Zarryiostrom Chapter Ten
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Chapter Ten
“Promises”
The first thing I’m going to do when I become Emperor is to have formal court clothing redesigned to be more practical. “Traditional” indeed. The word “traditional” must be Elvish for “uncomfortable,” or perhaps “sadistic.” As one of his valets wrapped him in yet another confining layer of silk, Lain tried to remind himself that it was his duty to look his best during the official ceremony marking the formal commencement of the Convocation. But why in the world does “looking my best” require so much silk? The valet put the finishing touches on the current layer, and a second valet moved forward with yet another pile of silk. They can’t be serious.
Unfortunately for the Prince, it seemed that they were, for the first valet bowed deeply and moved aside only to be instantly replaced by the next. Prince Lain would have returned the bow . . . had it been remotely possible for him to bend at the waist, but it wasn’t, so he settled for nodding his head slightly in acknowledgment. Even that slight a movement was difficult, but it was still enough to earn him a frown of disapproval from the hairdresser tugging at his sleek black hair.
Most servants wouldn’t have dared to give him a disapproving look, but this particular hairdresser had been with him for over twenty years and during that time Lain had seen him each and every day. Unlike formal robes, which were thankfully only worn on formal occasions, the Ferraline queue was an indicator of rank and had to be worn every day. Lain’s lofty birth guaranteed him at least an hour each day of the hairdresser’s not-so-gentle ministrations and after spending so much time with him—willing or not—the hairdresser had become a friend of sorts.
As the next layer of strata was added to the already overwhelming ensemble, Lain heard someone clear his throat behind him.
“I’d turn around to look at you Vizier, but I’m being tied up at the moment.”
He heard a laugh behind him and smiled at the knowledge that his jest had slipped past the Vizier’s guard.
“I envy you, my Prince. For one day soon your silken cocoon will burst open and you will float away on wings of gossamer. I am certain that you will become an impressive monarch.”
Lain laughed, knowing Shar meant the butterfly and not the ruler, and earned yet another disapproving tug from his hairdresser. Shar moved around to face his Prince, and took the opportunity to examine every aspect of his appearance.
“I’m sure you are very uncomfortable, Your Highness, but the overall effect is actually quite impressive. You look very distinguished, as befits your station.”
Lain snorted at that, and without moving his head so much as a fraction of an inch, turned his eyes towards the Mage and gave him a disdainful look.
“I see now why you are such a fine Air Mage, Shar. Being filled with so much hot air must have made it inevitable that you would eventually wield it.”
At first Shar didn’t respond, and for a moment Lain believed that Shar would let his insult pass unchallenged. However, before Lain could claim victory, Shar spoke.
“I’m sorry, my Prince. I was lost in thought for a moment.” Lain gave him a suspicious look, and Shar didn’t disappoint him. “I was merely reflecting on the thought that we will be here for a full month, and each day will have many formal events,” a malicious look crossed his face, “formal events which I am certain will require a great, great many changes of clothing. Sadly, I am only a Vizier and merely a loyal servant, and as such I am not required to wear the formal robes your exalted birth entitles you to. But you! I can only imagine the wonderful confections of silk that will be heaped upon you over the next four weeks. Remember that today’s event is important, but there are many other events that will require even more formal dress.” Lain blanched, and at his look of abject horror, Shar couldn’t help but laugh again. “In all seriousness my Prince, you look very impressive. That is good, because you will be meeting many potential brides over the next month and it may be easier for your father to marry you off if you are polished up.”
“I’m not being polished up; I’m being wrapped like a gift.” He pointed at the elaborately tied sash at his waist. “I even have a bow. Several of them, in fact.”
The Vizier smiled politely, and then his face became serious.
“I’ve come to inform you about what I’ve learned about the current political climate and what it means for the Empire and for you personally. As I see you are a captive audience, it seems I’ve chosen a good time.”
“I hope you’re bringing me good news, Shar. I think bad news piled upon my extreme discomfort could mean unfortunate things for you.”
“The news is not bad, though it could be better. The first item is that the youngest Illvanin princess, Chesare, has been discovered to be a Fireborn and is currently studying at the Mage Citadel. It is unknown to me if she will be attending the functions of the Convocation, but it is my belief that she will. But I remind you that she is the first Powerborn in ten generations born into the Illvanin family, and King Orem will not part with her willingly. Most likely, she will be married to a noble of Illymar to keep the Mage blood on the island proper. With the Princess Tais currently in disfavor for her actions, only one princess remains. Her name is Lyrahe, and she will undoubtedly be pursued relentlessly by King Madari for his son, Valeriad.” Shar paused for a moment as if to collect his thoughts. “For that matter, King Madari has a young daughter named Deirdre who is approaching marrying age. She is only 14, but a potential alliance with Dakkadia would profit the Empire greatly.”
Lain thought about that for a moment, and decided he agreed with the Vizier.
“Marrying Deirdre would most likely ensure that we maintain our peace with Dakkadia. Unfortunately, that would also encourage Dakkadia to invade Illymar instead. I must admit that the idea of Dakkadia going to war with Illymar was more acceptable to me before I set foot on this island. It is truly a paradise here.”
