The Broken Bow

by C D Beaudin

  She kneels on a pillow on the second step of the dais. Her back straight, she looks forward.

  The priest nods once, acknowledging her.

  “Princess Brega of Rohidia, daughter of King Atta, do you swear to hold the safety and interests of your people before your own?” he asks, his voice carrying over the entire room, which is as silent as the battlefield had been after the Kahzacorians left.

  “I swear,” Brega says, her voice firm.

  “Do you swear to rule fairly and honorably, even in time of crisis?”

  “I swear.”

  “Princess Brega, do you swear to honor those who came before you, and those who will come after you. To honor those who knelt where you kneel, those who slept where you sleep, and those who fought where you fight?”

  She glances up slightly at the priest.

  “I swear on my mother’s, my father’s…my brother’s graves.” Her voice squeaks, close to choking on her grief.

  The priest takes a breath.

  “Then I, Priest of your father’s and grandfather’s household, crown thee, Brega, as Queen of Rohidia.” He places the crown on her head.

  Brega inhales shakily but hides it.

  The priest takes her hand, helping her up, stepping aside so she may stand in front of the throne.

  She looks out at the people who have attended.

  “The past several years of my life have been…” She exhales. “When my mother died, I was broken. I was changed. Instead of trying to get over the grief, I tried to change myself into the woman my mother was. Beautiful. Smart. But instead I became jealous of those who would envy me.” She looks at Awyn, but her eyes land on Saine. She holds his gaze and it does not waver.

  “When I was kidnapped by a man who wished to sell me, I wanted to die. Because, while I didn’t know where I would go, I knew it would be better to be dead. I was in Kahzacore for a month. And I was lucky enough to survive, because now…” She straightens.

  “I am not my father. I am not my mother. I am not my brother.” Her voice is powerful, but soft. “And I will never try to be.” She lets out a quiet, wobbly breath. “Seeing my father—my brother—lying dead, made me realize how truly terrible war is. I never knew the pain it could cause until I experienced that depth of agony.”

  She closes her eyes, trying to regain her composure. “Nothing will ever be the same. Nothing will ever be peaceful as long as Revera has cursed our land. So this is why I am promising—not only to my people, but to all of what’s left of the Five Kingdoms—that I will not stop until Revera pays for what she has done. If our brothers and sisters need our army, we will give it. I swear upon my life, I will not be the cautious monarch my father was. I will be a brave queen instead. I will give my life in battle if it shall come to it. And accept torture if I must. I will accept whatever comes, but I promise, I will not sit in my palace and hide.

  “I will be active in my promises and protect you until my last breath. I will return Rohidia to its former glory if I have to kill Revera with my own sword and rebuild this city with my own hands. I will do everything in my power to end this war, because I am weary of it.”

  She takes a breath.

  “I do not blame those who left. Perhaps I even envy them, but I will not go. I will not leave you, believe me as I say this. I do not ask for your sons to become soldiers. Nor your daughters to be used as bartering tools. I only ask for your trust.”

  She closes her eyes for a moment. But opens them feeling newfound peace and gravity.

  “Trust is invaluable to a queen. A kingdom can’t survive without it. I have seen firsthand what our enemy can do, most of you know. They leave you to starve and die, and only when you are weak enough they free you to be eaten by wolves.

  “Your trust is a precious thing many of you won’t give so easily. But it is all I ask of you, it is all I need of you.” Brega nods respectfully, and sits down, her hands resting on the arms of her gold throne.

  The room is silent for a moment, but then it erupts into applause and cheers. Awyn claps, an impressed smile on her face.

  Brega exhales. I will make my own purpose in this world.

  Even if it means my death.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Brega stares at the crown. The shimmery surface is pure gold. Beside her, the more casual gold band sits on her bed, round emeralds encrusted in the surface. Her gold dress drapes to the floor, and her eyes swell as tears start to surface and roll down her cheeks.

