Royal Outlaw: (Royal Outlaw, Book 1) (9 page)

A small smile tugged at her papa’s lips, which warmed her to the bone. She was about to meet the most powerful person in the entire kingdom and she was going to do it in men’s clothing, covered in dust and blood, with two black eyes, a broken nose, and all manner of cuts and bruises. Perhaps the king would change his mind the moment he saw her and decide he was wrong to think she could ever be an appropriate heir for him. If first impressions did not work then Mariel was going to do everything in her power to make him regret his decision.

“What did you do to earn a full pardon, anyway?” Art asked. “Had to be somethin’ pretty big. I’ve seen those wanted signs and you’ve got a big resume as an underworld man. Leader of the Resistance and all.”

Mariel’s heartrate sped up. She did not want people to start bowing to her yet, she wanted to enjoy the last hour or so of freedom she had. She did not want these men who were being friendly to them to start panicking and apologizing and scraping the floor for her.

Darren just shrugged. “I helped them find someone they wanted pretty badly.”

Art looked confused. “Who did they want more than you?”

One of the older trainees understood what his instructor had not. “You know the princess?”

The knot in Mariel’s stomach twisted sharply and she braced herself for the men’s reaction to her papa’s next words. 

“Yes,” Darren replied smoothly, but to Mariel’s surprise, a smile tugged at his lips. “And I think she is going to shake things up a bit in the world of the nobility, might do their high and mighty majesties some good.”

Mariel’s jaw dropped open and she stared openly at her papa in absolute shock. Inside her mind buzzed with his words, stunned and excited that he had said something that backed up her decision rather than disapproved of it completely. What had changed today that had made him accept her choice? Perhaps he did not mean the words and was just sticking up for her because she was his daughter, but Mariel did not really care. What he said meant the world to her.

Darren changed the subject and suggested that they move the bodies off the trail, so the next passerby did not have a heart attack when he came across dead ogres. To the Versati trainees’ surprise, Mariel hefted and lifted the ogres alongside them. She heard one of the boys whisper to another, “You’re sure that’s a
girl
?” Mariel smiled. She was ready to go meet Their Royal Majesties and make them hate her.

As Mariel and some of the trainees set down an ogre body in the forest, she caught sight of her knife that had missed the ogre that had nearly killed her and went over to tug it free from the tree. She checked it for damage before sliding it into its sheath.

“You threw that?” one of the boys asked.

Mariel enjoyed the trainees’ amazement. They still did not believe she was a girl. “Yes, but I was aiming for an ogre. Obviously I missed. My other knife should be around here somewhere.” She began to search through the forest undergrowth, assuming that the ogre had pulled it from her arm and tossed it before coming to attack her again.

While Mariel searched, she began to contemplate the oddity of the ogres’ attack. Ogres were big, but they were not stupid. They were famed for capturing people and selling them as slaves to the massive kingdom of Salf, which bordered Natric to the southwest. On Mariel’s first mission alone she had managed to get captured by ogres and her failure would surely have made Darren forbid her from ever being part of a mission again, except she had also managed to escape her captors. Mariel had been twelve at the time and had looked small and weak to the ogres, who generally only preyed upon people they could catch without losing their lives.

Today though, the ogres had openly attacked Darren and Mariel who were obviously heavily armed and in good shape. On top of that, the creatures had tried to kill them, not capture them. Ogres did not attack without reason, but Mariel could discern no reason at all . . . Unless, they had known who she was, and had wanted her dead, or someone else had sent them for the same reason.

Mariel shuddered at the thought, she had yet to claim the crown and assassination attempts were already being attempted on her. Who would want her dead that badly? Was it the same person who had killed her mother? Mariel wished she could remember what had happened during those lost weeks of her memory, the missing bridge that connected her past and present, but at the same time she was glad she did not.

“Here it is,” Darren called to her, holding up her missing knife.

She trotted over to him, thankful for the distraction from her unsettling thoughts. Mariel wiped the blade free of ogre blood and checked it for damaged. Just to be sure, she positioned the knife and released it. The blade flew straight and true, embedding in the trunk of a dead tree.

“They still don’t believe you’re a girl,” Darren pointed to the gaping trainees as Mariel pulled the knife from the tree and returned it to its sheath.

She glanced at the boys and then turned to her smiling papa, confused by his change in moods. She was grateful he was talking to her in a normal tone, not one filled with disappointment and anger, yet she could not shake her curiosity as to what had caused the change in him.