The city of Illymaine was located at the termination point of at least three major rivers, and the city itself was an incredible creation. With so much water available, hundreds of ornate fountains dotted the city and there were more canals than streets. The royal castle, called the Spire of Illymaine, was built on a cliff overlooking the wide bay, and there was even a waterfall that sent sprays of water tumbling down jagged rocks to the bay below. The overall effect was awe-inspiring, and Lain had been humbled by the display.
“If there is a paradise, it would hold that the home of Zarryiosiad would be it. I still remember my time here with great fondness. Both the Mage Citadel and the Cathedral of Zarryiosiad are just as impressive as the Spire, and a single lifetime would not be enough to explore all of the wonders they contain. Should our attempts to arrange a marriage between you and the princess Lyrahe bear fruit, you may be able to spend more time here to explore those wonders.”
“A pleasant thought, Vizier.” He gave his valet a disgusted look and said, “Of course, in order for me to meet this Lyrahe, I have to be allowed to leave this room. And until these people are finished, I cannot do that.”
The valet gave him an abashed look, and finished his fussing. After the last tassel was put into place, he stepped back and bowed silently. Lain checked his appearance in the giant mirror in his dressing apartment, and try as he might he could not find fault in their work.
“Do I look presentable, Shar? It would not do for me to bring dishonor to my family or to my country.”
“You look splendid, Your Highness. Now if you will, follow me. Your father’s entourage is waiting.”
The pair left the prince’s apartments without another word.
King Madari finished buckling his sword belt over his black leather tunic, and then adjusted the belt’s buckle until it was perfectly centered. He was turning back and forth in front of his mirror to check his appearance, when the doors to his apartments opened and Queen Aveliad entered.
“It is almost time to leave.”
He grunted in acknowledgment, and without his asking she glided over to him to check his appearance for herself. In Dakkadia, manservants and valets were uncommon amongst male nobility, for the Dakkadians placed great value in self-reliance. Even the king dressed himself, though Aveliad had learned over the years that the two of them had differing opinions on what constituted being dressed. She crossed behind him to check the line of his tunic, and tugged slightly on one of the short tails of his tunic to straighten it. She then moved around him to look at him from the front and could not find any further fault in his appearance.
“Satisfied?” he asked, mildly amused by her fussing.
Aveliad brushed away some piece of imagined lint on his collar, and then nodded. He grunted again and turned to his bed, where his sword and dagger lay waiting. Behind him, Aveliad frowned.
“Will those be absolutely necessary, Madari? We will be attending a religious ceremony after all. Weapons would be inappropriate.”
Madari snorted at that and glanced at his wife’s reflection in his mirror.
“Zarryiosiad herself was one of humanity’s greatest warriors, so the Church is used to weaponry. But you need not be concerned, Aveliad. I made certain our ambassadors reminded the Zarryiostrom that the Dakkadian nobility are required to wear their swords at all times, especially during public functions. They assure me that the Zarryiostrom understands.”
Aveliad acknowledged the explanation, and turned to leave, but before she could take two steps however, Madari grabbed her arm and turned her toward him.
“Your mask on the other hand could be construed by some as being inappropriate. It is a religious ceremony after all, and not a masquerade.” He lifted the delicate porcelain half-mask covering her eyes away from her face and up to her forehead so he could look at her. Her amber eyes flashed once with anger, then cooled instantly into chips of golden ice.
Because of the longevity her Faeish blood granted her, her perfectly smooth skin and delicate features hadn’t changed in all the years they were married. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon, and despite the time constraints, he could feel a stir of desire at the sight of her uncovered face. Unfortunately for both Madari and his libido however, Aveliad recognized the look in his eyes and her own eyes flashed with anger a second time.
“We do not have time to sate your lusts, Madari. The Convocation begins in less than an hour. We must depart immediately.”
Madari snarled in anger at her rejection, and violently thrust aside the arm he was holding.
“Why must you always be so cold to me, Aveliad? I’ve been nothing but a good husband to you and a good father for the children . . . even to Phaedron. After all this time, what more must I do to earn your love and respect? Name it and it’s yours!” He yanked the mask off of her head and held it in front of her eyes like an accusation. “And this! What does this prove? For twenty-one years you’ve worn this mask to deny me even the sight of you! Why do you withhold what is mine by right of marriage? I’m your husband!”
Aveliad snatched the mask out of his hand and snarled right back at him.
“Why don’t you ask one of your whores why I’m cold to you, Your Majesty. You have enough of them; I’m sure one of them can give you the answer you are looking for.” She held up her mask and gave him a deadly stare.
“And as for the reason I wear this? My family may have forced me to marry you after Phaedril’s death, but make no mistake: I may be married to you, but I did it out of duty, not love. I had a love once, and he’s dead, and I wear this mask in remembrance of him. For you I will do what duty requires of me, but I will never love you.”
She spun around, turning her back to him, and she crossed her arms under her breasts and hugged herself tightly. Madari glanced at the reflection of her face in the mirror and saw the tears falling silently from eyes closed tight with remembered pain. Madari glared at her reflection for another moment, and then turned back to his bed. Without saying a word he picked up his sword and dagger, and slid them into the proper places on his belt. Once the weapons were seated properly, he lowered his head, back still turned to his wife.