  She wished more than anything her father could have seen her ascend the throne. And her brother was there to take the burden of being a ruler away from her. She intends to keep all her promises she made during her speech, but that doesn’t mean she wishes leadership upon anyone her age, or anyone so young.

  Brega sniffles, wiping her tears away. Then walks to the window, looking out on the shining winter fields. She used to love winter, now it only brings heartache and death. The season will never be the same.

  There’s a knock at the door, making Brega turn her head for a moment and calling out, “Come in” before she turns back to the glass.

  Awyn approaches her at the window, following her gaze to the soldiers below, pulling bodies out of the snow and putting sheets over their faces.

  “It’s terrible,” Brega says, looking at Awyn. “Is this how my reign starts? In the midst of a war that has already claimed the rest of my family?”

  “You can’t choose how it starts. But you can do everything in your power to make sure it doesn’t end like this,” Awyn says.

  Brega sighs, turning away from the window. “What about you? Will you go home now?”

  Awyn seems to think about this for a moment. “Home…it’s a strange thought. Last time I was in Kevah, I felt the farthest from home I could possibly be. That city is merely stone and mortar to me now. The people merely a memory… Home disappeared the day my father was killed.”

  Her brows furrow. “But Revera isn’t stupid enough to attack right now.” Awyn’s brows lift, as if in surprise. “I…guess I am going home.”

  “I understand you not being excited.” Brega matches the Meran’s solemnity.

  “I’m not. As with you, my reign will begin in war…” Her eyes narrow. “But I should be used to it by now.”

  Brega’s head tilts. “Why is that?”

  “Because I was born into it. I may not be a bred fighter, but I certainly was born at the center of a war.” She turns away from Brega. “What reason do you suppose Revera claims is behind all of this quarrel?”

  “What?”

  Awyn looks at her. “You are right to think this war is my fault…at least, my being is the reason behind all this torment.”

  She walks to the door, but Brega needs more than just that.

  “What do you mean, Awyn?”

  Awyn stops in the doorway, her fair hand clutching the white wood. When she looks back, her eyes are dark.

  “Hate, Brega. Hate and fear and everything in between.”

  Brega watches as she disappears through the doorway, left to ponder what on Ardon she meant.

  Awyn sits on the edge of her bed, running her fingers through her hair. She shouldn’t have to think about this, right? She should just go to Kevah and become queen. It should be easy, simple. She won’t have to fight; the army swore allegiance to her and her father.

  They were forced to work for Tamon. But if there are those loyal to him, will she have to execute them? Is that how her reign begins? Brega’s beginning is cold and the aftermath of battle. Will hers begin without a fight but end in death anyway?

  A knock at the door startles her and Awyn looks up. “Who is it?” she asks, timidly.

  “Adriel.”

  “Come in.”

  The door opens, and Adriel appears in a plain white nightgown.

  “I had a feeling you couldn’t sleep.” She strides toward her, sitting beside her.

  Awyn looks down. “I don’t know what to do. Mera is leaderless as far as I know. It
wouldn’t surprise me if one of my father’s generals is in control, but I am his heir.” Awyn shakes her head, feeling distressed. “If I go there, if I go home, will I have to face those loyal to my uncle?”

  Adriel puts her hand on Awyn’s.

  “If you don’t go, you may be leaving your people to die.”

  Awyn looks up at her sister, frightened by the idea. She could never do that. She would never do that. She sighs, looking away.

  “But I can’t lead them. I’m not fit to. I’m too young to lead a country, too young to protect one.” She exhales shakily. “What if they don’t accept me? I’m only eighteen. I’m not married. I don’t have my uncle as an adviser to guide me.” She looks into Adriel’s violet eyes. “What if I fail? What if I lead my country to ruin?” Her head falls into her hands.

  “Awyn, you can’t…rule in fear. You have lived without it for a long time, successfully. You need to trust in yourself, or your people will never trust you.” She pauses as if thinking what to say next. “Rule how you would live.”