“Papa,” she said slowly, ignoring the voice in her head that told her she was about to mess everything up. “Why don’t you hate me anymore?”

Darren’s mood turned sour. “I’ve never hated you. I hate your decision.”

“But you told Art and the trainees that you think I might do some good as princess.”

“I do not accept, nor respect, your decision to live in the world of the nobility, but today the way you handled the ogres reminded me that you aren’t like the other rich folks. You’re going to shake up their world, but you’ll get a nice culture shock too. You won’t ever belong with them, and I’ll let you live in misery until you figure that out, just don’t expect me to stay around and watch you.”

Without looking at his daughter, Darren turned and walked back toward the trail, leaving Mariel feeling more depressed and miserable than before. He thought she would change her mind and decide to abandon her new station at the top of the social hierarchy, but what he did not know—could not know—was that she had not been given much of a choice. And as much as she wanted to, the price of giving up her new power, even in the future, was a cost she was not willing to pay.

Mariel shook her thoughts away and returned to the road where she mounted Iyela. Darren rode behind her because his horse was dead. As much as Mariel wanted to delay the event further, she knew it was time for the last stretch of her journey. Only one hour left of freedom.

About one mile along, the forest trail dumped out on the main highway of Natric and Mariel, Darren, Art, and the Versati trainees joined in with the steady flow of people headed toward Fintel. Mariel refused to think about what awaited her in the capital, so she observed the people on the road.

Most were merchants or farmers with carts and livestock loaded down with cloth, pots and pans, chickens, pigs, firewood, asparagus, potatoes, irises, and iron ore. Some of the donkeys and ponies pulling the carts looked half dead from a long trip. A group of soldiers weaving in and out of the crowd called a greeting to Art as they headed in the opposite direction. People chatted merrily or simply put one foot in front of another and continued the journey forward. A group of children in raggedy clothes that hung loosely from their bodies looked around at the crowd with wide eyes as they rode in a squeaking wagon that seemed like it would fall apart at any moment. The stench of unwashed bodies and animals mingled with the sweet smell of spices drifting from a well-kept wagon. Some sorry looking folks moved among the people and Mariel’s keen eye watched as a few of them lightened the load of their fellow travelers with quick, practiced fingers. This was the type of thievery that Mariel generally avoided unless she was desperate for food or money. She usually reserved the privilege of her larceny for the wealthy.

“Out of the way! Out of the way!”

The common people, including the Versati Corps trainees, pushed and shoved in an effort to be the quickest off the road as an ornate carriage pulled by four large horses clopped past. Soldiers in orange and blue livery flanked the carriage, shouting out to people to make way for the passing noble.

Although people groaned at the inconvenience, many craned their necks to try to get a good look at the person inside of the carriage. Mariel saw several of the trainees do the same, and asked why.

The large trainee who had been the first one to speak aloud in surprise about her being female answered, “It might be the princess. She’s supposed to be coming soon, sometime near the end of April, and it’s the last day. Aren’t you curious to know who it is?” Then the trainee glanced behind her at Darren. “Or do you already know her, like Master Brightsword?”

Mariel did not feel the shock at hearing her papa being addressed so formally, instead she felt her chest grow heavy as depression sunk in further. “I know her.”

“Maybe you could introduce us,” the large trainee smiled.

Darren growled, “You’re not her type.”

A smile tugged at Mariel’s lips.

“There it is,” Art called back to them.

Mariel, who had been watching the people on the road to distract her thoughts, looked up to see open farming fields surrounding a sprawling city set on the southern side of a river. A large, thick wall encircled the entire city and three other walls were within the city, each wall having been added as the city grew too big for the old one. If Fintel was like other cities, then the second smallest wall would separate the wealthy homes from the middle class and poor people. She could see that the smallest wall surrounded the palace positioned at the very heart of the city.

Fintel was the only major Natrician city and one of the few important cities in the Eastern Lands that Mariel had never been to. Although she could have done some good work digging up information and made some nice hauls in the thievery department, Darren had never sent her on a mission here, although he himself had come many times. If her mother had been married or Mariel had been born male, she would have grown up in this city, in the same palace that stood in the heart of Fintel. Now, she was going to the one place that had always been forbidden to her, and she was going there for the one reason she did not want to.