“I know now that it was a mistake to ask your family for your hand so soon after Phaedril’s death. I didn’t allow you time to mourn, and for that I am deeply sorry. If I could undo that mistake, I would. My insistence stemmed from my love for you.” He raised his head and turned around to look at her reflection. “As for my ‘whores’, I will not apologize. The Flower Court is an important and accepted part of Dakkadian life, and one for which I have the utmost respect. Even your husband utilized their services before you were married. But know this, Aveliad: I am not my father or my brothers. I do not feel the need to sleep with every woman who looks my way. Say the word. Remove your mask and consent to love me as I swear that I love you, and I will promise you that I will never attend the Flower Court again. Why would I need to? You are the most beautiful woman in the world, Aveliad. Love me as a wife should—as the wife you once were to Phaedril—and I will be more loyal to you than you could possibly imagine.”
He placed both hands on her upper arms and squeezed gently, and she shuddered at the contact. Several moments passed in silence, and Madari began to believe that he was getting through to her. Eventually however, Aveliad reached up and dried her tears on her white gloves. After she finished, she looked up at his reflection in the mirror and Madari’s heart fell. The cool look had returned to her eyes, and her perfect features had schooled themselves back into the alabaster mask he knew so well, even when her face was uncovered.
“Do not speak to me of love, Madari. You claim to love me but you don’t, and what’s more you never did, for obsession is not love. You’ve never looked at me as a woman, or a lover, or a wife. You’ve always looked at me as a possession, a thing to be paraded in front of others to show them that you are important; that you are special. You constantly compliment me on my beauty as if that means something to me. It doesn’t. It never did. My beauty only means something to you.” Her cold voice turned acid. “You have your prize, Your Majesty. Parade me in front of the other monarchs if you wish. Listen to them comment on how beautiful your wife is. Listen to them compliment you on how fortunate you are to be married to me.” She held up the mask again, turning it slightly to give him a good look at it. “You should thank me for wearing this, for it only adds to my ‘mystery’ and your reputation. And after the ceremony—after everyone has seen your exotic, beautiful possession—we can leave. And tonight, despite the wishes of the woman that you claim to love, you can assert the husbandly rights that you are so quick to claim. In fact, the sooner we leave these apartments and attend the Convocation, the sooner we can return here so you can once again violate me.”
At first, Madari reeled back in shock at her blunt words. They had had arguments before, but at the very least she had always managed to maintain some sense of decorum. This time she hadn’t, and to his surprise he found that she had wounded him deeply. Very deeply, in fact.
After twenty-one years of conflict, he had believed himself to be immune to her venom, but now he knew otherwise. She still possessed the ability to wound him, and she could still cause him pain. He hadn’t lied to her, for he had always hoped that one day she would come to at least appreciate him, if not love him, but now he knew that what he had hoped for would never be. She would never give him what he wanted, and she would never be what he wanted her to be. It wasn’t easy to accept that truth, and he knew that for the first time in his life he had failed utterly at an endeavor. He stood there looking into the beautiful amber eyes staring back at him from the reflection in his mirror, and he finally accepted the truth: he hated her. He hated her for forcing him to waste his time on her and for allowing him to nurture the belief that one day he could make her love him. Twenty-one precious years wasted on this ungrateful shrew.
She had been nothing at all when they had first met: just the beautiful illegitimate daughter of the former Duke of DeVir. She was a half-breed slip of a girl that no one knew what to do with, while he was just the third son of a worthless, pathetic excuse for a King. They should have been perfect for each other, should have found comfort and solace in each other’s arms, but Aveliad hadn’t agreed, and had chosen another. He hadn’t minded at first, for Phaedril was a good soldier and a loyal vassal, but as he spent more time with the happy couple he had found that there was something about her, some indefinable thing that he desperately needed, and he only saw it when she was with Phaedril.
Eventually, his desire for her had turned to obsession, and that obsession had remained even after his father had died and he had secured the throne by walking over the broken bodies of his brothers. It remained even after he had crushed the surrounding countries and added them to Dakkadia’s domain, and it had remained even after he had finally succumbed to his obsession and had had Phaedril killed to make her his own. As he looked into her eyes, desperately searching for the thing he needed, he knew he would never find it. Not within her at least.
He wanted to hurt her, the way she had hurt him. For a moment he hovered on the brink of the unthinkable. In all of their years of marriage he had never once raised a hand to her. He would never know where he found the willpower to keep his hands at his sides, but somehow he did. And as he had done so many times in the past, rather than fight a battle on her field and under her conditions, he simply withdrew.
Without saying a single word he whirled around and walked towards the doors to his chambers, and as he passed his bureau he snatched his golden circlet off of its pillow and set it carelessly upon his head. He walked to the doors and opened them without a backward glance, and when the doors closed behind him, they closed not only on his wife, but also on the smoldering ashes of a dream turned to dust.
Aveliad watched her husband storm out of the room and tried to feel pity for him. He was right: for all of his faults, he had always been a good husband and a better King. The Kingdom of Dakkadia had fallen into ruin under the mismanagement of his father, King Dhaegus, and his brothers, Dhaegus and Haddon. They had been the lowest sort of scum, interested only in adding more and more women to their list of conquests. The King had several mistresses, each more avaricious and grasping than the last; and between them they had drained the coffers of Dakkadia mercilessly. He hadn’t cared that he was beggaring his nation, as long as his mistresses remained happy and compliant, and his two older sons were cut from the same cloth. Madari had grown up in a court of fools, and only he had had the wisdom and the foresight to know that eventually the trough would run out and Dakkadia would be left with nothing at all.