  Awyn ponders this. “What if I’m kidding myself? What if the fear is there, but I can’t feel it?”

  “Then you fight it.”

  She nods, looking down at her hands. “Would you come with me?” Awyn asks, her voice sounding like a little girl again.

  Adriel smiles. “I don’t think there is one person you have met in the past few months that wouldn’t.” Adriel hugs her, enveloping her in loving arms. “You aren’t Brega. Don’t rule bravely like she promised to. You aren’t Aradon, a struggling soul fighting to regain his kingdom. You’re not your father, or either of your uncles. Rule how you need to, and I will support you.”

  “How do I need to?” Awyn asks, not particularly of Adriel, but more so of herself.

  Adriel stands and walks to the door. “Fearlessly. Relentlessly.” She shuts the door firmly behind her.

  Awyn lies back down, a new surety relaxing her.

  She’s going home.

  The horses walk through the snow-covered plains and hills, a gentle flurry of white around them. They are prepared this time. Awyn wears a heavy, black fur shawl, with black pants and a white shirt which are easier to ride in. She’s back on Blancar, her white Everbreed.

  Around her others travel, her sister Adriel, in the same clothes except her fur shawl is white. Saine and Kepp, Hagard and Eldowyn. They are all dressed in heavy winter clothes, their weapons on hand.

  Aradon rides behind them, still bandaged but also heavily clothed in a warm, black cape. His sheath of bronze arrows and bow sit comfortably on his back. The pain has subsided immensely, but now he’s riddled with even more worry of what the future is to hold for him.

  He looks back, spotting the brunette elf.

  Ethiah isn’t far behind him. She insisted on coming, so she might take care of him while he continues to heal at a more human pace.

  The sky is cloudy and gray, with no sun to be seen. The cold air stays even as they ride through Cannan Forest. Trees rise up from the snow, their dark bark stretching in every direction above them, their branches bare. The snow is almost clean of leaves, only a few scattered here and there, and those overturned by the horses’ canters.

  They slow to a walk to give the horses a break. Walking through the slowly falling snow is peaceful, and he relishes it dearly.

  “Is there something troubling Awyn?” Saine quietly asks Adriel.

  She looks over at him from her horse.

  “She will become queen in a week or so. She doesn’t know if her coronation will be fought or rejoiced,” Adriel answers.

  “They can’t refuse her, though, right?”

  Aradon is curious at what Adriel will say next. Will they reject her? Can they even do that?

  “It’s honestly hard to say. She hasn’t been an active member of the court in many years, and even when she was, she was just a child.” She brings her horse closer to Saine. “She still is a child. Awyn being eighteen will most certainly stir up caution. The fact if that caution will be made violent is still a mystery to even me.” Adriel sighs. “I only hope her subjects will accept her without trouble.”

  Saine reaches over, grasping her hand.

  “If I’m to be certain about anything, it’s the fact of how beautiful you are, and that Awyn is the most fearless person I have ever met.”

  Adriel’s eyebrow rises. “Are you expecting a reward for slipping that compliment in there?” she asks coyly.

  Saine looks away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says innocently.

  Adriel laughs, playfully hitting his shoulder.

  “Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes.

  Night falls earlier than expected. The fire flickers on the ground as Kepp feeds it sticks and branches, while Ethiah tends to Aradon’s still painful wounds. Adriel and Saine snuggle by the fire under a warm blanket, and Hagard intensely watches Eldowyn as he chops wood with his ax.

  “Oi, don’t chop mindlessly. She deserves better den dat!” With a huff he stands, grabbing his ax away from the elf.

  “She?” Eldowyn comments, but Hagard pushes the jab aside and swiftly chops a piece of wood in one blow. Eldowyn goes to grab the ax again, but Hagard chops another piece, clearly giving the elf the impression he’s taking over.

  “Respect yer weapon, de weapon will respect you.”

  Eldowyn chuckles and sits beside Kepp, who is now poking at the fire with a long stick.

