“Just ensure she’s dead. If not, you will answer for it. Do you understand?” Jarin warned.
Ghedrii gave a nod and bow. He knew to leave this place as soon as Jarin left. He would not return. Failing a member of the king’s guard meant his death. Failure was not an option if he intended to enjoy spending the gold.
The sensation of the executioner’s ax hovering near his neck eased as Grand Meister Jarin walked away. Kill the girl, save his own life. It was simple really.
***
Chapter 6
Escape
Orizahr ensured a well-coordinated departure. Kaegan waited for her at the far end of the hallway. Ebin served as their guide, leading them down a hidden back stairway and through a narrow ally at the rear of the Keep. He stayed with them until they mounted the horses at the gate. Before they left, he pushed a heavy purse filled with gold into Kaegan’s hand. “Keep to the south along the coast. Riverpoint and beyond is safe. The king has few supporters there.”
Kaegan gave a curt nod. As they left Astor, the sun was setting in the western sky. The gravity of the situation forced them to travel by night if they hoped to outrun the assassins.
They kept to the south as they traveled. A crudely drawn map of the Old World, provided by Ebin upon their departure from Astor, marked major roadways, towns or cities. Travel to the north or west would lead them into dangerous territories that supported King Cedric.
They traveled beneath the cloak of night. During the day they camped in caves or other sheltered areas that would hide their presence from prying eyes. The southern coast was mostly unexplored or settled. After a few weeks travel Loriann relaxed visibly. “We need not ride as hard. The followers are off our trail.”
A few days later, they rode into the fishing village at Riverpoint. Occasionally, residents traveled to other towns for supplies. Nomadic caravans visited from time to time. Most lived out their simple lives on the shores of the nearby river or on the pristine white beaches a stone’s throw away.
Kaegan had become an expert at haggling. His natural ability to haggle came as easily as the children of Riverpoint learned to swim. Within hours of arriving, he had purchased a small hut on the beach as their residence.
It did not surprise Loriann to see the bamboo chairs, a table, and a bed that furnished the interior. A stone fireplace chinked with clay offered warmth against the ocean’s chilly wind. A fishing net hung from a hook beside the door. Kaegan tied the horses to a palm tree to graze in the thick grasses growing near the hut. She slept peacefully that night, lying on the floor before the fire, for the first time in days.
The rising sun signaled the end of their first night in Riverpoint. Loriann rose as a sudden queasiness overwhelmed her. Kaegan found her nearby, clutching a palm tree as she wretched miserably into the swirling surf. “The fish stew didn’t sit well,” she explained with a wan smile.
The daily bouts of nausea increased over the next few weeks. Loriann grew pale and thin. Kaegan’s concern grew as she refused food and experienced bouts of exhaustion several times each day. The once vibrant, energetic woman he knew had taken ill.
One day he haggled for a hammered metal tub for their baths. He carried it into their hut while Loriann had gone to collect ingredients for more potions. When she returned, he had filled the tub with hot, steaming water carried from a nearby brook that emptied into the ocean before being heated in the fireplace. She squealed with excitement, “Please may I go first?”
“Of course,” he replied with a rakish grin.
She rewarded him with a brief embrace and a beaming smile. It was the first time in days he had seen life in her. He stepped outside to give her privacy but something drew his eyes back inside. Loriann undressed, clothing dropped carelessly on the floor, before stepping into the tub. The setting sun shone through the open doorway onto her bare body as she bent to sit in the water. The breath caught in his throat. Why had he not noticed the change before? The fuller breasts and rounded belly served as evidence of her condition.
She slid into the hot water with a sigh. He could only watch, afraid to interrupt or let her know he had spied upon her bath. After she had bathed, he joined her by the fire.
“You spoil me,” she sighed.
“I should spoil you more often, my lady.” Several moments passed in silence as they watched the flames dancing within the hearth. “Loriann, when was your last moon blood?”
“It was in Astor, right after we met the archmage.” Her voice trailed off, face growing pale as she sat upright.