He was wrong about one thing: she did respect him—she respected him enough to fear him, for his rise to power had been swift and merciless. His father had died of mysterious causes, though not of Madari’s making, followed immediately by the older of his two brothers, whose deaths Madari had in fact engineered. After a brief investigation, the second brother, Haddon, had been accused of the murders and had demanded Trial by Combat to prove his innocence. Madari had been all too happy to oblige, and he had cut down his brother both ruthlessly and efficiently. Even as Haddon lay dying on the floor of the main hall of the Dakkadian fortress known as D’arhak Khad’deia, Madari had declared himself King. Haddon’s blood was still warm when he ordered the arrest of both his father’s and his brothers’ mistresses for their parts in the death of the King and the heir apparent, and within minutes, their blood lay mingled with the blood of Haddon.
It had taken only days, but when the rubble had finally settled, Madari was the undisputed King of Dakkadia. From there, Madari had quickly assembled his armies and marched forth to crush the surrounding provinces to rebuild his country to its former glory. Generally, the rebuilding of Dakkadia went peacefully, as the leaders of the surrounding provinces came to realize that the new king of Dakkadia was cut from a far different cloth than the last. Some countries fought to the bitter end against Madari, but most realized that resistance would be futile and bowed to the inevitable. Generally, the reunification of Dakkadia was bloodless, but Madari was particularly merciless towards those lands that had broken free from Dakkadia during his father’s reign. It took years of campaigning, but when he finished, every land north of the Badlands belonged once again to Dakkadia, and with the country reunited under a strong banner Madari settled down to rule. The coffers that had been so empty for so long filled themselves to bursting as taxes were collected, and Madari used his newfound wealth very well indeed. The navy, completely ignored by the previous king, was updated and modernized, the army was rebuilt into a force only Illymar or Ferralin could hope to stand against, and the country’s infrastructure was repaired.
All of these things were admirable, and a man that could accomplish so much in so short a time was one to be reckoned with, but the reason she refused to love him was simple. She strongly suspected that Madari had had her husband murdered. Oh, his hands were clean—he’d seen to that—but she believed that it had been his orders that had led to her husband’s death. Unfortunately, all Aveliad had were her suspicions, for even after twenty years of searching, she still had found no proof. Madari had covered his tracks too well.
Over the years she had developed a network of spies and contacts that were the rival of Morvandis’s own spy network, but none of her sources had been able to find even a shred of evidence that he had killed her husband. Without that proof Aveliad refused to act, for if she was wrong and killed her husband, Valeriad would have no choice but to have her executed for treason and regicide. If it came to that she would accept her fate, but Phaedril deserved better than blind vengeance. He deserved justice, and justice required proof. But one way or another, Madari wouldn’t die a peaceful death in bed. She would see to that.
Aveliad squared her shoulders and raised her mask to her face, tying the cords tightly with practiced ease while her gaze never left the door. She would endure any pain, any humiliation as long as in the end, justice was served. She owed Phaedril that much.
Queen Althea walked briskly through the halls of the Spire followed closely by her handmaidens, toward her husband’s chambers. Her apartments were a considerable distance from her husband’s, and it had taken much longer than usual to dress, so she walked a little faster than normal without actually seeming to rush.
With any luck, Orem will be ready to go and we can still be on time. It is very important that we arrive on schedule.
The thought galvanized her, and she increased her pace. As Althea turned the final corner, her heart sank. The doors to the dressing room were still closed, and the guards were still posted outside the door. That meant that Orem hadn’t emerged, and therefore wasn’t ready to leave yet. She tried in vain to suppress an annoyed sigh, but failed utterly. For a moment, she considered waiting outside of his apartments until he emerged, but her own impatience got the better of her and she turned to her handmaidens.
“Wait here. I will check on His Majesty.”
The four handmaidens curtseyed low in response, and dutifully took their position against a side wall. Althea turned back to the doorway, smoothed her dress with her palms, and stepped forward to within five feet of the bodyguard. Instantly, the three members of the bodyguard reacted. The two soldiers on either side of the door crossed their pikes in front of the door to bar her way, and the third, standing in front and between the other guards raised his right hand to grasp the hilt of his sword and lowered his stony gaze to the Queen.
“Who goes there?”
Normally, the ritual pleased Althea, for it provided visual proof of the importance of her husband. Today however, she was irritated at the delay, and wished she could just order the Captain to step aside and let her pass. Unfortunately for her, she knew that the guard would continue to bar her way until she fulfilled her part of the ritual, and she closed her eyes in irritation as she spoke.
“Queen Althea, to see the King.”
The guard took two steps backwards and knocked once upon the door. Two more heartbeats passed, and a muffled voice emerged from the closed doors. At the sound of the voice, the Captain took two steps forward to the same spot he had been standing at when she first arrived, and the guards on either side of the door returned their pikes to a vertical position. The Captain lowered his hand from his hilt, and bowed to the Queen.
“You may enter.”
As he spoke, he stepped smartly to the side as the doors opened slightly, and Queen Althea stepped forward and entered her husband’s dressing room.