She, Mariel Quickwit, daughter of the infamous traitor Darren Brightsword and the exiled Princess Carolina, had been recognized by King Vincent II as heir to the Natrician throne. Mariel wondered, as her group passed into the tunnel of the outer wall, if she could ask Iyela to turn and run in the other direction and keep running with her papa until they reached safety. Yet Mariel knew that nothing could protect Darren from a determined, angry archmagician, and Dreyfuss would find a way to kill the dangerous man that had eluded the government for years. Mariel could do nothing except stand before Their Royal Majesties and accept their offer.

The freedom Mariel had known her whole life slipped further and further away from her as the horses and Iyela’s hooves clomped up the cobblestoned road that led through the cities. At the wall surrounding the palace grounds, the group stopped. The portcullis was raised, but a wooden gate, intricately carved with signs of the gods and a large silver serpent sitting up on its coils with fangs bared, which was Natric’s coat of arms, remained closed. Guards in green and black uniforms stepped in front of the closed doors to bar entry.

“Afternoon, Art,” one of the guards said. “You can enter, but your friends can’t unless they have a pass.”

A guard opened half of the gate to admit the Versati trainees, while Mariel dug in her satchel for the papers Dreyfuss had given her. She reluctantly handed the pass to the guard who took it from her with raised eyebrows as he noted the wax-imprint of the archmagician—a sun with a star inside of it—sealing the papers closed. He broke the seal and his eyes grew wide as he read the words written there. He stared at Mariel in astonishment and disbelief.

He put his fist to his heart and bowed the traditional Natrician soldier’s bow to a high-ranking noble. “You may pass, your Highness.”

Mariel felt a sinking feeling in her heart and fear and depression unlike any she had ever known. It had begun. She had been recognized.  

Art and the trainees waited for Darren and Mariel on the other side of the gate. They had neither seen nor heard the interaction between Mariel and the guards, so were oblivious to the fact that they were in the company of royalty.

“In the name of Valmir,” Art said, “You were actually permitted to enter.”

Mariel watched as one of the guards ran through the gate and up toward the palace entrance. She had the feeling he was going to inform the king and queen that she had arrived. She hoped he would not mention in what state she had come, since that would decrease the shock factor when she met them.

“When you finish with Their Majesties, would you come out to the training yard and show these here boys some of your skill with the sword, Brightsword? We’ll feed you first.”

“Sure.”

To Mariel’s ears her papa’s voice sounded uncaring and disappointed. He probably could not believe she was actually going through with this. Mariel could not believe she was doing it either.

Iyela remained standing just inside of the grounds as Art and the Versati Corps left in the direction of what looked like stables, barracks, and practice rings in the distance. Mariel watched their retreating backs with envy. Perhaps they worked for the king, but they lived lives that allowed a certain level of freedom, less than she knew, but far more than she would know for the rest of her miserable life.

She forced herself to turn to look at the hulking beast of a palace that commanded the very image of power. She felt small beneath its shadow and wished the dream potion she took had been bad and this was all a horrible nightmare. Iyela moved smoothly into motion in the direction of the large, double-door entrance.

Two men in servant’s raiment waited at the front entrance. Both stared at her with wide eyes before bowing low. “The king and queen are expecting you. I will show you to them, while your horse is taken to the royal stables.”

Darren did not speak or look at his daughter as he dismounted. Mariel followed quickly, her sword banging against her thigh as her feet touched the ground. “Be good Iyela,” Mariel whispered to her friend in Zreshlan, “Those in the stables are not enemies.”

The unicorn affectionately butted Mariel’s shoulder with her head and sent the feeling of courage and luck toward the girl. Mariel patted Iyela in return and watched sadly as a servant led her away. She touched her swollen, bruised eyes and felt a sordid joy as the sharp pain struck her. She was tough, she was an outlaw, she was not afraid, and she was no real princess.

Mariel straightened up and threw back her tangled mat of hair. This was as ready as she was ever going to be. “Lead on.”

The servant bowed, then turned and opened one side of the massive bronze doors. He led father and daughter down a long corridor illuminated with brightly burning torches before stopping in front of another set of smaller double doors. Two guards stood at attention on either side of the doors to the throne hall, but neither one stepped to block her entrance.

The servant hurried to open the door and announced: “Mariel de Sharec, crown princess of Natric,” followed by numerous other titles and references to royal landholdings.

