by D L Sims
Nolan steered him away, and his eyes focused on the other servants. All were in a state of shock, hands covering their mouths, tears streaming down their cheeks.
Khett’s mother entered with a look of confusion on her face until she saw her husband in the chair.
“No! Jalinan!” His mother screeched. She flew into the room, only to be pulled back by her handmaid. She reached for her husband, her eyes wide with horror. “Jalinan!”
“Mother.” Khett went to her, and she sank into his arms.
He held her as she cried.
Chapter
Two
Andalen raised her arm, sniffing the sleeve of her tunic. She turned her nose away, repulsed by the rancid odor clinging to the dull fabric. She smelled of fish and the Azuken Sea--to be fair, all of Odenmal smelled like fish--but she smelled like it, and her father would not be happy that she had spent her morning down at the docks again, helping the fishermen lug in their nets and gut their catch.
She looked down at her fingernails. There were scales and innards underneath, staining her nail beds black and red. She made a face at them and then wiped her hands on her trousers.
“Oi, Andi!” One of the fishermen called. She looked back over her shoulder to see Kelmen Stocke trudging up the path after her.
She waited for Kelmen to reach the top of the hill, the line that separated the small eastern village into its distinctive parts. The bottom of the hill was where the fishermen lived and worked, and on the top were wheat and corn farms. On the other side of the hill stood the main village, and just beyond that was the Amadon estate.
“Oi, Kel. Ya alright there?” She needed to make sure she swallowed this fishermen speak before she got back to the estate. Andalen found it easy to slip into fishermen speak because it was free, rough and not strangled by rules.
Again, her father would not be pleased.
Kelmen was only nineteen with hair as black as night, warm brown eyes, and a crooked smile.
“Ya left this down by tha docks.” He held up her bow and quiver, and she smiled.
How could she have forgotten about her most prized possession? It was easy to get lost in the rhythm of the sea, pulling nets and gutting fish. She had no need for her bow at the docks, and she couldn’t believe she had nearly forgotten about it.
“Thanks, Kel. Ya need a hand ta’morrow?”
“I’ll be fine, there, Andi,” he replied and turned to trek back down the hill. “Thanks fer yer help!” he called.
Andalen looped the bow and quiver over each shoulder, and stood at the top of the hill, watching Kelmen disappear. After she could no longer make out his silhouette when he reached the docks, Andalen turned and continued to the other side of town.
Silent, imposing guards opened the gates of the Amadon estate as she approached, and she walked past them without a word to see Nixema and Arlen on the steps of the manor. Nix’s beautiful face pinched into a frown as if she had just sucked on a lemon. Her brother stood behind her handmaiden, eating an apple with a book tucked under his arm and paint smudged on the front of his tunic.
“Andalen,” Nixema clucked at her as Andi got closer. Her petite nose wrinkled. “You smell!”
Andalen smiled at her. “That’s so nice of you, Nix.”
“You really do smell, Andi. Were you down at the docks again?” her twin brother asked.
“I’m always down at the docks, Ari.”
He smiled. “My sister, the fish whisperer.”
Nixema huffed at the twins, gathered up the skirts of her servant’s uniform, and turned, leading them into the manor.
As the trio walked, they lost Arlen somewhere along the way. He ducked into the library without so much as a goodbye.
“Playing with the fishermen again?” Nix asked as she quickly ducked around a corner.
“Wha’ did ya think I was doin’?” Andi replied as she followed.
The servants they passed wrinkled their noses at the smell emanating from her clothes.
Andalen saw Nix’s shoulders bunch up before her. “You better lose that fishermen speak. Lord Amadon won’t like it.”
Andalen rolled her eyes, despite having that similar thought earlier in the day.
They scurried through the gray halls, which were decorated with suits of armor emblazoned with the Amadon insignia, a fox head in a field of lilies. Sometimes when it rained the water seeped in through the dark, cool stones, filling the manor with moisture and a slight smell of mildew. It was a nightmare on Andalen’s curls.
