Choice

by Andrea Loredo

  Because I love you and I am bound completely to you. "Because I could not leave you alone, defenseless and without a friend." Mirele smiled as best ze could. Of course ze could never tell Shahira the reasons for hir oath. The difference between their stations was too great for love, and the other would likely result in Mirele's banishment or death.

  "You're too good, you know that?"

  Mirele shook hir head. "I'm not." Ze brought a hand to Shahira's cheeks and brushed away the tears there. "This will pass, I promise you."

  Sighing, Shahira pulled away, sitting back on the bed. "I know. It all hurts though. It hurts so much."

  "I know it does." Mirele picked up hir blade and sheathed it, placing it back on top of the large canvas bag containing hir armor.

  A silence fell between them while Mirele examined their supplies and Shahira continued to stare out of the window from her spot on the bed. Mirele tried to occupy hirself with the busywork of taking inventory, but hir mind raced.

  Mentally ze berated hirself for hir feelings. Ze shouldn't have developed such affections at all. A princess, however displaced, could never be with a knight, even if said knight was a former dragonslayer and Guardian. Their ranks were too far apart.

  And then there was the matter of if hir feelings were genuine or just a result of what bound Mirele to Shahira. I don't know. How could I know? It's not as if I could be in any other position than this. I would be dead if not for this bond. Ze gritted hir teeth. That bond was a gilded cage. It was a second chance at life, but not on hir own terms. Damn it all. She spoke of being free, but I can never be free. Ze would cry about it all, but enough tears had been shed about hir situation already.

  All ze could do was carry on as always, loving Shahira from afar. At least I can be her friend. At least I can be that.

  "There's something else that complicates all this." Shahira's voice roused Mirele from the depths of hir thoughts.

  "What?"

  "My family deserves justice, don't they? We know who ordered the attack. The right thing to do, the dutiful thing, would be to reclaim my family's throne. It is rightfully mine." Mirele frowned, hir brows knitting together. Shahira sounded so lifeless and resigned. "That's what I should do, instead of running away to act out my fantasies of freedom."

  Mirele didn't know what to say. Ze wanted to avenge the dead, too; hir heart hurt when ze thought of Lucia and Salah, very likely dead just to buy hir time to escape with Shahira. Justice seemed like a far-off dream, however. How could one knight and a princess topple a usurper?

  "It doesn't matter. What could we do anyway?" Shahira stood and climbed onto the top bunk. "I'm going to take a nap. Wake me up for dinner, Mirele," she said, leaving Mirele alone with hir thoughts.

  *~*~*

  So engrossed was Mirele in cleaning hir blade and armor that ze didn't notice the setting sun until night had completely fallen, leaving hir small room in darkness. Ze fumbled to light a candle. Unable to find a match, ze focused hir energy on projecting a tiny flame from hir fingertip. A small blaze lit up the room, and Mirele quickly lit the single candle in the room before blowing out the flame on hir fingertip.

  With the flame extinguished, Mirele breathed a sigh of relief. Last time ze had done that, ze had severely burned hir finger. The scar was still there.

  Mirele gently shook Shahira awake, and they headed downstairs into the tavern. The Red Dun was in full swing that night, completely packed. People sat at every table, and a minstrel played a lute in the corner by the fire. Probably thanks to hir imposing stature, Mirele managed to snag them a small table by the window.

  "What do you want to eat?" Mirele asked. They were feeling a hearty roast and could probably eat an entire cow by themselves.

  "Wine. Lots of it."

  Mirele folded hir arms over hir chest. "Wine is not dinner."

  Shahira huffed. "Fine, get me whatever you're getting. I'm not that choosy, just hungry."

  Ze nodded and headed for the bar, making hir way through the throng of people looking for drinks and food. Halim, the barkeep and owner of The Red Dun, nodded to hir and motioned hir to wait as he went about filling drinks and having his barmaid take food orders.

  "Hey, you hear the news out of Pasmyral that the traders brought with them?" a burly man that smelt like a smithy said. Mirele strained to hear him over the din of the tavern.

  "Nah, I didn't. Don't those traders just gossip?" his companion said.

  The blacksmith shrugged. "I don't know about that, but this one had some real troubling news. She said that some noble, a Duchess Zooman? Zane?"

