Maribelle, happily chewing on some oats. I hold onto the stable door and let my heart slow for a moment as I gather my thoughts. He couldn't have gotten far without her. I'll catch him up quickly enough with Navigator if I can just figure out—
A tap on the shoulder turns me around. The innkeeper stands there, looking somewhat puzzled, but he speaks to me anyway. "Miss, your cousin asked me to tell you that he's gone into town. You can find him there."
Cousin, hmm. My face flushes even though relief floods over me. "Thank you. I'm sorry, I just…" Relief quickly gives way to horror as I remember to look at my hand, and then relief again. It does not glow, and my hair seems a dull brown again. Alain is ahead of me this morning. "Thank you," I stutter again.
He smiles politely, but still looks a little wary as he heads back to the inn. I give Maribelle's nose a pat and allow my breathing to steady again. He should know better than to frighten me like that. Why am I frightened?
It could be that I have no real idea where I am, where I need to go, and who might like to kill me if he forgot to put the disguise on me before he abandoned me. That's likely it.
I make sure both horses have enough food and water and begin winding my way down the cobbled path to the town of Hole. My neck feels bare, and I realize I've left my armor in the room. That's all right. It seems to have called enough attention to me. I am a little cold in just my shirtsleeves and vest in the autumn air, but I cross my arms and continue. Funny, I won’t dress myself completely, but I still managed to make sure I have a weapon. I pause to buckle the sword to my hip and march on.
I'm not particularly looking forward to the town. With a name like Hole, it's hardly a wonder that no one besides taverngoers seem to want to visit. When the path twists in between the first set of buildings, I'm pleasantly surprised. Everything is freshly and brightly painted, and flowers spill out of every flower box. Even the smell seems more distant. Children play in the street, and neatly dressed people converse pleasantly in front of shops. It seems that Hole is entering a time of celebration, as workers on ladders hoist colorful banners to the rooftops and still others are setting up what looks like a dance floor in the square. Merchants sell banners with Elyssia's symbol, the rosevine, emblazoned in gold in the center. A national celebration? I search my memory for the day. Have I forgotten something?
I wander further into the town, hoping to overhear a snatch of conversation about the subject of the holiday. Instead I hear about the welfare of the townsfolk's relatives and the likelihood of a cold winter this year. Ordinarily this is the sort of happy talk that I love to bask in, but I find myself vexed. What is today?
In the square, a posting board sits, and if I squint, I can make out fresh sheets of parchment fixed to it. At last, an opportunity. I excuse myself to a gaggle of young women tittering about some village lad dragged away by some odd looking bounty hunter and jog up to the board.
I wish I hadn't. In huge bold letters, the sheet declares:
NATIONAL DAY OF CELEBRATION IN HONOR OF THE ENGAGEMENT OF PRINCESS CAELIN AURELIA GERALDINE LIGHTHOLDER TO LIEUTENANT RILEY BANNON, WHOSE DECOROUS CONDUCT IN THE WAR OF REINSTATEMENT WAS HONORED BY AN APPOINTMENT TO THE NOBILITY. WEDDING TO FOLLOW ON ALL KINGS’ DAY. LET NO ONE TOIL TODAY.
Affixed to it is my seal, which is supposed to be applied only by my hand or by my direct order. Then again, I'm not supposed to be engaged to Riley, either.
I snatch the paper from the board and begin to run through Hole. I need to find Alain.
I find him exiting a tailor's with a large bag in hand and grasp him by the shoulders none too gently. He frowns at me, but not in annoyance. He can tell something is amiss. "What's gotten into you?"
"First, don't leave me without saying anything again or I'll flay you. Also, apparently I'm engaged."
"What?"
I shove the piece of paper into his webbed hand, and the smallest trace of amusement passes through his ghostly features. I scowl at him, and he adjusts his face accordingly. "That is puzzling."
"How can I be engaged when I am not even there?" And to Riley. I want to gag. Does he know about this? "Kelvin," I say aloud, a growl in my throat.
"You've said this name before," he answers, gesturing to the street for me to walk ahead of him. "An advisor?"
"My chief advisor. My babysitter. Oh, it's precisely what he'd do," I say, throwing my hands up. "I embarrass him by running away, he tries to draw me out by engaging me to a lieutenant."
Alain snorts, the almost invisible gills at the sides of his neck flaring. "With decorous conduct. He sounds like a bore."
"Actually, he's my closest friend. But he'd agree with you on the wording."
"Best friend. So it could be worse."
I suppose this is true. Of all the forced marriages I could have, being paired interminably with Riley would not be the worst. But I think of Alora and I think of the mysterious husband that I could have had, and I think of the fact that in two weeks I'm expected to kiss Riley, and I want to gag all over again. "It's not…" I falter. "Would you marry your sister?"
Alain's face stays illegible, eyes trained on the cobblestones. "So I suppose you'll be rushing back, then."
"No." He lifts his head, and I fold my hands behind my back and continue walking to keep pace with him. "That'd give him exactly what he wants."
"Men like him don't make moves into territory like this without escape plans."
I am still not about to come running home to Kelvin's smugness. "I want to see these slave camps, if they exist. His threats change nothing about that."
"We'd best be moving, then." He tosses me a bundle. "Maribelle's saddlebags bought you these." I unroll a simple blue linen dress and a pair of black slippers. "For when we get closer. To avoid more attention like your c
lothes brought us yesterday."
"Thank you."
He shrugs. "They're nothing special."
"And that's precisely the point."
Alain shifts uncomfortably and offers nothing further on the subject. "I have the rest in here." He pats his pouch, which jingles heavily. "Unless you'd rather."
"No, you can keep it." If he was going to run off, he'd have done it already. Besides, he looks a little tickled to finally have something to put in the pouch. Who am I to take that from him?
We find our way back to the inn in quiet, and I can't help but wonder if this silence is what he keeps always, or if there's something he still wishes to withhold from me. Each time I look in his direction, his dark eyes flick away as though he's disgusted to be caught looking back. "I'll go change," I say at last.
"You think you can ride wearing that?"
I laugh. "I could ride in a ballgown if I had to. And I have, for that matter."
I can see by his face that he wants to ask, but again, he keeps his silence. I take the bundle back upstairs and pull the dress over my shirt and leggings. The breeches, boots and armor I tuck into the bag I'll reattach to Navigator's saddle. I find that Alain has packed the bag full of the rations that had been in his packs. I wonder that he didn't try to trade mine first. The gold details around the edging would have fetched a better price.
I catch a glimpse of myself as I bustle past the mirror. I look as Plain as they come now, my hair straight and stringy. He's changed nothing about my features, but without the shine to my skin, I would hardly be given a second look. Perhaps I am a touch taller, too. The dress has been well worn, the silver stitching around the edges faded in some places and a mysterious stain near the hem. My cloak is plain enough that I can throw it on over the dress and it does not look out of place. What does is the sword strapped to my hip. I'm not about to have that far from hand, however. I tug the bottom of the cloak over to hide it and turn to go.