“Your mother has set up a dinner with a suitor.” Nix’s voice strained with jealousy. Andalen couldn’t help but smile; jealousy looked good on her handmaiden.
“Gods, I hate those dinners,” Andalen complained, annoyed that she was to be paraded around like a show pony yet again.
She dreamed to one day be queen, but she had no desire to marry any of the men her mother presented to her. They were always too narcissistic, too dull to hold her attention. Besides, what would she do about Nix if she were to marry one of those men? They would not take kindly to her bedding her handmaiden.
“And who am I supposed to be falling madly in love with tonight?”
“Prince Hektor of Soldare.”
“Gods, help me.” The Soldaren prince was known to be spoiled and insufferable.
Nixema led her into her chambers where a tub had been dragged in, the perfumed water making the room warm and heavy with humidity. Rose petals floated on the surface of the water. Despite her love for roses, Andalen made a face at the tub; the perfume smell overwhelming. Someone had dumped the entire bottle into the water.
“In,” Nix directed.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror nailed to the stone wall as she slid her smelly trousers from her legs and pulled her equally smelly tunic over her shoulders. Her curls were in disarray, coming loose from the plait down her back, and a large dry spot on her arm itched from where the sun had beaten down on her throughout the day. The muscles in her arms and legs burned from hauling in fishnets, and grime smeared on nearly every inch of her umber skin. Andi grimaced at herself in the mirror before turning towards the bath where Nix waited with the sponge and soap made from beeswax and goat’s milk.
“In.”
Andalen made a face at Nix, but got in. The hot water released the tension in her bound muscles. She tipped her head back against the lip of the tub and closed her eyes as Nix set to washing her.
“You know,” Andalen said, her words coming out lazy in her stupor. “You could strip and do that while you’re in here with me.”
“I see you’ve lost your fishermen’s speak,” Nixema replied. “Thank the Gods I was able to find the perfume oils. This smell seems to be clinging to your skin.”
“Even if I smelled like I fell into the ocean and didn’t bathe for weeks you would still come to my room at night. I’m like the air you breathe, Nixema,” Andi repeated the words Nixema had said to her weeks ago.
Nixema snorted at Andalen’s statement, but said nothing.
“You’re like the air I breathe, Andi. Loving you is a constant need that keeps me alive.” Andi smiled at the memory of Nix’s words.
Nixema was a rare rose in a field of thorns, one that Andalen held close to her heart.
I should have told her I love her, she thought as Nixema washed her back. She hadn’t, and even now the words clung to her lips. But she couldn’t say them, not when she knew her relationship with Nix could not last. If she were ever to become queen she would have to marry a prince and stop bedding Nix.
She had never meant to fall in love with her handmaiden.
Nix finished scrubbing her and then laid out a dress on her bed. She turned back to Andalen as she relaxed in the bath, and placed her fists on her plump hips, fixing Andi with a stern look. “Your mother wants you dressed and in the dining room in a half-hour. I will return in ten minutes to do your hair and paint your face.”
“Not makeup, Nix. You know I detest it.”
>
Nixema huffed again. “I follow the orders of your mother and father, Andi. You will wear the kohl and rouge, and you will wear the dress your mother picked out for the evening.”
Her tone made Andalen smile with affection. She reached out, pulling Nixema close by her hips.
“We have no time for this, Andi,” she said with a laugh, pulling herself from Andalen’s grasp. Nix swatted her hands away. “Hurry up. The Prince waits.”
The door closed behind Nix, and Andalen climbed out of the bath to dress. In an act of rebellion, she left the emerald-colored dress on her bed and donned her brother’s old clothes to meet the pompous prince of Soldare.
Andalen, dressed in a tunic and trousers, smiled at the exasperated look on her parents’ faces as she entered the dining room. And though Nix had fought valiantly, her face remained devoid of makeup. Her curls were pinned with one springy tendril falling over her left temple, and the only reason she had let Nix style her hair was because the handmaiden had started cursing her to the Gods.