  "Zaman?" A third person chimed in. "She's the governor of the Coria province, right?"

  "Yeah, her." The blacksmith nodded. "Apparently she caught wind that the royal family was selling us out or something, like planning to let some other country take us over, and she executed the royal family as traitors and proclaimed herself queen!"

  Shocked gasps came from his companions.

  "What? How could she do that? The king and queen would never do that!" One exclaimed.

  "She killed the entire royal family? The princes and princess included?" asked another.

  "I think it's all poppycock, but she did kill them and make herself queen." He paused. "Well, she killed most of them. The trader heard a rumor that Princess Shahira managed to escape." Mirele stilled, sucking hir breath in. "I hope they don't find her," the blacksmith said sadly. "The de Granius family always did right by us little folk outside of the cities."

  His companions nodded. "I can't believe it," one said, rubbing his forehead. "I hope the princess is okay."

  Spirits, they know. At first, ze wasn’t sure if news of Shahira's survival would spread, or if Zaman would say that she was dead, but now they would need to be even more careful.

  "You believe all that?" Halim greeted Mirele with a huff. "As barkeep, I'm supposed to keep tabs on all the gossip 'round here. You and your friend came from the capital right?" He jerked his head to where Shahira sat.

  "Yes, but that was before all that happened," Mirele replied, tensing. "I don't know anything about an attack on the royal family, but if it happened, I wouldn't be surprised. People are always vying for power."

  Halim glanced over at Shahira again before nodding. "True enough. Now can I take your orders?"

  Mirele ordered a roast for hir and Shahira, a goblet of wine for Shahira, and a mug of ale for hir. The food came quickly, despite how crowded the tavern was, and Mirele returned to sit with Shahira, food in tow.

  As Shahira tore into her food and drank her wine (much too quickly in Mirele's opinion), Mirele pondered how best to tell her that news of her survival had reached even such a tiny village like Isca.

  "You look like you have something on your mind, Mirele," Shahira said in-between mouthfuls. If one didn't know she was a princess, they never would based off how she ate. "And don't bother hiding it; I know when things bother you." At Mirele's surprised expression, she shrugged. "I don't say anything most of the time."

  "Ah, well…" Mirele rubbed the back of hir neck before leaning forward. "News of the coup and rumors of your survival have reached this town—and likely the entire kingdom," ze whispered, just loud enough for only Shahira to hear over the noise of the tavern. "We will need to be more careful from now on."

  Shahira frowned. "Great," she said, rubbing her temples. She took a large swig of her goblet and set the cup down with a clang. "More."

  "I don't think that's a good idea."

  "I'll get it myself then. How much does it cost?"

  "You don't have any money," Mirele pointed out. Ze was the one with the coin purse. Mirele wasn't sure if Shahira even had a concept of money. She definitely wouldn't know if she was being overcharged for something.

  "Mirele."

  "Highness."

  Shahira glared at hir. "Hey!" She waved down the barmaid. "A goblet of wine for myself and keep it flowing. Put it on hir tab!" She pointed at Mirele. Before Mirele could interject, the barm
aid rushed off to fulfill the order.

  Mirele sighed. This was going to be a long night.

  And it was.

  Around the fourth goblet in, Shahira began to dissolve into a giggling mess, mostly about plants and puns about them.

  Mirele was so tired.

  "I think that's enough for you," Mirele said, gently prying the goblet, Shahira's sixth, from her hands. Ze waved over the barmaid, paid the tab, and threw Shahira's arm around hir shoulders. "Let's get you to bed."

  "That's forward of you," Shahira teased. "Buy me dinner first, huh?" Mirele's eyes widened as ze stared at Shahira. "Wait. You did." She giggled.

  Spirits help me. Mirele took a deep breath. "Come on."

  Shahira wobbled beside Mirele. "I don't think I can walk up those stairs. Maybe you should carry me." For being so drunk, Shahira's voice was remarkably clear.

  "What?" This was it. This was how Mirele was going to meet hir permanent end.

  "You heard me." Shahira smirked. The look in her eyes was nothing short of seductive. Spirits take me now.