Orem was standing in the middle of a series of mirrors, and was checking his appearance from every conceivable angle. Althea stepped forward quickly and began taking in his appearance. Despite herself, she was impressed. The heavily embroidered red coat with white ermine trim he wore fit him perfectly and the broad shoulders gave him a powerful appearance. He wore spotless white hose over low black shoes, and the pantaloons he wore reached his mid-thigh showing off well-turned legs. The fringes of his clothing were also lined in ermine, and his silver hair and beard were immaculately trimmed. Althea took the opportunity to check her own appearance one more time, just to make sure their outfits matched. As she stood next to her shorter husband, she smiled at the image. The two of them made a very impressive pair, if she did say so herself.
“We have to leave, my love,” she said. “We are going to be late as it is.”
“I’m the king of Illymar, and the most important man on this island. I’m never late. Everyone else is simply early, as it should be.”
“Tell that to King Madari and Emperor Xan.”
Orem laughed sharply and turned slightly to look at her out of the corner of his eye.
“King Madari is a barbarian, and as such is unworthy of consideration. Under his rule, Dakkadia not only became even more warlike than it already was—if indeed that is possible—but it also it became expansionist as well. Emperor Xan is marginally better, but if our ambassador is correct about him, he too is a monster. As far as I’m concerned, both of their nations are less than nothing compared to Illymar, and if that means they have to wait a few minutes extra for me to arrive, then they will just have to live with that. Either that or they can go home. It’s not like we want them here.”
“With an attitude like that, we are going to have no friends whatsoever when Dakkadia’s fleet sails into our harbors. I’ve seen the same reports you have, my husband: Dakkadia is growing in power, and we may not be able to match them in just a few years’ time. If you’ve forgotten that, all you have to do is look out your window to see the very symbol of Dakkadia’s naval power. You can’t miss it: it’s sitting in our harbor with its horrid black and white sails and the Dakkadian flag flying from the tallest mast. We both know that the only thing keeping their army in check is the army of Ferralin, and the only way we can keep the status quo is by buying an alliance with Ferralin, however we can.”
“Don’t remind me,” Orem said, scowling. “I had that neatly taken care of until that unutterable fool Danshire ruined everything by stealing away Tais and making her unsuitable for marriage. Believe me, if I could kill him again for his treason I would. I should have ordered Ethan to bring him back alive, just so I could kill him in front of Xan. As it is, I’ll just have to settle for the knowledge that Tais is safely locked in the Tower where she can do no further harm to our negotiations with Ferralin. Xan does not need a reminder that we’ve already broken one arrangement with them. It could drive Ferralin straight into the welcoming arms of Dakkadia.”
“Tais can still serve a role in this, Orem. Remember that Ferralin does not treat women the same we do, or for that matter the way Dakkadia does. In Ferralin, they believe that a woman who does something as stupid as Tais did can be forgiven simply because she’s a woman and therefore isn’t expected to have known better.”
“That’s too much to hope for,” Orem said. “Other than for her single, colossal mistake, Tais is the single smartest person I’ve ever known, and if he was to meet her, it would take all of twenty seconds for Emperor Xan to realize the same thing. They certainly would never believe that she didn’t know exactly what she was doing when she unilaterally broke her betrothal and married another man against my express orders.”
“That may be true, Orem, but everyone knows that even the most intelligent of women can be swayed by foolish romantic notions, especially if they believe that they are in love. Tais certainly did, and my own regrettable actions that day may have driven her into Danshire’s arms. I lost control of myself, I’ll admit, and I regret that, but what is past no longer matters. What truly matters is that we have to somehow repair the damage Tais has caused before Dakkadia invades our island and forces us to accept surrender terms at sword’s point.”
Orem turned back to the mirror and scowled.
“Which is why she remains locked away. Someday soon I will have to decide what to do with her, but at the Convocation she will cause more harm than good.”
Althea’s brow furrowed in anger at that, and she crossed her arms over her bosom in irritation.
“You aren’t thinking, Orem. The Ferraline will forgive a girl for foolish behavior, but only if she begs for forgiveness. That means the only person who can repair the damage is Tais herself. She has to convince Xan that her actions were those of a foolish, besotted child, and were not meant as a deliberate slap at Ferraline honor. We need her, Orem.”
He considered her words for several moments, and then shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter. Even if—if I say—I were inclined to agree with you, Tais would never obey my command. I am sure by now that she believes she hates us more than we could possibly imagine. What’s more, I made certain that the conditions of her imprisonment were very harsh. If I hadn’t, the nobles would have questioned her preferential treatment. There’s no way she could be ready in time to meet with Xan.”
“Which is why I had her freed from the Tower two weeks ago, my husband,” Althea said calmly. “She’s been confined to her apartments with no visitation allowed, but I’ve had the seamstresses and hairdressers working day and night to repair the damage her time in the Tower has caused.”
Orem whirled on his wife, face turning blood red in anger. “What? How dare you countermand my orders? She was to remain there until I commanded otherwise!”
Althea weathered the storm calmly, and when he paused for breath she uncrossed her arms, put her hands on her hips, and leaned forward aggressively.
