Allegiance (7 page)

I had become so enraptured in my vision that I was disoriented when London brought his horse to a halt and assisted me to the ground. We were not at the palace; instead, the stables loomed before us. At first I was bewildered by this, then surmised there would have been no groom to take charge of the horse had we ridden to the courtyard gates. I waited while London tended to his mount, then walked with him to the front of the palace estate, trying to ignore my throbbing feet, unwilling to request that he carry me.
As we approached the gated entrance into the courtyard, we were hailed by the Palace Guards who stood sentry, but like the City Guards before them, they recognized us and hastened to admit us.

“King Steldor will be relieved you are safe, Your Majesty,” one of the men remarked. “He has patrols out searching for you.”

London led me forward, and in the light of the torches illuminating the gateway I saw him cock a cynical eyebrow. I was still too tired to display any type of reaction, although inside I seethed.

We walked up the white stone pathway through the Central Courtyard, and I thought the lilac hedges on either side of us had never smelled so sweet. The Palace Guards at the front doors pushed them open for us, and I stepped at last into the light and warmth of the Grand Entry Hall, enormously relieved to be home.

Galen and two of his men stood toward the back of the entryway near the antechamber, speaking in urgent tones. There was little activity in the palace at this hour which allowed their words to easily carry.

“Shouldn't the captain be informed, sir? Surely he—”

“Are you suggesting a breach of the King's specific orders?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Besides, I believe the captain will have gone home by now and I should not like to be the one to rouse him from bed.”

It was clear from Galen's words that Steldor had not informed his father that I was alone outside the city, my whereabouts unknown.

“Queen Alera!”

Galen's head snapped around at the call of my name by
one of the guards with whom he was conferring. Worry visibly drained from the sergeant's face, and the tension left his stance as he realized that I was indeed home.

“Thank God.” Galen's words were hardly more than an exhale, a quick prayer born of relief. He reflexively moved toward me, but stopped to bark an order to his men.

“Notify the King at once, and then resume your usual duties.”

Returning his attention to me, Galen took in my fatigued and disheveled appearance.

“Are you all right?”

To my surprise as well as Galen's, London stepped in front of me. “Is she all right? Let's think. She's just spent hours roaming the countryside, hungry, parched, cold, lonely, scared that she'd never find her way home again, or that the Cokyrians just across the river would come over for some pleasant conversation, but yes, I think she's perfectly fine, don't you?”

Galen was speechless, but he was saved from stuttering out a response by Cannan, who emerged through the guardroom that opened onto his office, presumably having been disturbed by the commotion.

“What is going on out here?” the captain demanded, and although Galen was plainly startled that his commanding officer was still in the palace, he took a step toward him, as if seeking protection from London's wrath.

At that moment, the antechamber doors were pulled open, and Steldor strode into our midst.

“Ask your son,” London spat in answer to Cannan's query, tilting his head in the King's direction, displaying his typical lack of regard for protocol or authority.

Cannan turned to Steldor. “What is this about?”

The King stopped in his tracks but did not otherwise react
to finding the captain in the entry; neither did he address the question.

“Oh, Father,” he said, with a slightly contrived chuckle. “I didn't know you were here.”

“I've been talking with some of my battalion commanders,” Cannan volunteered, ignoring for the moment his son's evasive response.

“You needn't have come to investigate,” Steldor continued, proceeding toward me. “Everything is well in hand. No need to interrupt your meeting.”

Cannan caught Steldor's arm as his son made to pass him by.

“My men can wait until I get an answer to my question.”

“And what question was that?” Steldor asked, voice honey sweet and innocent, an attitude belied by his irreverent smirk.

There was silence as the two men stared at each other, a matched pair with hair so dark it was almost black, and deep brown eyes, although Steldor's features otherwise resembled those of his beautiful mother. Galen was on edge, while London, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, was relishing the voiceless battle of wills. The Palace Guards who stood sentry tried not to look at their King and their captain, never having witnessed father and son at odds, but I could not seem to focus anywhere else, riveted by the confrontation taking place before me.

When Steldor's sly smile had at last faded, Cannan spoke, drawing his son closer, his voice low and ominous.

“Do not play games with me, Your Highness.”

Steldor had until this point been matching Cannan's glare, but now his eyes flicked away, showing his wariness of his father.