  “How you managed to live with him for the past few months confuses me,” Kepp says.

  “How Saine hasn’t murdered you yet is also a mystery,” Eldowyn says, playfully hitting Kepp upside the head.

  They chuckle quietly.

  After a moment of silence, Aradon notices an absence from their group.

  “Where’s Awyn?”

  The whole group turns their heads to look around, but they don’t see her.

  Kepp’s face turns dumbfounded. “Uh, did we just lose the next queen of Mera?”

  Awyn walks through the woods. Her knee-high black boots keep her warm as she travels through the snow. The black fur cloak is slightly too long and trails on the ground, but that and the hood over her head, keeps the chill out.

  The woods hardly scare her, even with snaps of wood and rustles of dead bushes. Maybe she should be scared, wolves are known to roam this area, but she just…isn’t.

  A gust of wind blows her heavy hood back. She shivers, a tingling of cold running down her back and neck, her nose freezing, and her lips feel like they’re numbing. She whips her hood back up, trying to stay as warm as possible and rubs her black gloved hands together, tucking her arms under her cloak for warmth.

  “Chilly night.”

  She pivots on her heel so quickly, she nearly tumbles into the snow. Her hood flies back again. An arm grabs her, steadies her. When she looks up and sees who it is, she’s absolutely mortified.

  “Are you following me, Karak?” She steadies her voice in an attempt to appear in control of herself.

  His familiar devilish smirk appears on his frosty lips.

  “Maybe I am,” he says smoothly.

  She slowly becomes aware that his hand is still gripping her arm.

  “Well, it’s disturbing,” she says, only resulting in a soft chuckle from him.

  “Since when does that ever stop me?” He brings his lips close to her face, so close she thinks he’s about to kiss her, but then his mouth hesitates by her ear. “Did you miss me?”

  She looks up at him, distancing their faces as she does. Their eyes connect.

  “The only thing I felt was mortified, for kissing the enemy,” she says, her words smooth and steady, but her eyes probably tell a different story.

  He tilts his head. “Now, that’s hardly romantic.”

  This time, it’s Awyn who smirks. She takes a step closer to him, once again bringing their faces close together.

  “Since when am I ever romantic?”

  He looks from her eyes to her lips and removes
the gap between their faces as he kisses her. It lasts for a brief moment until she pulls away.

  “What is wrong with you?” she yells. “You can’t just kiss me! You’re supposed to want to torture or kill me, and I’m supposed to hate you with a passion.”

  “You don’t?” Karak asks calmly, his expression cool and slightly amused.

  She hesitates, her mouth twitching as no words come to her lips.

  She groans. “I never said that. You’re impossible. You’re also irritating, annoying, lustful, cruel, and a killer.”

  “You know, I don’t think you know how to give compliments, Princess. You see, they are supposed to be nice things about the other person,” Karak quips.

  She glares at him. “Are you mocking me? Great, now you’re mocking me.” She gestures in annoyance. “I’m being mocked by a man who’s hundreds of years old.” She turns her back on him and crosses her arms, huffing. She shakes her head, her jaw tight. “This is a whole new low for me.”

  Karak chuckles, walking up behind her.

  “Oh, Princess.” He puts his hands on her upper arms. “Do you know how pretty you are when you shout?”

  She huffs, feeling his devilish grin on the back of her neck.

  “Nothing has to come out of this, it can be our little secret.”

  She turns to him, Karak still keeping his hands on her arms.

  “And, you know, there is no need to stop trying to destroy each other. I mean, I find it very fun.”

  She glares at him, her eyes narrowing.

  “I may be the stupidest person in the world...” She bites her lip, still icily glaring at him. She shakes her head, turning away from him once again. “No, no, I-I can’t.”

  “All right.”

  She whips around, her hair sharply flicking his skin. “What?”

  Karak rubs his cheek. “What do you wash your hair with? Ow.”

  She steps toward him, and her expression must be on the offensive because he backs away.