“We will have only one opportunity to repair the damage she has done, Orem. She has to apologize to him for her affront to his dignity, and she cannot do that from a cell! I knew you wouldn’t even consider the possibility, so I circumvented the entire issue. After the Convocation concludes we can marry her off to some unpleasant minor noble from one backwater province or another to secure their loyalty, but for now I need her to be seen as the Princess she still is. I’ve made certain she understands the importance of this occasion, and she knows quite well that we will happily toss her back into the Tower and throw away the key if she crosses us. But I think we both know that while she may despise us, she’s still an Illymari. And as such, she doesn’t want Dakkadian soldiers setting foot on Illymar any more than we do.”
As she spoke, the red began to fade from Orem’s face and his color slowly returned to normal.
“She will be waiting for us in the hall when we are ready to leave, Orem, so prepare yourself now for the sight of her. You do not have to forgive her for her betrayal, Orem. All you have to do is understand that right now, we need her here more than we need her locked away in the Tower.”
King Orem turned again to his wife, and the level look he gave her spoke volumes. Still, he didn’t speak, and Althea took that to be a good sign. After a few moments, she turned to the door.
“We’re late. We must leave now, Orem. The streets are packed with citizens. The guards are keeping the streets as clear as possible, but that doesn’t mean the trip there will be smooth or quick. And we already are on the defensive with Xan; it would not do to add further insult to his honor by arriving too late.”
Tais barely recognized the woman staring back at her in her mirror, and somehow she resisted a compulsion to reach up and touch her face. Could I have changed so very much in the last year? Setting the question aside for a moment, she turned slightly to check the fit of her gown, and decided that she liked what she saw very much. The golden dress fit her perfectly—no small feat considering the time constrains her imprisonment had imposed upon the seamstresses—and it flattered her body wonderfully. The pale gold of the cloth was the exact shade of her hair, and the overall effect was radiant. Her hair was also perfectly coiffed, and just like the seamstresses, the hairdresser had worked miracles in the month she had to work with. As a prisoner in the Tower, Tais hadn’t had access to hair brushes or oils, and when the hairdresser had seen the condition Tais’s hair was in after her ordeal, she had nearly run screaming from the room, for a princess never looked like that. But the shock had worn off almost instantly, and without saying a word the hairdresser had rolled up her sleeves and took to her work with a will.
After two weeks of constant care, her hair had finally returned to its normal golden sheen, and both Tais and the hairdresser had been more than pleased with the result. But the clothes and the hairstyle were simply part of the whole, and Tais dismissed them from consideration as she returned her attention to her face. It didn’t seem possible, but the truth reflecting in the silvery glass was undeniable: gone were the soft features of the pampered Princess she had once been, replaced instead by the perfectly defined angles of a sharply carved beauty. She could still see traces of her old self in her reflection, but the few features she could recognize were completely outweighed by the changes.
I’m beautiful.
Unable to resist any longer, Tais reached up and touched a high, sharp cheekbone, and her reflection dutifully reached up and touched its own cheek. As she wrestled with the notion that the pretty girl she had once been had somehow survived her youth and had grown into a beautiful woman, her door opened slightly and one of her mother’s hand-picked guards looked in on her. When she saw Tais, she nodded politely.
“Your Highness, the procession is ready to leave. We must join them.”
Tais took one last look at herself in the mirror, and turned to the door.
“I’m ready.” She faltered for a moment as a thought crossed her mind. “Are my siblings there already?”
The handmaiden nodded.
“Yes Your Highness. The King and Queen have not joined the rest of your family, but a runner has sent word that they are on the way from his apartments. Queen Althea wishes you to be there before they arrive at the procession. Your sisters are already there, and they look simply stunning.”
Tais stopped.
“And Ethan?”
A look of understanding crossed the handmaiden’s face, followed instantly by a look of sympathy.
“Yes, Your Highness. He is there as well,” she said softly.
For a moment Tais paused, unsure if she could face her husband’s murderer, but the promise that she had made to her mother came to her, and so she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Ethan had hurt her, but he had done so at the order of King Orem. Why hate the hangman?
As the pair left her chambers and walked to the main hall, Tais caught sight of dozens of servants and guards surreptitiously looking at her from every doorway and alcove. None of them said anything, but she could feel their eyes upon her from every angle, and as she passed small groups whispers quickly broke out behind her. As more and more people came to see her, she realized what was happening. Apparently, everyone wanted to see the “fallen” Princess with their own eyes. Everyone wanted to be the one that could tell his or her friends that they had seen the living example of a highborn brought low.
She wondered idly just how these people expected her to act. Should she be raving like a beast? Crying, wailing, or gnashing her teeth? Did they expect her shame to show on her face like some sort of a badge or a scar? Whatever it was they expected, she vowed not to give them the satisfaction. The silent stares became uncomfortable during the long walk from her chambers but she never bothered to return their looks or listen to their whispers. Tais began to feel like a prisoner being escorted to the gallows, with crowds of people gathering to view the spectacle.
Before long, the crowds disappeared altogether, and Tais soon realized why. She had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings, and so she hadn’t realized that they had arrived at the doors to the main hall. The guards came to attention for her and opened the door, and for the first time in a year she saw her brothers and sisters. Their reactions varied, from pure joy on Lyrahe’s and Chesare’s faces, to shocked surprise on Ethan’s, but Tais found herself fighting back tears at the sight of them. She hadn’t realized just how much she had missed her sisters, and from the unshed tears shining in their eyes, they had missed her just as much.