“You’re carrying my child, Loriann,” he dared not touch her even though his hands ached to hold her, touch the roundness of her belly where his child grew. “Are you upset?”
She glanced up and spoke after a long silence. “I am uncertain how I feel, Kaegan. Perhaps time will tell.”
Loriann paid a visit to the village midwife the next day. The older woman nodded as she learned when her last moon blood had occurred. The soft, firm hands had gently prodded her belly before pronouncing she was four months along in the pregnancy.
Loriann sewed gowns and booties after finding there was ample time to prepare. She had haggled with the local seamstress for soft muslin then asked for some guidance on the task at hand. She learned the basics of the needlework within a few days.
Another month passed. The sickness that had assailed her, eased. The first fleeting movements of the child became discernible. A mother’s love grew with each movement within her womb. She shared the new feelings about the baby with Kaegan.
He grinned, happy at last to know she loved his child growing within her womb, daring to reach out and stroke her face gently. She did not retaliate. He hoped she had forgiven him for the wrongs of the past.
A peddler came to the village a few days later. The brightly colored covering of his wagon and sweet treats drew the children. The village women bartered for exotic fabrics, trinkets, and thread.
The singsong chat of the peddler’s voice as he bartered drew Loriann to the wagon. A young child trotted up to Loriann, a sticky hand holding a piece of a candied date up to her. She took the offered gift, nibbling at it as she approached the wagon.
“Ah, miss! You come for treats? Ghedrii has a treat for you!” The dark-skinned man gave her a wide smile as he poured a few sugary pieces of fruit into her hand. “You try! Children like dates. You like too!”
She popped a piece of the sweet dried fruit into her mouth. Unlike the piece of fruit the child gave her, this fruit was sickeningly sweet. A bitterness caused her to cough abruptly. She turned and spat the last of the fruit onto the ground.
“You no like?” the peddler said with a laugh. He leaned across the table set up in front of the wagon. His dark face inches from her own. “Wrong fruit for you!”
A sudden chill spread through the pit of her stomach at the peddler’s words. Glancing at the ground, she noticed ants covering a piece of fruit dropped by a child. The piece of fruit spat on the ground lay untouched, ants giving it a wide berth as they focused on procuring food for their brethren.
Head spinning wildly, sickness swarming throughout her body, the urge to empty her stomach on the ground growing by the second, she turned homeward with a desperation to find Kaegan.
She saw him on the beach, thigh deep in the surf as he pulled the fishnet ashore. The spray dampened sun-kissed curls and his deeply tanned skin. Muscles rippled in his arms, chest, and back. His arms were her haven. The muscles of her womb tensed, a knifing pain biting through her lower body so intensely that the desperate search for Kaegan paused for a moment. She leaned heavily against a nearby palm tree. A gush of sticky dampness between her thighs came as the next cramp bit deeply into her belly.
She beckoned for Kaegan, legs shaking as a harsher cramp ripped through her womb. Glancing down, she realized the sticky dampness was her blood, the child’s blood. The stain grew as rivulets of crimson stained her legs and feet. The dry, pearlescent sand hungrily drank the child’s lifeblood.
The midwife arrived too late. Loriann’s clothing clung to her body, damp with sweat. A harsh, guttural cry of agony and fear burst from her lips as she fought against the pains. As the midwife raised the hem of Loriann’s gown the baby’s body slid from her womb, slick against her thighs.
“My baby!” she sobbed. Heaving shoulders and shaking hands accompanied the gut-wrenching sounds.
The midwife lifted the babe onto Loriann’s breast. She handled the translucent skinned infant as if it were a fragile treasure.
Kaegan’s feet carried him to her side, great strides that closed the distance from where he stood to the bed in just a few steps. They wept, tears pouring from darkened eyes as the babe’s deep blue eyes opened briefly, impossibly small fingers curling around Kegan’s finger.
The babe’s mouth opened slightly, eyes closed. The fragile body did not move again as its heart stopped beating.