She sat next to Arlen, who greeted her with a broad smile. She turned to the Prince of Soldare with a practiced smile. “Welcome, Prince Hektor.”
Prince Hektor, an average looking man with a large nose, which he constantly looked down the tip of when he addressed people, had light brown hair and olive skin. It was known throughout the three western kingdoms that he had a fondness for all things shiny and opulent.
“Lady Andalen, you look lovely,” the Prince said in a heavy Soldaren accent. His smile was arrogant, and Andi resisted the urge to scoff at him as he turned his attention back to her father. “Thank you so much for inviting me into your home, Lord Amadon,” he drawled, but his words felt wooden, as if he were reading from a script. “These goblets are exquisite. We have some just like them in Soldare, but those are made from real gold, of course.”
“As are these,” Andalen snapped under her breath as she picked through her food and leaned heavily on the table with her head in her hand.
Prince Hektor moved closer.
“If you ever visit Soldare I will show you the golden goblets. We mine the gold right from underground.”
“In Elthare we have Opal Stone,” she shot back and looked up at the prince with a sneer. “Opal Stone is much more valuable than gold.”
“Andalen!” her mother admonished. Andi looked over at her mother. Lady Amadon’s thin eyebrows were up in her dark hair and her full lips pulled down in a scowl. “I apologize for my daughter, Your Grace. She’s been feeling under the weather.”
Andalen rolled her eyes. “I feel fine,” she muttered.
“It’s quite alright, Lady Amadon.” The prince turned to Andalen. “Is it your womanly time, my lady?”
Andalen jerked back in her seat, and her head shot to the side. She stared wide eyed at the prince, her mouth hanging open in a wide ‘O’. Her brain stuttered for something to say. Her father coughed into his napkin, and her mother made a small squeaking sound in her throat. Then, the table fell into silence.
“E-excuse me?”
“Is it your womanly time? My sister always acts insane around her time.”
“The Gods,” Andalen whispered under her breath. She pushed up from her seat and looked at her parents’ shocked faces, her brother trying to hold his laughter in with a hand over his mouth to keep from spitting out wine. “I’m going out to the garden.”
No one tried to stop her.
Andalen shook her head at the Prince’s idiocy. She walked down the corridor of her home to the main door; the two guards at the entrance barely glanced up as she passed. She descended the outside steps, inhaling the salty tang of the air, her mind still reeling at the buffoonery of the Soldaren Prince.
The estate gardens were not as grand as the ones in Rivland’s castle. They held a smaller variety of flowers, and there were no fountains, but it was still beautiful in its simplicity. Andalen sat on the bench in the middle of the garden and scuffed her boots back and forth on the stone paver at her feet, losing herself in the stillness and tranquility of the evening.
Hours later, Andalen finally made her way back inside. Dinner had finished, but she could hear the prince’s loud voice traveling through the estate from the sitting room. She hovered in the main hall, contemplating whether she should rejoin the party or be rude and retire to her chambers. Instead, she went to the kitchen to find the dessert she had missed out on.
Isa, the estate’s cook, was still in the kitchen. Her frizzy hair stood on end, and her apron smeared with grease and chocolate. She smiled at Andi as she entered, but did not slow down in preparing for the Amadons’ breakfast the next morning.
“Dessert’s under that dome, love,” Isa said, pointing to the silver lid. “Chocolate cake with caramel frosting. Your favorite.”
“Thank you.” Andi pulled a plate and a knife towards her and cut off a large slice. She leaned over the counter to eat before she had to face her family and the Prince again. Isa disappeared into the large storeroom for something.
“We were wondering where you had gone off to,” the Prince said from behind her.
Andalen sighed and turned to look at him. “Well, you know, my womanly time and all that.”
“Did I offend you when I said that?” he asked, leaning too close to her, his hot breath fanning the side of her face.
She inched away from him. “I do not offend easily.”