It was odd to hear her name spoken like that. The girl the servant had announced was not her. Mariel had no time to consider her new name. Her time had run out and, with her head held high, she marched straight through the door and into the throne hall.

Shimmering light from the ceiling’s many large crystal chandeliers illuminated the ornate throne hall. Beyond the pillars on the sides of the room, lower ceilinged aisles ran almost the entire length of the hall. The side walls were pocked with alcoves where marble and bronze statues of every de Sharec king stood tall and erect with their favorite weapon in the ready position, prepared to strike down some unseen enemy. Between the alcoves hung tapestries or paintings that depicted kings and great heroes of Natric in battle or performing some brave task.

Paintings of the gods graced the high barrel ceiling. The demigods guarded the doors and the gods grew in prominence and hierarchy as they proceeded down the hall. Natric’s most revered and major deity, Valmir, god of strength and war, was depicted on the ceiling directly above the thrones. Valmir looked like he was about to step out of the fresco and into battle with his massive double-edged sword prepared to strike and armor that seemed to shimmer in the light cast by the chandeliers and torches in the room. Beside him, his Narel, was painted. She was the goddess of protection and patience and was known as The Healer.

Pillars carved with intricate designs marched down both sides of the long hall and made Mariel feel as though the room was getting smaller as she walked down its length. The pillars also put the focal point of the room on the thrones that were on their raised dais position at the other end of the hall.

Two guards dressed in the green and silver uniform of the royal guards, stood at the base of the raised dais, their mouths hanging open in astonishment as they watched the grime covered girl with two black eyes and a broken nose walk down the long hall with her infamous father a step behind. 

King Vincent sat on his gold, jeweled throne in the center of the dais. A heavy gold crown rested on his greying, auburn hair as he stroked his thick beard with fat, ringed fingers. He was a large man who looked like he ate too much and exercised too little. His expression was one of mingled surprise, horror, and anger.

With a small feeling of satisfaction, Mariel saw that Queen Meredith also wore a similar expression on a face covered with too much make-up.

The only person besides her papa that was not shocked was the man in a silver robe that clashed magnificently with his red hair standing halfway up the dais. Archmagician Dieter Dreyfuss smiled broadly as he bowed to her. “Welcome to Fintel, your Highness.”

“Th-this is the girl!” The king spluttered, his face turning a splotchy red.

A thin smile tugged at Mariel’s lips. Perhaps he would realize the mistake he had made and release her. “Not what you expected?”

King Vincent was at a loss for words as he stared down at her. His eyes flicked momentarily to Darren and a look of fear briefly touched his eyes. No doubt he remembered that fateful day he had refused to help Darren find his daughter, the same daughter the king now forced to be his heir.

The queen on the other hand, rose gracefully from here throne and swiftly walked down the stairs with the fabric of her wide-skirted dress swishing. She stood before Mariel, her low cut dress revealing wrinkled cleavage disgustingly pushed up by some contraption of an undergarment.

“This
thing
cannot possibly be of relation to me,” she said as her wrinkled bosom swelled and fell in an angry, rapid movement.

“I think the term ‘abomination’ was applied to me originally.”

The queen’s eyes flashed angrily and she spun back toward the thrones, her heavy dress smacking Mariel in the shins, “Dieter, please tell me this is not my granddaughter. That this is not the girl you found. She is dressed in men’s clothes and looks as though she has come from some atrocious fist fight—”

“Ogres, actually,” Mariel interrupted, trying to restrain a smile.

The queen shot her a murderous look before continuing, “She looks a mess and a disaster and smells as though she has never taken a bath.”

Mariel bordered on gleeful. Hope that they would reject her blossomed like the flowers outside.

Dreyfuss, who no longer smiled, shook his head. “I am afraid this girl is the princess. You can look at her eyes if you do not believe me. Those who remember meeting her as a child always claim she had the most incredible dark green eyes.”

Queen Meredith looked back at Mariel and met her eyes. The queen looked away quickly, “Very well, but I refuse to speak with her until she is presentable.”             

Disappointment flooded Mariel as she realized that the king and queen were too desperate for an heir to toss her out just for arriving like she had.

“Dieter,” the queen continued, “take her and heal her then have her scrubbed clean and dressed in proper attire. Have the seamstress brought to make sure the gowns fit properly.”