  Mirele quickly looked away, feeling the heat of a blush warm up hir pale cheeks. "Fine." With a single, effortless motion, ze scooped Shahira's legs out from under her. With a giggle, Shahira looped her arms around Mirele's neck, mumbling something that Mirele couldn't quite understand.

  Ze was thankful that Shahira didn't weigh all that much, even though Mirele could likely pick up a fattened noble without much difficulty. It made going up the stairs easier.

  Shahira dropped her hand to Mirele's bicep, rubbing it. "You're so strong," she breathed. Her breath tickled the side of Mirele's neck.

  "Thank you," Mirele replied, unsure of how exactly to respond to that and a little short of breath. Whether that was from Shahira's close proximity or carrying her up the stairs, ze wasn't sure.

  Mirele set Shahira on the bottom bunk, figuring that it would be most unwise to have her sleep on the top bunk while intoxicated. Shahira bounced in her seat on the edge of the bed, though Mirele could hardly call it such. Hir bed back in Pasmyral was of much higher quality. Ze missed it.

  "I'm going to fetch you a jug of water and a bucket," Mirele said. "Please don't move." Shahira gave an overly serious salute as Mirele left to go fetch the items.

  Ze returned quickly, surprised to find Shahira still in the same spot as where ze had left her. "Here, some water. Drink it slowly. You'll need more in the morning." Shahira did as she was told and sipped at the water. "And the bucket is for when you feel ill." Mirele didn't think Shahira had ever really been drunk before, so it helped to be prepared.

  "Thanks for taking care of me," Shahira said softly.

  "Of course. That is what I'm here for," Mirele replied with a small smile.

  Shahira returned the smile and her eyes softened a little. "Hey, come here. I've got to tell you a secret."

  Mirele regarded Shahira with suspicion. "If this is another damned pun…"

  "It's not." She held up her pinky. "I swear."

  Sighing, Mirele leaned forward. Shahira placed her hands on both of Mirele's cheeks. "What—"

  Shahira leaned forward and kissed hir.

  It took a second for Mirele's mind to fully register what was happening. She's kissing me. She's kissing me. Hir mind screamed at hir to return the kiss.

  And so ze did.

  Ze moved hir hand to the back of Shahira's head, threading hir fingers in her short, close-cropped hair, hir other hand moving to rest on Shahira's knee. Shahira deepened the kiss, her lips moving against Mirele's.

  Mirele began losing hirself in the sensation, one ze never thought ze would experience, but ze moved back, breaking the kiss regretfully. Shahira wasn't in her right state of mind; she was completely intoxicated.

  Shahira rested her forehead against Mirele's. "You taste good," she murmured.

  "I—" Mirele gulped. "You're drunk."

  "So?" Shahira sounded confused. Can she really not see the issue with this?

  Mirele shook hir head. "This isn't appropriate. I cannot do this while you're drunk. You don't know what you are doing." Ze looked everywhere except at Shahira.

  "Screw appropriateness," she said.

  "No," Mirele said, more forcefully this time. Despite how much ze wanted this, had wanted this for so long, it wasn't right like this, with Shahira drunk and Mirele unsure if hir feelings were even genuine.

  "Fine." Shahira pulled away and climbed under the sheets of the bottom bunk, turning away from Mirele.

  Spirits, what have I done? Mirele blew out the candle and fumbled to climb up to the top bunk in the dark, praying that sleep would come quickly.

  It didn't.

  All night ze tossed and turned, unable to stop thinking of what had happened. Shahira had kissed hir, something ze had been desiring for years. Yet it hadn't happened the way ze wanted it. She was drunk, probably unaware of what she was really doing.

  That was all complicated enough without throwing Mirele's doubts about hir feelings into the mix. Was hir love true? Or was it just a byproduct of being bound to Shahira?

  Damn it all to oblivion.

  Such thoughts usually lay at the back of Mirele's mind, only coming to the forefront during hir darker moments, but this incident made it seem like they were the only thoughts in Mirele's head. Ze wanted it all to stop.

  *~*~*

  Morning came both far too quickly and not quickly enough. Mirele hadn't slept at all the night prior, but ze certainly wasn't ready to face the day and Shahira ahead of hir.

