by Cayla Kluver
“I assume you mean the woman in the garden,” London said, leaning against the wall by the door. Either in deep thought or out of a reluctance to encourage my interest, he folded his arms across his chest and seemed to be scrutinizing the pattern of the rug that covered much of the wood floor.
“You asked me if I had any idea who had intruded upon my ‘precious garden.’ I believe those were your exact words. Now I want to know.”
London flinched, not used to being the target of my indignation.
“I’m sorry…about how I spoke to you earlier.”
He raised his eyes to mine, his expression sincere, and I moved closer to him, my irritation slipping away.
“You were dealing with the circumstances at hand. No one can blame you for that. Now, won’t you please tell me who she is?”
“Her name is Nantilam.” He spoke these words as if I were an irksome fly he hoped to shoo away.
I scrunched up my face in concentration, for the name sounded familiar, but I was unable to dredge any details from my memory.
“Who?” I repeated, exasperated.
“Nantilam. I’m sure you’ve heard of her. She’s—” London broke off and shook his head, scowling. “I’ve said too much already.”
He pushed away from the wall and walked to the hearth, where he stooped to add wood to the fire.
“London,” I pleaded, pursuing him for a few steps. “If you’re worried that telling me will rouse my father’s anger, I promise that nothing you say to me will find its way to him. I am well aware that he does not view such matters as appropriate for the ears of a woman, and you would not be the only one with whom he would be displeased. Now, who is she?”
London regarded me for a moment before relenting.
“Nantilam is the High Priestess of Cokyri. You might say she’s their queen, except that she bears no marital ties to their overlord. They are siblings—twins.”
“So what exactly is her purpose?”
He sighed, recalling how little I knew of the Cokyrian lifestyle.
“In Cokyri, females are held in higher regard than males, and historically women have ruled the empire. Now the High Priestess and her brother, the Overlord, reign over Cokyri together. The Overlord is a seldom seen and greatly feared entity who protects and defends the High Priestess and the Cokyrian people. Nantilam rules Cokyri in all other respects.”
“Why are the people so afraid of the Overlord?”
“He is not viewed as a person, like our king. He is a fierce warlord, evil and terrifying, sensationalized by decades of legends and myths. They say he has the power to wield black magic, to call it forth from his wicked soul. That he can kill you or worse with a wave of his hand. And it is not just the Cokyrians who tell these stories—Hytanicans swear by them also—soldiers who met him on the battlefield and never returned to the way they once were. Few returned at all.”
“Did you ever see him?”
I knew little about London’s past, other than that he had fought in the war—he was, first and foremost, a soldier of Hytanica and had been before becoming a member of the King’s Elite Guard. I had never asked about his life, and he had never volunteered any information.
London turned to gaze at the crackling fire and did not respond for a long time.
“I did,” he finally answered.
My inquisitiveness got the better of me, and I pressed further. “What is he like?”
“We were talking about Nantilam,” London said tightly, eyes once more on me, forbidding me to insist he recount more.
I yielded, abandoning my pursuit of information about the warlord and hoping I hadn’t quashed his willingness to share what he knew about Nantilam.
“Then please, tell me more about the High Priestess.”
To my relief, he motioned for me to sit, and I resettled upon the burgundy sofa, waiting for him to continue.
“We don’t know much. Despite all his secrecy, we actually know more about the Overlord than the High Priestess. She was not openly involved in fighting the war and has not been of particular importance to us…until tonight. Now we need to know what she was doing in the garden of the Hytanican Palace.”
“What will be done with her?”
He sighed, clearly tiring of my tenacious interest.
“She’ll stay in a cell overnight, and tomorrow she’ll be brought to the Throne Room for questioning.”
“Will I be allowed to be there?”
“Well, you are a member of the royal family.” London ran a hand wearily through his silver hair. “However, the King could forbid your attendance.”
I frowned, all too familiar with the restrictions brought about by my father’s overzealous concern for safety.