“Fine,” he muttered, disgruntled yet obedient. “Will you let go of me?”

“Very well,” the captain said, releasing his son. “Now answer me.”

It seemed unnatural for Steldor to be so subdued, and I could tell he did not appreciate that his father was getting the better of him. A slight flush had crept up his neck, but whether this was an indication of embarrassment or anger I could not ascertain.

“Alera left the city. When I went after her, she refused to come back with me. I sent men to find her, but she's only just returned with London.”

“And did she leave on foot?” Cannan queried sardonically, taking in my manner of dress along with the remnants of leather that had once been my shoes, and I suspected he had already worked out what his son had done.

“No,” Steldor muttered.

“Then what happened to her transportation?” Cannan's tone was terrifyingly controlled, every syllable enunciated perfectly.

“She took King Adrik's horse, and I…I brought it back with me.”

The words left Steldor's mouth slowly, as if reluctant to condemn, and Cannan turned to address the Palace Guards who stood sentry.

“Step into the courtyard until I send for you.”

The guards departed, caught between wanting to witness the looming altercation and running away from it, but not having a choice either way. After the door had closed behind the men, Cannan stepped to within a foot of his son, and I imagined that it was taking all of Steldor's strength of will not to flee. The captain, always an imposing figure, was particularly fierce, his mounting anger visible in the
tightening of his muscles. He seemed to grow taller and darker as the seconds passed. I had only once before seen him like this—when Narian's father, the Baron Koranis, had demanded that his son be removed from the country estate that I had just visited.

“Am I to understand,” Cannan said, his voice rumbling with the spine-chilling quality of distant thunder, “that the Queen left the city,
without guards,
the King pursued her,
without guards,
the King then abandoned her,
without guards,
and without a horse, and didn't feel the need to inform the Captain of the Guard, who is charged with the protection of both the King and Queen?”

“Yes, sir,” Steldor replied, with hesitant honesty.

“Do you have
any
idea how much danger you put Alera in—you put yourself in? The Cokyrians are pressing our borders—”

Steldor interrupted him with a haughty laugh, surprising me with his audacity. “Surely you know by now that I can take care of myself. I was never in any danger.”

Cannan's reply was swift and merciless. “Need I show you the graves of the hundreds of Hytanican soldiers who could
also
take care of themselves? You're not
God,
Steldor. I took an oath to protect you with my life, and I don't want to die defending your arrogance!”

The captain's words echoed in the vast entrance hall, and Steldor bowed his head, attempting no rejoinder.

“It's one thing to compromise your own safety,” Cannan continued, dropping his volume, although his tone was no less severe, and I understood that he was reprimanding Steldor not as a father but as the captain charged with his and my defense. “But you put our Queen at the mercy of countless dangers, including that of the Cokyrians! She does
not appreciate the risks posed by leaving the city, but you know better than to desert her.”

For a moment, it appeared the fight had been won, and Cannan took a step back, presumably to return to his office. But he did not do so, and I wondered if he was anticipating a response from his son.

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” Steldor suddenly shouted, gesturing with his hands in frustration, and I realized that the captain had moved to avoid being hit. “What you've said doesn't change the fact that she
wouldn't
come back with me! Should I have knocked her out or tied her to the horse? She is the most stubborn, most aggravating, most
exasperating
woman I have ever met!”

“That's irrelevant,” Cannan contended, without so much as a blink of an eye. “When you were unable to convince her to return, you should have sent guards to protect her.
Immediately,
not several hours later. And you should not have gone after her in the first place without guards to accompany you.”

Cannan waited for this to register, and when Steldor attempted no further defense, the captain seemed ready to return to his meeting.

“I've kept my battalion commanders waiting long enough. London, you will come with me.” He motioned to the Elite Guard, who pushed off the wall and moved toward the guardroom, for once obeying an order. Then Cannan turned to the Sergeant at Arms.

“Galen, repost your guards. And send one of your men to notify the Royal Physician that the Queen needs tending.”

Galen nodded, crossing to the front doors and stepping outside while Cannan addressed his son one last time.

“Steldor, you need to talk with your wife.”