“There was nothing I could do. It was too soon,” the midwife offered. Tears streamed down her softly wrinkled cheeks.
Loriann held the babe tight against her breast, refusing to let him go. The midwife bound the afterbirth and stained linens into a single bundle. “You must burn it all,” she explained to Kaegan. “The poison was strong. It could taint other things.”
Kaegan remained silent but nodded. He feared speech would shred the precarious control he maintained over the agonizing grief. He waited, not speaking or moving, by Loriann’s side until she willingly relinquished the baby into his hands. He chose one of the tiny gowns she had painstakingly sewn for the baby to dress him in. He lovingly wrapped the small body in a soft muslin blanket. He created a small pyre in the fireplace before placing the baby’s body atop the flames.
Loriann and Kaegan watched without outward emotion as the flames consumed their son’s body. None could know the harsh anguish within their hearts.
Kaegan waited until the ashes had cooled before removing and placing them in a silk pouch then within a tiny wooden chest. He burned the soiled linen and afterbirth next.
They remained in the hut a few weeks longer as Loriann regained her strength. They did not speak of the loss. She had grown withdrawn and quiet. Kaegan could see the rage building in her eyes as each day passed. They both knew that they would vengeance on those responsible for their son’s death. One evening after she was strong enough, he set the hut on fire. They watched until the flames died before turning their horses northwest. They did not look back.
***
Chapter 7
Willem’s Success
“You are certain the assassin found her? She is dead?” Cedric inquired as Grand Meister Jarin joined him in the solar.
The private room just off the great hall was one of the king’s favorite private rooms. High windows allowed ample amounts of sun to enter the room. Tapestries rich with artistic detail hung on each side of the massive oak mantel. A marble fireplace held a roaring fire to ward off the chill.
Heavy mists and rains often beset Simland, the northernmost hold. Rarely did the sun’s rays shine for more than a day. King Cedric was fond of the cooler weather. Rumors swirled that he could not tolerate heat or high humidity because of his substantial bulk. None dared ask the king for the truth on this matter.
“The assassin is an expert. His services have never failed me in the past.” Grand Meister Jarin beamed at his king as he bowed. “I have removed the thorn from your side, your grace.”
Willem Jarin was a muscular man of some thirty-odd years. Jousting, training, and carrying the massive suit of armor about on his person had strengthened him. Piercing blue eyes set beneath thick brows surveyed everything in his environment. It appeared the meister continually examined each person as a potential opponent in some fashion.
Willem’s prowess on the battlefield was legendary. The meister’s steel broadsword carried the inscription Hope’s End. If any person dared inquire further explanation of the weapon’s name, he replied with a coarse laugh, “Any man who faces my blade loses hope for any mercy at its end.”
“There is but one but one reward worthy of your feat,” Cedric proclaimed. “My youngest daughter, Emely. It is pastime she wed.”
“It would honor me, your grace!” The plan has fallen into place perfectly! Jarin thought. “I would like to announce the betrothal immediately, with your permission, your grace.”
The king agreed with Willem. “The wedding should take place soon. Emely will be pleased to hear the news!”
Willem left the solar wearing a satisfied grin on his face. It was vitally important to speak with his accomplice immediately. He located Petyr Reimfred walking in the garden. The weather was harsher in the northernmost lands of the Olde World. Regardless, the royal gardener had created a dazzling display of intricately groomed hardy bushes and trees.
“Join me for a walk, Grand Meister Jarin?” Petyr called out.
“It would honor me,” Willem replied. Beneath his breath, “Our plan is falling into place. We should keep walking, look for others.”
“When will you announce the glad tidings?”
“Immediately. Cedric has agreed that a hasty wedding would be appropriate.” Then Willem chuckled, “He speaks as if joining the two houses is a grand thing. Perhaps for us it is.”