She stood in the doorway for a moment as no one knew what to do, until Lyrahe broke the stillness and rushed to Tais, followed immediately by Chesare. Tears did find their way from her eyes then, as her sisters hugged her close and wept tears of their own, and the emotional storm of their reunion threatened to turn the trickle of tears into a raging torrent, but then she looked at Ethan, and the tears went away as if they had never been.
Ethan gave her an arrogant look. She had always hated that smug look of superiority that he could so effortlessly achieve, and seeing it now reminded her of the last time she had seen him in this very room. The reminder was painful, but she weathered it well.
“I see you’ve been let out of the Tower, sister. I’m surprised you didn’t take the easy way out a long time ago and jump to your death. It would have saved us a lot of trouble.”
Tais gave her sisters one final squeeze to let them know she had missed them, and then released them to turn her full attention to her brother.
“That was never a possibility,” she said. “You see, unlike you I am not a coward. I will face my fate—whatever it may be—on my feet.”
“A coward am I?” He laughed in derision. “Dare I ask how you came to that conclusion? Or have you gone mad from the isolation?”
“Markus challenged you to single combat, Ethan, or had you forgotten? Instead of accepting the challenge as a man would have, you had him shot down with crossbows. Crossbows you stood safely behind, I might add.”
Ethan’s face turned red at the insult, and a furious expression crossed his face.
“I don’t have to listen to that from you, traitor. Danshire got what he deserved, though his death was quicker than he had any right to expect. You on the other hand, have yet to pay for your treachery. You think a single year in the Tower is enough punishment for all the harm you’ve caused? Think again, sister dear.” He turned his attention to Lyrahe, and the sneer returned to his face threefold. “You rush to her arms like a good little sister, but it’s obvious you haven’t thought this through. Now that Tais has shown her true nature like the slattern she is, you sister dear, have to take her place. Father and mother are going to try and make you marry Prince Lain, in order to buy us an ally against Dakkadia . . . assuming he’ll even have a lesser daughter. He may not you know.” He pointed an accusing finger at Tais and said, “Tais seemed to be the perfect daughter, but she spread her legs wide for the first man who ever looked at her twice, and the Kingdom be damned. You don’t think they are going to remember that when they look at you? Don’t fool yourself: every time they look at you they are going to be wondering if you are anything at all like Tais, and deciding whether or not you are worthy of one day becoming their Empress. You’d better hope that they see something worthwhile in you, because if they do decide you are like Tais, you’ll be lucky if they let you become a concubine. Still, better that than a whore.”
He turned to Tais as he said the word ‘whore’ to let her know exactly who he was referring to, and Tais gathered herself to renew her assault, when to her astonishment Chesare spoke.
“You apologize right now, Ethan, or you will regret it. I promise you; you will regret it.”
Ethan glanced down at Chesare, to Tais’ surprise he swayed backward, as if he wanted to step away from his youngest sister but had managed to stop himself. Tais looked at Chesare’s face, wondering what could have caused such a reaction in Ethan, when she saw that Chesare’s eyes were glowing a bright, fiery red. Chesare is a Powerborn? When did this happen? After his initial panic, Ethan took control of himself and leaned toward Chesare in an intimidating manner.
“I will not apologize, you little snippet. Why should I? I’ve done nothing wrong!” Chesare’s eyes seemed to flare as she gathered herself to attack him again when he suddenly whirled away from her and pointed at Tais. “If you don’t believe me, then ask her! Just ask her if I’m right. You may not like what I’m saying, but every word that I’ve spoken is true, and Tais knows it. So you ask her, and if she disagrees with me I’ll give her the apology that you think I owe her.” He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to glare at all of his siblings simultaneously in a manner that was meant to be intimidating, but only served to make him look like a petulant child. Lyrahe and Chesare turned to look at her, waiting for her to deny Ethan’s words. Before she could speak however, a booming voice interrupted them.
“What in the name of the Archon is going on here?!”
All three of the girls jumped at the bellow, and Chesare’s eyes flared once more before returning to their normal color. As one, they whirled around and saw that King Orem and Queen Althea were standing behind the group, and neither one of them looked pleased. King Orem gave Tais a single furious glance, and then turned his full attention upon Chesare.
“Is this what you are learning at the Mage Citadel? You are learning how to use your powers against your own family? If that is the case, we can end your time at the Citadel right now.”
Chesare looked abashed, and lowered her eyes in shame.
“I’m sorry father.”
Orem glared at Chesare for several moments, and then nodded when he felt that the point had been driven home long enough. He then turned his attention back to Tais.
“Your mother just told me a few moments ago that she had you released from the Tower. I’m telling you right now that she did so against my express orders, and I am not happy about it. As far as I am concerned, you can go right back to the Tower and stay there until you rot. Fortunately for you, your mother is a kinder soul, and she assures me that you will behave yourself from this point on. But I’ll have that from you: do I have your word that you will behave yourself?”
Tais curtseyed formally.
“You have my word, Your Majesty. I will bring no further dishonor to the Royal household.”
The king considered his wayward daughter for a few seconds and seemed to decide that he could take her at her word.