I studied my husband from across the entryway as the
captain returned to his office, but he was looking away from me, infuriated, I suspected, with everyone and everything. Guilt nagged at me, though I would have thought seeing Steldor reprimanded would give me pleasure. London had impressed upon me how equally blameworthy I was, but the captain hadn't taken my actions into account.
She does not appreciate the risks posed by leaving the city, but you know better than to desert her.
I did not believe myself to be as ill-informed as did Cannan, and knew full well that, though Steldor had been unreasonable in stranding me, he had expected me to walk back to the city. It had been my obstinacy that had led me to walk all the way to Koranis's estate and practically into the enemy's camp. Steldor was shouldering full responsibility for a dangerous situation that I had helped to create.

Galen reentered, followed by his Palace Guards, who took up their posts on either side of the large double doors. The sergeant then disappeared into the guardroom to send a man to rouse the doctor who attended the royal family.

I faced Steldor, hesitant to talk for fear of igniting his rage, all the while feeling the stares of the sentries upon my back. It seemed, however, that if I did not speak, no one would. I was scrambling to formulate the appropriate words when Galen rejoined us, looking ill at ease. He crossed the entryway, apparently to go home for the night.

“Wait,” Steldor bid him, interrupting his friend's exit. “I'm going with you.”

Galen nodded and waited by the doors, although he glanced at me as if trying to determine whether he should offer some assistance. In the end, he did not, and the two friends departed, leaving me standing quite dismally alone under the curious eyes of the Palace Guards. Dragging the blanket London had given me, I hobbled up the Grand Stair
case in as dignified a manner as I could manage, hoping the doctor would have something more effective than wine to treat my wounds.

IT WAS MIDMORNING THE NEXT DAY BEFORE I forced myself out of bed. Sahdienne had prepared a bath, for I had been too exhausted in the aftermath of my misadventures to manage more than a quick wash. I stepped into the warm water, mind replaying all that had happened the previous day. My trials hardly seemed real anymore, but the soreness of my muscles and the tenderness of my feet were reminders that it had been no dream. I soaked in the water, relaxing, until my thoughts went to my morning and I began to fret about the engagements I had missed.

Sahdienne had gone to the bustling kitchens on the first floor, where food was always ready to meet the erratic schedules of the guards, to request that a meal be delivered to me in the tea room in an hour. When she returned, she helped me to dress and applied the salve the doctor had brought for my blistered skin, then enclosed my feet in soft slippers. As my stomach rumbled in an embarrassing fashion, she styled my hair into a single plait down my back. She scrutinized me one last time, then gave me a message.

“The Captain of the Guard stopped by earlier, Your
Highness, before you were awake. He said not to disturb you, but to tell you when you rose that he'd cleared your schedule for the morning.”

“Thank you,” I said in amazement, wondering how it was that Cannan, one of the busiest men in the kingdom, especially now that we were at war, had the time to worry about modifying the Queen's schedule. I was greatly touched that he had thought to do so and again pondered the contradiction he presented. The strong, intelligent and decisive military commander was respected by everyone and feared by most, yet he had several times shown himself to be more sensitive and caring than my own father or, for that matter, any of the other men in my life. It was strange now to think that I had once been afraid of him.

Ready for the day, I descended the spiral staircase to the first floor, then turned right down the corridor, too preoccupied to glance at the multicolored stone floor or the intricate tapestries that adorned the walls. I entered the tea room and sat at the table nearest the bay window, letting the sunlight warm me through the glass. I did not have long to wait before a servant brought in a plate of food, the delicious aroma reawakening the gnawing in my stomach. My self-restraint greatly challenged, I forced myself to wait until she had departed before attacking the meat pie she had set in front of me. I had a few bites left when the door opened again, and I raised my head to see who was joining me. I stiffened at sight of my father and set down my tableware, feeling as though I had consumed the proverbial last meal of the condemned.

He stood to the right of the door, his hands behind his back, his eyes devoid of their usual sparkle. It felt as if a wintry wind had swept in behind him, and the sun that still shone on the back of my neck seemed to have lost its heat. I
had forgotten my promise to see him this morning, which by itself would have cast me in disfavor, but that indiscretion became insignificant in light of my other misdeeds. I held no hope that he did not know what I had done the day before, for any display as public as the one in the entry hall last night would have set the palace gossips buzzing. I stood and moved around the table, trying to prepare myself for the onslaught.

“Alera,” my father said, his voice rich with displeasure, “you have shamed me greatly.”

