Authors: V. Holmes
Alea’s brows rose. “He failed to mention that.” She picked Daymir out in the crowd. “The dancing was fine, but he looks at me oddly.”
“I think he’s trying to gauge you. You’re new, but unlike the other young, pretty women he has paraded before him, you’re Laen, you’re powerful, and you’re intelligent.”
“I’m certain other noble women are just as intelligent, Arman, but I see your point. I guess I’m not used to being scrutinized.”
“If you’re finished, may I?”
Alea stared at his half-smile and offered hand. “Are you taking my plate or asking me to dance?”
“If you can’t tell, perhaps I should rethink the offer.” He glanced over at the musicians. “I might as well make a fool of myself where rumors can’t get back home to Veredy.”
Alea laughed and took his hand. “Depending on how poorly you dance, they just might.”
Though his hand on her back was gentle, his steps were stiff and lacked his usual grace. He caught sight of Bren and Reka and snorted. “No one can argue he was raised in the barracks!”
Alea followed his gaze to where the two cut a wide swath through the other dancers. “Just think of the steps like combat motions.”
He watched the surrounding partners and tried to follow suit. “Strike, kick, step aside.” He responded. His eyes softened. “I suppose this isn’t terrible.”
“I promise I won’t tell Veredy. She might think I bespelled you if you’re dancing at a palace ball.”
Arman’s smile faded and he stepped away as the music ended. A strange series of expressions crossed his face, but he finally settled on a faint smile. “You should enjoy a better partner, thank you for tolerating my lack of skill.”
Alea watched him go for a moment before being swept up in another dance, this time opposite her brother. She did not dance with Arman or Daymir again, but by midnight her yawns were jaw-cracking.
She retreated to a corner to gulp down a glass of lemon water. The ball was beautiful and the dancing lively, but something nagged her.
I do not feel like the Dhoah’ Laen. I feel like an imposter. This city’s grandeur is not meant for me, but some powerful inhuman creature.
That thought stalled what remained of her excitement.
Is that really what the Dhoah’ Laen is? Is that what I must become?
Her stomach churned and she ducked out of the room, racing to her chambers. She was tired and the journey had taxed more than just her body. She tore off her fine gown, scattering tiny pearls. She felt more like herself without the trappings, but that was little comfort. The tiles of the privy floor bit into her bare knees.
Must I give up being human?
The 31st Day of Vurgmord, 1251
The City of Ceir Athrolan
A PURPOSEFUL KNOCK WOKE Alea. She felt as if she had just closed her eyes, but the sky was light.
“Dhoah’ it is Valadai. Her Majesty wishes to pay you a visit in a quarter of an hour.”
Alea scrambled from the bed. “Of course, thank you!” She pulled on the dress from her audience, running a brush through her hair and re-braiding it.
As she tied the ribbons gathering her sleeves, Girre knocked and entered. She placed a tray of tea and bread on the table of the sitting area before straightening the bed sheets.
“I trust you find the bed comfortable?”
“I was reluctant to leave.” Alea smiled. She had forgotten what it was like to talk with other women and a sudden wave of sadness took her breath away. She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose.
“My lady?”
“Forgive me. I was thinking of how much you remind me of my foster sister.”
Girre bobbed a curtsy. “Thank you, my lady.”
Valadai's introduction of the queen interrupted Alea’s response. Alea rushed to stand by the sitting area.
Tzatia swept in, the picture of calm and benevolent charm. “Thank you for receiving me, Dhoah’ Laen.”
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Your Majesty. Will you join me?” She motioned to the chairs, sitting across from the queen. She waited until Girre had poured them both a cup of tea and left before speaking again. “To what do I owe the honor?”
Tzatia savored the tea for a moment before fixing Alea with her dark eyes. “You speak noble language well, but let us drop the pretenses. I will not judge you for frank speech.” The wry wit in her eyes held the sharpness of a younger life. “I came to discuss our business today and your stay here.”
Alea leaned back, relieved, but curious. The queen bore her sixty-odd years with grace. Something about her iron-colored hair and fierce features reminded Alea of the Laen.