He moved closer. “I still feel like I should apologize.” His hand trailed her arm before crawling down her back and cupping her ass. “Allow me to apologize properly, Lady Andalen. I meant no offense.”
Andi leaned away from him, but his hand followed her movements. She narrowed her gaze at him. Her returning smile was false and sweet. “The only thing offending me is the location of your hand.”
The prince smiled and leaned closer until they were almost nose to nose. “Is it now?”
She dropped her fork on her plate and took his wrist with her hand. His skin felt feverous to the touch and smoother than her own skin. She let her powers flow through her.
The prince screamed out in pain, gasping for breath and clawing at his throat with his free hand. Isa came out of the storeroom, clutching a small bag of something to her chest with her eyes wide and mouth agape, but she said nothing. The prince fell to his knees, still trying to draw air into his lungs.
“You feel that, Prince Hektor? You finding it hard to breathe?” He had started to turn blue. “Touch me again and I will afflict you with something worse.” She let him go, and he fell to all fours, taking in huge, shaky gulps of air. “Do you understand me?”
His eyes watered, but his face slowly returned to a normal color. “You bitch! Wait until my father hears about this!”
Andalen resisted the urge to punch him and turned on her heel. She exited the kitchen with the prince shouting threats at her from behind.
“I’ll have your head on a pike!” he yelled. “And to think I considered marrying you! All the coin in the world couldn’t persuade any man in his right mind to marry you!”
“Making friends with the prince?” Her brother’s voice came from her left. She turned to see him leaning against the stone wall, a book in one hand, a letter in the other. He smiled at her. “So, I take it you won’t be the new princess of Soldare any time soon?”
Andi laughed and went to Arlen. “I feel sorry for any woman that marries him.” She looked down at the letter in her twin’s hand. “What is that?”
“It just arrived. It is addressed to both of us. From Khett.”
Andalen took the letter and opened it.
Andi and Arlen,
Kurem has taken my father. He had passed sometime before you left Rivland, but no one is sure when. The Illness has finally taken him.
I don’t know what else to write in this letter. I cannot focus on the words I need to say to you both. The funeral will be two days after you receive this letter. The entire kingdom will show up, but it would mean the world to me if you both were th
ere. Please. I can’t do this without the two of you.
You know what this means, Arlen? We will have to compete against each other in the King Trials. You are like my brother. I do not wish to compete against you, but fate has always been a cruel mistress.
I will see you at the funeral,
Khett
Tears burned in Andalen’s eyes. “He’s right,” Andalen said, reading through the letter again. “Another King Trials is going to happen soon. Father is going to make you enter.”
“Please, Andi.” Arlen looked at her with sad, fearful eyes. “I can’t--I don’t want--I can’t enter the Trials. Not with this.” He waved vaguely at his right eye, the one he was going blind in.
Unfortunately, Andalen didn’t think Arlen’s disorder would stop their father from making Arlen enter. Lord Amadon’s dream was to see one of his blood take the Elthare throne.
She pulled her brother into a hug. “I know, Ari. I know. We’ll find a way to get you out of it. I promise you won’t have to enter.”
His arms wrapped around her, and she held him as he shook with silent sobs.
Chapter
Three
The sun hung high in the sky as Grantham Sinero walked down the cobbled streets of Oszerack. It was market day--his favorite day of the week. The streets bustled with people buying or selling food, wine, old books, prayer candles and other commodities. The smell of cooking meat, perfume oils and fruit hung heavy in the air. A group of children knocked into Grant as they ran for the table holding wooden toys and children’s books. Multiple conversations fluttered around him; the buzzing of so many different voices reminded him of a colony of bees.
Grantham and his brother, Mikhial, were dressed in simple Oszerackian fashion: vests over linen shirts with trousers. Their vests were made of a soft, rich fabric dyed blue and red, and had the Sinero emblem stitched over the left breast: a crow carrying a single poppy flower in its beak. Silk lined their pockets, and their boots were made of supple leather advertising their status as descendants of one of the five founding families of Elthare.