I shifted, unable to meet his eyes. I could tell from his manner that had I been younger and unmarried, my offenses would have merited a whipping.

“I had intended to speak with you about your relationship with Koranis's son, but now it appears there are additional egregious matters to address.”

He had started pacing across the front of the room, and the fingers of his left hand went automatically to the third finger of his right as if to twist the royal ring that had for years encircled it but that now belonged to Steldor.

“You promised me once that your affection for Narian was purely the fondness of a friend, but I see now that you lied to me. Your dishonesty has hurt me, Alera, and your childishness is hurting the kingdom. Steldor has every right to be furious with you, especially following yesterday's
frolics.
I feared that as a queen you would distract your husband from his duties, and you have done so several times already. You have deceived and embarrassed him, and you have deceived and embarrassed me.”

His words stung, and I attempted an apology.

“I don't know what to—”

“It would be considerate of you not to interrupt me,” he
said sharply, turning toward me and holding up his hand. “I have no patience for excuses or fabrications.”

My mouth clamped shut, and indignation flared at the implication that I was being rude. I had not viewed myself as interrupting him when I'd spoken.

“I do not understand how this happened,” my father persisted, resuming his pacing and punctuating his words with his hands as he became more and more engrossed in his speech. “You were raised properly and purposefully, yet your behavior is no better than I would expect of a peasant. You were taught your place, yet you do not keep to it. You know the standards to which you must conform to be a fitting queen, but you refuse to adhere to them.” He pulled up short and gazed sternly at me. “I am
appalled
by your affair with the Cokyrian boy.”

Indignation was transforming itself into anger at my father's reference to Narian as “the Cokyrian boy.” Still, I did not let it show.

“You met with him in secret, without my permission, and I'm certain, without a chaperone, all of which is unacceptable behavior for any young woman in the nobility, let alone a member of the royal family. I had hoped that by the time you were crowned Queen, you would have grown up enough to meet your obligations, but a
queen
does not dress like a man, steal her father's horse and disobey her husband.

“This cannot continue, Alera. Your actions have shamed me, dishonored the King and disgraced the kingdom. I would not fault Steldor for taking you in hand. Nor would I object if he locked you away until you can conform to behavior befitting his wife.”

As he uttered his final sentences, I glared at him. The fury building within me seemed to have a life of its own; it felt as if a phantom being was rising, pounding against every
pore of my body, clamoring to be released. My father's condemning words echoed in my mind, only to be supplanted by Cannan's:
You are the Queen, Alera. You no longer answer to your father.

Our identical dark eyes locked together, and I straightened my spine, then words came out of my mouth that, for once, suited the circumstances perfectly.

“If you feel ashamed, perhaps it is because of your own foolhardiness and not due to mine.”

My father's eyebrows rose in astonishment. “Do not speak to your father in such a manner!”

“Do not speak to your
Queen
in such a manner!”

The former King was struck dumb, my passion a wall with which he had unexpectedly and painfully collided.

“You have the
gall
to come to me and say that I am immature, that I have disappointed you and that I am incompetent, when it was
you
who were too selfish to allow me additional time before taking the throne,
you
who would not hear that any man I loved could be a suitable king and
you
who pressured me into a marriage for which I was not prepared. All these things for which you are chastising me are of
your
design. I would not have met secretly with Narian had I thought you would accept him. I would not be an inept queen had you not charged me with the throne. And I would not be a distraction to Steldor had you not trapped me into being his wife.”

I had crossed the room to my father, who stood with his mouth open as if he desired to argue, to defend himself, but was unable to conjure words.

“I wish, perhaps more than you, that you had given these decisions further thought,” I bitingly added. “But I am now your Queen, and
you
will show
me
proper respect. You will never address me in this way again.”

His stunned eyes met mine, and I waited a moment while he stuttered incomprehensibly. Then I stepped around him and left the room.

 

That evening, I waited for Steldor in the parlor we shared, passing the time curled up in one of the leather armchairs with a book of poetry. My husband had missed dinner—along with my father, amusingly enough—and had not yet come to our rooms for the night, though the hour was late, even for him. I knew he was in the palace, for I had seen an oddly pale Galen once or twice throughout the day, and had the King been absent from his duties, the whispers of the servants would have been impossible to suppress. Instead, rumors were circulating to the effect that the sergeant suffered from a self-inflicted malady, although I was not certain what that meant.