“It is tradition to accept an alliance as a favor, to which you would respond with gifts during the ceremony.” Her cheeks rounded with a smile. “I think you see the folly in such a thought when it comes to you and your guard. It may be that you need more defense, but…”she paused, as if finding the proper words.
“You need us.” Alea’s interest in economics paired with Daymir’s claim that Athrolan faded told her enough. “You need the inspiration of a cause.”
“Did your wisdom come when you discovered your power or were you always so astute?”
Alea laughed softly. “My pride wishes to say the latter, but it would be a lie. I have been blind to many things I see clearer now. I do not know whether my new insight is due to age, experience or something entirely different. My foster-father claimed intuition and insight were observations, when our conscious minds were not ready to see the reasons. Perhaps I am simply listening now.”
Tzatia’s clear gaze took the younger woman in without judgment. “You spoke of staying in this world for some time.”
“Many assume I will run to Le’yan. What I can learn from my people can wait. I cannot expect any to fight for me if I do not first pay my dues. Besides, I can learn things here that I cannot in isolation.”
“Athrolan will fight for you. Judging by my visit with the Banis ambassador, they will as well, despite their views towards women.”
“I am not a human woman.” Alea’s words were soft, as much out of fear for the truth as manners. She put down her cup. “I need you to understand that while my safety is important—”
“That is a gross understatement.”
Alea flushed. “I am not given to conceit.”
“You have a right to it. Forgive me, please continue.”
“While my safety is
imperative,
” she amended, “I need to be in the battles. I need to see the bloodshed. I must learn all I can about our enemies and my allies so I might better train. For myself as well.” Her last words were whispered, and the queen did not press the matter. “Arman would argue that I should be shut away, lest I stove my smallest toe. That cannot be.”
Tzatia hid a smile. “I understand. I’m afraid I must get ready for the ceremony, but thank you for seeing me.” She paused at the door, fixing Alea with her pointed stare again. “If you need anything, do let me know. I am no longer young, but I understand the sharp edges of power and how deeply they can cut.”
Φ
Conversation buzzed behind the doors to the throne room. Alea could hear the patter of pages’ shoes against the stone as they hurried about last minute errands. Eras paused on her way by. “Dhoah’ Lyne’alea, Commander Dorcal agreed to escort you into the ceremony today, as a show of support.”
Alea winced. “Who thought of that one? The man detests me.”
Eras’ pinched expression could have been displeasure or a hidden laugh. “Very well, would you prefer Arman?”
“Milady can be on my arm.” Arman offered.
Alea drew a breath and closed her eyes.
Who thought deciding how I enter a room would be my greatest decision.
“Thank you, general, and Arman, but I think I can walk up to a dais on my own. If I can’t, the world has greater problems.”
The general held her hands up in surrender. This time her expression was certainly a disguised smile. She ducked into the throne room and pulled aside the herald. Silence fell as the queen’s entrance was announced. After a moment Valadai opened the doors for them.
“Dhoah’ Laen Lyne’alea of Le’yan.” Alea schooled her features into calmness.
This is the moment you win over an entire kingdom.
The throne room was bright and filled with many more noble families than she had met the night before. The throne itself was pushed back against the wooden panels of the wall behind. Tzatia stood at the dais. She dazzled in pure white and turquoise. Stitched white rays on her elaborate headdress drew gazes to the rough-cut aquamarine set in the official crown.
Alea’s steps down the aisle were measured. Pens scratched against parchment as scribes detailed the scene.
We are making history.
Arman was announced as she ascended the dais, the nails in his boots clacking against the stone.
Even his boots sound cocky.
The humorous thought brought a smile to her face as she turned to face the queen.
“On behalf of the kingdom of Athrolan, I welcome you to our city.”
“We are honored.” Alea hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. Arman’s hand was feather-light on her back. “We are pleased by your agreement to an alliance, Your Majesty.”
Tzatia gestured to the podium, where a long sheaf of parchment sat, weighted at the corners. The herald brought it forward. Burned into the wood above the declaration was the symbol for honesty and honor, encircled with script. The queen placed her hand over it and read the vows of alliance, though she surely could have recited them. “I, Tzatia of the North, Queen of Athrolan, Lady of Ceir Athrolan, swear to defend you as I defend my people. I swear to respect you as I respect my family. Your enemies shall be mine, and you allies will be counted among my own. Your losses will be felt as ours and your victories will be our victories.” The herald dripped wax over a loop of turquoise and white ribbon at the bottom. The queen imprinted it with the ring on her middle finger. “In the name of Athrolan, I swear an alliance to you and your cause, Dhoah’ Lyne’alea.”