  When ze hopped off the top bunk, ze found hirself alone in the room. "Shahira?" Ze called out but received no answer. "I wonder where she went." Worry crept into hir, but at least there was no pain from hir mark, meaning that Shahira was safe.

  Ze quickly changed into a set of fresh clothes, ran a comb through hir short hair, and walked downstairs into the tavern. Shahira sat at the bar, her head on the counter. Halim stood behind the bar, cleaning some mugs. He greeted Mirele with a grunt.

  Mirele hesitated. How could ze even talk to Shahira after last night? But ze had to. Ze couldn't just avoid Shahira for the rest of hir life because of hir embarrassment. Swallowing back hir fear, Mirele took a seat next to Shahira. "You seem like you're having a good time."

  "Shut up." Shahira's voice was muffled by the counter and her arms. "My head is killing me."

  "That's what happens when you drink so much." Mirele teased, smirking. "Have you eaten anything?"

  Shahira picked her head up. She looked awful. "Just water," she mumbled.

  Mirele sighed. "Teach you not to drink so much. Let's get some food in you. Halim?" Ze waved him over.

  "Eggs and potatoes coming right up," he said gruffly and disappeared into the back room.

  "How come you're not hungover?" Shahira whined. "Not fair."

  A bemused look crossed Mirele's face. "I only had a pint of ale, not however many goblets of wine you had, dear princess."

  Shahira's head fell back onto the counter with a thud. "Oh, no. It's too early, and I'm too hungover for your nonsense."

  Mirele smiled fondly. It seemed that Shahira didn't remember what had happened last night. Good. We can just continue on like we were. I can go back to loving her from afar and keeping her at arm's length. "We can go to the apothecary after eating. Perhaps they have something to alleviate your headache."

  A muffled grunt was Shahira's only response.

  They ate leisurely and then exited The Red Dun. The sun shone brightly overhead, but Mirele didn't think it was going to be as hot as the day before. Thankfully.

  Managing to grab some herbs from the apothecary to help Shahira's hangover, they strolled along the main, and really only, street of Isca. The fresh air felt so nice to breathe, a welcome change from the stuffy air inside the tavern. Maybe it would help Shahira, too.

  Mirele and Shahira were sharing a conversation comprised mainly of small talk when they heard shouts coming from the end of the street. A crowd was gathered there.


  "Why is it so loud?" Shahira said with a grimace, still chewing on the herb. "I wonder what's going on."

  It was unlikely something good. Large crowds in a small village usually weren't good unless there was a festival, and the shouts didn't seem to be very festive. "We should be on our way, I think," Mirele said.

  Frowning, Shahira shook her head. "As much as I would like to be away from this ruckus," she muttered, gesturing to her head, "I’m too curious about this."

  Mirele sighed. "Fine, but we’re leaving as soon as your curiosity is sated. I’m not dealing with you when your hangover is even worse because you stayed here too long." Shahira shot hir a sour look.

  As they drew closer, Mirele noticed that a young man, maybe in his late teens, was cowering from an older woman, his mother by the looks of it. The woman was shouting at him, a kitchen knife in her hand. Beside her was the blacksmith from the night prior and another woman—both held swords.

  "You need to leave!" The older woman shouted. The hand that clutched the knife trembled.

  The other woman, much younger than the first, looked between the older woman and the young man, her face torn. "She's right," she said quietly.

  Nodding gravely, the blacksmith raised his sword. "You do need to leave, boy. We don't want any trouble."

  "What is this?" Shahira hissed.

  Mirele shook their head. Ze didn't know.

  "Boy's an Arisen," one of the villagers whispered. "He needs to leave before we're all doomed."

  Mirele sucked in a deep breath, hir heart skipping a beat. "No," ze said under hir breath. "No, no." The world felt like it was collapsing on hir. Maybe it wasn't true. Maybe the boy wasn't an Arisen.

  But sure enough, when the young man raised his hands, the swirling mark of the Arisen stood out clear as day against the lighter skin of his palm.

  "Spirits, no," Mirele breathed.

  "That's an Arisen?" Shahira asked, inching closer to Mirele. "I've only seen the mark in books before, never in person."

  "As if anyone with a head on their shoulders would allow you to be near one of the accursed Arisen," Mirele snapped. Hir hands balled into fists.