“We are leaving. Remember that you will be meeting the heads of state for several countries, not the least of which are our mortal enemies and our most important allies. You will all comport yourselves as befits your station at all times.”
As the king turned to leave and the rest of his family fell in behind him, Ethan sidled up behind Chesare and grabbed her upper arm in a vice-like grip to hold her back. He waited until the rest of the family had left the room before bending down to speak quietly into his youngest sister’s ear.
“The next time you point a weapon at me,” he hissed, “you’d better use it. Threaten me again, sister dearest, and I promise you that you won’t live long enough to regret it.”
He squeezed her arm one last time to make his point, only to gasp aloud in pain and snatch his hand away from her as if it had been burned . . . as in fact it had. A look of disbelief crossed his face as he realized that Chesare had actually dared to use her power upon him. As he cradled his hand tightly to his chest, Chesare rounded on him and clenched her fists, leaning forward slightly as if preparing to fight him physically.
“Father isn’t here for you to hide behind right now, Ethan. So if you’re ready for the lesson in humility that you so richly deserve, I’ll be more than happy to provide it.”
Ethan recoiled from her in shocked surprise, partly because of her display of power, but mostly because she wasn’t backing down. She’d always been intimidated by him before, but it seemed those days were over. As if reading his mind, Chesare’s lip curled in a spiteful sneer.
“I’m no longer a child, Ethan, and you do not frighten me.” Her eyes flashed a bright red one last time to emphasize her point before she released her hold on her power. “Come on. We’re going to be late.” With that, she turned her back on her oldest sibling and hurried out of the Throne Room.
Ethan stared at her back for several moments, absentmindedly shaking his hand to ease the pain, and wondering just when his youngest sister had grown up, and where exactly she had gotten this newfound confidence. He had never bothered to get to know Chesare, mainly because of the difference in their ages, but the woman that had threatened him today was completely different from the young girl he’d bullied as a child. And then there was Tais. Ethan wasn’t sure why his mother had allowed Tais to be released, but he hadn’t been prepared to see her, especially like this. For just a brief moment when their eyes had met, he had seen a look of hatred so deep it had almost frightened him. She had covered the look quickly with one of icy disdain, but he wasn’t fooled in the slightest. No one hates like Tais. No one. She’ll kill me if she has the chance.
Ethan felt a surge of anger, not toward his sister, but toward his father for putting him in this position. It should never have come to this. Markus Danshire had been his best friend, and Ethan had been the one to introduce him to Tais. He had known when he’d made the introductions that Tais liked the dashing young nobleman, but if he had had even the slightest inkling of where that infatuation was going to lead, he never would have done it.
When Markus and Tais ran away together, Ethan had secretly wished them well. But then his father had called him into the Throne Room and had given him an ultimatum: lead an army to bring Tais home and execute Danshire for his treachery, or be locked away in the Tower himself for High Treason. At the time he dismissed his father’s threat as being nothing more than the bluster of an old man, but now he knew that Orem had meant every word, for Tais’ fate had proven how serious the threat had been. Father blamed me for introducing the two of them to each other, and if I had defied him he would have followed through with his threat. I had no choice but to do what I did.
Tais had accused him of cowardice for choosing not to face Markus in single combat, but the truth was a duel between them would have been stupid and pointless. If they had fought and Ethan had won, things would have ended the same way for Tais, whether she believed that or not. If Markus had won the king would simply have sent someone else, or more likely would have led another army himself, and things would have been even worse for Tais when she was finally brought home. And he? He would have died for nothing. So out of respect for their friendship he had chosen instead to be merciful. The traditional method of execution for traitors was castration, followed by being hanged, drawn, and quartered, with the body parts then divided to be spread to the far corners of the kingdom as a warning to anyone else foolish enough to defy the king. Crossbows, on the other hand, while messy weapons, at least offered a quick death, and Ethan had ordered his men to aim for the heart. Thankfully, the archers’ aim had been true, and Markus had died almost instantly, and Ethan had waited until his friend was dead before cutting off his head to appease the king’s need for vengeance.
After it was all said and done, Tais had been locked in the Tower, and Ethan found that the experience had changed his view both of his father and of his own worth to the family. Before Danshire’s “rebellion” he had always tried to be a good Prince and a better son, but after Danshire’s death all of that had changed. He had never consciously made a decision to rebel against his father, but he had done so just the same. Where he had once been a good son who always did what he was told, now he was infamous for his debauchery, his churlish behavior, and his contempt for authority . . . authority that very definitely included his father. He stopped taking his official duties so seriously and instead began drowning his sorrows in swordplay, wine and pleasant company. And if His Majesty didn’t like it, well that was just too bad. Such are the perils of tyranny.
Ethan glanced at the door that his family had walked through and shook his head, his thoughts turning once more to Tais. I promised myself that if I ever got the chance, I would tell all of this to Tais and ask for her forgiveness. But now I can see that it won’t do any good. That one look held all I needed to know. Tais will never forgive me for what I’ve done to her. It would be stupid of me to even try. And what’s more, part of me thinks that I deserve her hatred.
“So be it” he growled. If she wants to be enemies, then that’s what we’ll be, apology be damned. One of these days I will be king, while she’ll never be anything more than a useless widow who looks a little like someone who was once a princess.