I soon found myself reading without comprehension, my thoughts wandering while my eyes continued to scan the pages of the book. I'd been experiencing a strange sense of liberation in the aftermath of the quarrel with my father, for I was free of his judgments and therefore free of his expectations. This notion had bolstered my confidence to the point where I was willing to contend with Steldor in the hope of settling things between us.

In the past hour or so, however, doubt had begun its assault. My father was currently avoiding me, but he resided in the palace, and I would see him nearly every day. What would our relationship be? We would be on civil terms; I was not concerned about that. But would we ever be
friendly
toward one another again? Had I changed things irreversibly? And if I had, was that necessarily something to bemoan?

I laid aside my book, trying to concentrate on the matter
at hand—what to say to Steldor when—if—he returned. It was possible he had either gone with Galen for the second night in a row or was waiting to come to our quarters until he was certain I'd gone to bed. In either case, he surely didn't want to talk to me. Considering his recent fits of rage, perhaps it would be wise to stay out of his way.

As if on cue, Steldor quietly came in—so quietly, in fact, that I was not aware of him until he cleared his throat. I started from my pensive trance and looked to the doorway where he was smirking at me, and I felt like a child who'd been caught daydreaming while her studies awaited her. But when he stepped out of the shadows and into the lantern light, I noticed the abnormal pallor of his skin, tinged gray as if in sickness. He fell heavily onto the sofa, stretching out atop it, his hands clasped behind his head. I was unable to read his mood but thought he could not be feeling well.

“Are you all right?” I inquired.

“I've been better.”

“You missed dinner. Perhaps I could get you—”

“Not hungry.”

I paused, not certain how to proceed, then my eyes fell upon the jug of ale on the table in front of the sofa.

“Maybe some ale would help,” I suggested, wishing he would humor me in some way and tell me what was wrong.

“Ale is most
definitely
not what I need,” he pronounced. Before I could make sense of this statement, he asked, “Why were you waiting up for me?”

“To talk to you,” I answered, honesty seeming the best course.

“Ah.”

I began to understand that this conversation would be mostly one-sided.

“I want to apologize,” I continued, swallowing the lump that had risen in my throat, “for several things.”

“Apology accepted. You're forgiven.”

I frowned, twining my hands together in my lap.

“I haven't even said what I'm apologizing for!” I protested.

He winced and put a hand to his forehead in reaction to my raised voice. As he did, his right shirtsleeve slipped to his elbow, and I caught sight of a bandage wrapped around his forearm.

“You have my attention,” he groaned, motioning with his arm in my general direction. “There's no need to be shrill. By all means, explain.”

I decided to start at the beginning, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my feelings for Narian. It was wrong of me to keep that from you.”

I was hesitant to broach this particular topic, even though I knew it was probably the most important one, but Steldor did not react; rather, he seemed content to simply listen. Courage bolstered, I forged ahead.

“I'm sorry for leaving the palace without telling anyone and for not taking guards. I'm sorry for being unreasonable and refusing to come back with you, and…” I grimaced as a pang of remorse shot through me. “I'm sorry I bit you.”

Still Steldor was silent, only now I found it unnerving instead of emboldening. Nevertheless, I persisted.

“And I'm terribly sorry that, due to my obstinacy—” I struggled to avoid blatantly stating that he had been scolded by the captain, finally settling upon “—you and your father had a disagreement.”

I was again met with silence and wondered if he had fallen asleep. With a sigh, I rose to go into my bedroom, but his subdued voice arrested my movement.

“You're forgiven,” he said, repeating the words, only this time with conviction.

I smiled slightly, then proceeded to my room, not naïve enough to expect a reciprocal apology from him.

“Alera,” he said, stopping me, and I turned to see that he had pushed himself into a sitting position, his brown eyes sincere. “In the future, if you would tell me before you leave…”

He paused awkwardly, and I realized that when dealing with women, he was used to charming them, commanding them or ignoring them. I doubted he had ever before employed such a respectful tone to make a request from someone of my gender. In fact, to my knowledge, Steldor had never faltered in speech in his entire lifetime. Something about his unexpected vulnerability melted my heart, his youthful, handsome features made doubly so by the absence of a haughty expression.