The queen turned and swept gracefully out of the hall without another word as the king glared down at Mariel. Behind him a large silver serpent sitting up on its coils with fangs bared stared out at her from a massive banner made of an emerald green silk. She wished that that snake could spring to life and eat her whole, but, in a way, that was what it was already doing.

The silver snake was Natric’s coat of arms and had been so since before the de Sharec family ruled. The silver snake depicted on the coat of arms was the goddess Serpía who had been the patron deity worshipped by the Natrician people before the de Sharecs had taken power and promoted the worship of Valmir and Narel, and outlawed the worship of Serpía. Mariel had never discovered why the de Sharec family had adopted the Nería royal coat-of-arms with the image of the outlawed goddess. 

Dreyfuss tightly gripped Mariel’s arm and lead her to a door at the side of the hall. As they exited, Mariel glanced over her shoulder and watched Darren’s retreating back with a heavy sadness sinking into her body.

She had been wrong. There was no test to pass or fail on first impression. The king was too desperate for an heir—any heir—that possessed his blood. She should have known better than to hope he would reject her. After all, he had resorted to desperate measures already by naming a female heir.

Dreyfuss never loosened his grip as he marched her down a variety of corridors all decorated in gaudy fashion with tapestries, paintings, rich fabrics, suits of armor, weapons, framed mosaics with precious gems and metals, and elaborate sconces holding bright, burning flames. The contrast between this human palace that was to be Mariel’s new home and the zreshlan one she had left behind was stunning. In Parloipae every piece of art was created with care and precision and displayed so that one could appreciate each piece rather than be overwhelmed by a hundred different pieces at once. The zreshlans lived among nature, while these Natrician royals lived in man-built stone prisons filled with too much stuff.

Mariel felt just like a prisoner being marched off to be locked up; especially with Dreyfuss gripping her with such force that it was almost like he feared she would try to run away. The feeling of being in a jail-house was so intense that Mariel’s subconscious carefully kept track of every turn and step, so that she could escape later. That was the sole difference between this time and the times she had actually been arrested: there was no hope of escape.

As they walked, Dreyfuss issued commands to passing servants to find certain people or to prepare a bath. After a few turns, Dreyfuss entered into a corridor that was more rundown than the others and devoid of decoration on the wall. He seemed to be leading her down servant corridors because they came across none of the nobility, but plenty of servants who flattened themselves against walls to get out the archmagician’s way.

Mariel noted a change in décor when they stepped out onto a fourth floor landing. The gaudy, ornate decorations once again lined the walls and the floors were covered with rich carpet that muffled the sound of their steps. Fewer doors were present, but those that were had carvings and paintings so flamboyant it made Mariel’s eyes hurt. On the left side of the corridor, glass windows looked out over the palace grounds. Unlike the other parts of the palace, almost no servants were in sight, and Mariel knew she was in a place few people ever saw: the royal apartments.

Dreyfuss opened one of the ornate doors and dragged Mariel inside what appeared to be a large sitting room with an adjacent corridor containing other doors. She had little time to look at it before she was forcibly shoved inside the next room. This room was a bedroom, but the only way Mariel knew that was from the massive four-poster bed draped in red-damask fabric. Brocade curtains depicting brightly colored flowers and blossoming trees were pulled back with gold cords to reveal the royal courtyard and garden below. The walls were hung with tapestries of garden and hunting scenes and the plaster ceiling was adorned with a pastoral fresco. Overlapping, springy rugs of various bright colors covered the polished wood floor. The furniture included the bed, an elaborate dressing table and mirror, a marble washstand, and an lounge chair with an ottoman in front of the hearth, but there was no desk and no books.

The entire room made Mariel feel ill, not simply because of the dizzying and overpowering effect of everything held within its walls, but because she had witnessed first-hand the poverty of Natric’s common people and it disgusted her that anyone could live like this while others starved in the streets.

The nausea she felt increased as Dreyfuss pushed her into the easy chair. Her head snapped painfully back, adding whiplash to her list of injuries. Before she could so much as say a word of protest the archmagician began to gather evraïsér.

Her heart pounded in an irregular rhythm as fear coursed through her veins. It was an automatic reaction she had when any enemy began to do something for a reason she could not comprehend. The reason for all the magic soon became clear as the pain around her eyes and nose slowly lessened. She felt the cartilage in her nose line up in the correct position and begin to knit together. Her vision became better as she was able to open her eyes more with the curing bruises.