Valadai brought forward a chest inlaid with gold. “May I present to you this gift to show our gratitude?” She held onto it a moment as she turned to Arman. “It has been safe-kept in our treasury, but it belongs to you.”
Arman bowed and took it in one arm. Nestled within was a long, brown leather whip. The handle was curved slightly and gold-washed. He lifted it out carefully. He flexed his fingers, feeling the weight. Handing the chest back to Valadai, he hung the whip on his belt by the ring on the hilt. “Your Majesty, I thank you for this most noble gift.” The sincerity in his voice kept the words from sounding trite.
Alea stepped up to the podium then, placing her hand over the symbol and repeated the words the queen had spoken. Her voice faltered at “losses.” Her chin trembled.
Arman placed his hand over hers, his low voice helping her finish. “You losses will be felt as ours and your victories will be our victories. In the name of the Laen, I swear our alliance to Your Majesty Tzatia of the North and your kingdom of Athrolan.”
The wax was melted again and a black ribbon looped through it. Alea reached out and pressed a fingertip to the hot wax. Her heart thundered. She should reciprocate the queen’s gift, but was scared of losing control. She closed her eyes and brought her power up the way she had practiced.
Just a layer,
she thought,
just a shell, for protection.
She held her free hand out, towards the queen, beckoning.
Tzatia stepped closer until the Dhoah’ Laen’s palm was inches away. Black power curled from her hand. “Your Majesty, I offer a gift to your people. Of my power, Destruction is the best known, but there is also the gentler side. With the might of my power, I promise that none shall ever wear Athrolan’s crown whom does not hold her highest in his heart.” The black fog curled around the crown jewel above Tzatia’s brow, weaving into the heart of the stone and around the metal binding it. “I swear that as long as I draw breath, I will keep your people, our allies from harm.” The power sunk into the crown and disappeared. The silver and black faded from her eyes and she stepped back.
Tzatia took her hand and spoke the words that had bound pacts for as long as they had been made. “So it is said.”
Φ
The hills behind Athrolan rolled away into the distance. Standing atop the southeast tower, Arman could not see where they became the barren expanse of the Felds. The new weight of the whip at his belt was warm, but far less than the pointed consciousness of the Crown in his room below. Daylight faded over the ocean behind him, and he pretended the lights of the town on the southern horizon were those of Vielrona.
The journey north had been exciting, bizarre, and horrible in turns, but he was ready to go home. Crops would be planted soon, and Wes would pick up additional work mending plow-blades. Veredy would mend summer dresses. Her tan legs would be bare as she waded into the river on warm days.
“Enjoying the view?” Narier leaned against the parapet beside him.
Arman glanced over at the lieutenant. “Wishing it was a different one, more like.”
The soldier’s expression softened with understanding. “As beautiful as the city is, it sure isn’t home, I’ll agree with you there. You didn’t strike me as the homesick type. I thought the Rakos lived and breathed the Laen.”
“We do, but I wasn’t always Rakos.” He looked down at his hands on the worn stone. Veredy claimed there was no longer a place for him in Vielrona. She was wrong. Even if the world’s bones shook and he forgot his own name, Vielrona would be home. “I have someone waiting for me.”
Narier’s brows rose, “Now that is unexpected. Does she know?”
“Know what?”
I miss her? I’m soul-sworn to another woman? I’m a monster?
“That you might not come home.”
Arman stared at the man. “Milady is allied. She will stay here and learn what she can before traveling to Le’yan. When she is ready to battle the gods, I will be there. Until then, I’m going home.”
Narier looked away, his expression guarded. “There are words for what you’re feeling right now. Fear is one. Denial is another.” He pushed himself upright and turned to continue his watch. “Tell yourself what you must to sleep at night, Rakos,” he shot over his shoulder, “but once war gets her teeth in you, she doesn’t let go.”