The two men stopped speaking as a gardener passed by, hoe in hand. “I daresay the union will benefit our compatriots more so than Cedric. First the king, then your blushing bride. With them out of the way, your claim to the throne will be unchallenged.” Petyr bowed to Willem. “Well played, good sir.”
***
Emely
“I refuse to marry him!” Emely screamed upon hearing the news of the betrothal. King Cedric had delivered the news personally.
“You will marry Grand Meister Jarin. There will be no further discussion on the subject,” Cedric commanded.
Emely screamed and stamped her feet. She cried, wailed, and threw herself up on the bed. “I will fling myself from the wall if you force me to marry him,” she threatened.
King Cedric’s fingers bit hard into Emely’s arms. He yanked her from the bed then and shook her hard. “You will do no such thing, Emely Catarina Norwood! You behave as a spoiled child having a tantrum to get her way. If you threaten or attempt anything further, I will have you thrown into the dungeon where you will wait until the wedding! Do I make myself clear?”
Emely knew it best not to test her father’s command. Her position saved the princess from a harsher punishment. To challenge her father further could land her in the dungeon, or worse, beneath the executioner’s ax. As any proper young lady would, she drew herself up, gave a smile and curtsey as she said, “Yes, your grace.” There were other ways to express her displeasure with the betrothal.
“I am glad to see your resistance has changed to willingness. The wedding will take place in a fortnight. The royal seamstress will pay you a visit later. Please see you select a gown befitting of your rank and beauty,” Cedric informed her.
Emely knew just what she would wear on her wedding day. The perfect dress that spoke of her true feelings on the arranged marriage to Willem Jarin.
***
Emely and Willem
The wedding took place a fortnight after the betrothal. The affair was small with only venerable guests from the city and Cedric’s court invited. There was not enough time to spread word to all the holds.
Guests filled the chapel. The groom, dressed in his wedding day finery, stood at the front of the chapel awaiting the bride. All eyes focused on the back of the chapel for a glimpse of the bride. King Cedric stood near the front of the chapel, a few feet from Willem and the priest officiating the ceremony. Then came the first glimpse of the bride as she entered the chap
el followed by her ladies-in-waiting.
Emely’s black wedding dress was of a simple design. Black velvet with scalloped lace of similar color trimmed the sleeves and bodice. An intricate design of black pearls and matching sapphires embellished the bodice. A long, flowing skirt, typical of the period, swept from waist to floor. A delicate tiara set with black sapphires sat atop the bride’s hair. The long, black lace train hung past her waist.
The veil nearly obscured the bride’s pale, beautiful face. The back of the train flowed down the bride’s slender back then extended several feet past the end of the skirt’s hem. A wide ribbon embellished with jewels cinched encircled her narrow waist.
The seamstress questioned the design. Emely was adamant that a dress of this design was befitting of the occasion. She was confident it would amaze the wedding guests-and amaze it did.
An audible gasp came from the wedding guests as they caught the first glimpse of the bride and attendants. The ladies-in-waiting wore simple crimson dresses without embellishment of similar design. Each lady wore a matching crimson wimple.
Emely approached the altar with a steady, measured pace. A rising sense of panic paired with a sickening surge of nausea in the pit of her stomach made her head spin. Breath! It will soon be over, she thought. She knew the thought was a lie. Years of torment awaited her as the wife of Grand Meister Willem Jarin.
Willem’s jaw tightened imperceptibly as his bride entered. The whispers and gasps of the wedding guests fed his growing displeasure.
Anyone who glanced in King Cedric’s direction revealed the monarch’s reaction. The king’s eyes blazed with disapproval at Emely’s token sign of resistance.
The ceremony gained an air of gloominess. Princess Emely swayed, became more pallid, and nearly fainted as the officiant bade the newly married couple to kiss. The somber mood remained as the newlyweds entered the great hall for the reception.
After too many glasses of wine and jolly toasts to the couple, Emely trembled as she thought of what was to come. The bedding ceremony historically ranged from austere to outright bawdiness. She prayed the ceremony would be over soon.
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