“By next year I will be Queen. I must be prepared for that in every way possible, and that means learning about the enemy, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but you will not be King. It will not be left to you to make important decisions for the kingdom, so your knowledge of the enemy, as you call it, is inconsequential.”
I was fuming inside, for I knew London was right, and that my father in all likelihood would bar me from the interrogation.
“I don’t care. I will be there, no matter my father’s opinions.”
My bodyguard gave an unconcerned shrug. “You should go to bed. Tomorrow will be a notable day, I’m sure.”
“Good night, London, and thanks for expanding my knowledge.”
I prepared for bed, confident that the Palace Guards outside my door had been posted until morning, for I knew Cannan and Kade well enough to realize that they would view the evening’s developments as necessitating extra precautions. I snuffed out my lantern and slid under my comforter, my exhausted body battling my restless mind, for the former sought sleep while the latter wrestled with the best way to approach my father in the morning. My body eventually won out and I fell into oblivion, no firm plan of action at the ready.
“Father!”
My voice echoed throughout the cavernous Throne Room, with its stone walls and floor and vaulted oak-beamed ceiling. It was just after sunrise, and the weak light that filtered through the windows high in the northern wall did little to dispel the morning’s somber atmosphere.
A spacious marble dais was centered at the far end of the hall, and my father regarded me from where he sat upon his jewel-encrusted throne. My mother’s throne stood to his left but was unoccupied, whether by her choice or my father’s decree I did not know. A traditional woman, she would follow my father’s instruction without question. I had always been able to rely on her for a parent’s love, but never for support in challenging the King. Two ornate chairs were positioned to the left of her throne, to be used by Miranna and me on those occasions when we attended my parents in the Hall of Kings, as this room was also known.
I determinedly closed the distance between us, London at my heels. My father came to his feet, his disapproving expression intensified by the austere faces of my ancestors in the portraits that hung on the walls to my left and right. Clearly the King was stunned by my unconventional entrance, and the expressions on the faces of the dozen Elite Guards, who stood six to each side of the thrones, matched my father’s. Only Cannan, standing on the King’s right, seemed unperturbed.
“Alera,” my father said, dropping his volume but not his scold. “You should not be here.”
“I’ve come to witness the interrogation, Your Majesty. I see no reason why I should be confined to my quarters.”
“But you must stay in your quarters. I will not have my daughter exposed to the vile creature about to be brought before us.”
“I have already been exposed to her, Sire, for I am the one who was threatened in the garden. Out of all those assembled here, it is I who most deserve to know the significance of this incident.”
My father, his mind already focused on the day’s business, was at a loss for a response. He moved his mouth to articulate an argument, but no sound came forth. Before he could rally to den
y my request, he was distracted by the opening of a door at the far end of the room, and I knew the prisoner was about to be brought into the hall.
“Stay,” he muttered.
“Thank you,” I said, and both he and I took our seats, London moving to stand behind me.
Kade emerged through the door that led to the dungeon, followed by two guards who held the Cokyrian between them. The dungeon was a wholly unpleasant place that I had only visited once in my life, thanks to London’s willingness to satisfy a ten-year-old’s curiosity. There were many cells with stone walls, dirt floors and thick wooden doors, each with a barred window barely large enough to show a prisoner’s full face. It was dark, lit sparsely by torches placed only along the corridor walls, and the dampness created a cold that could not be forgotten, even if a captive was fortunate enough to be released.
I did not know how the woman cast before the King had been able to abide her time in our custody. The shadows on her face gave evidence of a rough night, but still she was striking. Her eyes were large and many different shades of green, somehow stormy as the sea and bright as the spring at the same time. Her hair, though unkempt, was a beautiful deep red, falling unevenly to her rounded jaw, and her skin was the golden color of one who spent her life out of doors. She was clothed in black, her shirt and leggings made of a lightweight and fluid fabric, and a most unusual silver pendant hung about her neck. It was narrow at its gold-tipped base, widening in a graceful curve as it flowed upward to be banded together with six overlapping pieces of silver, which reminded me of blades of grass bending before a breeze.
“Tell us who you are,” demanded my father, staring down at her and growling out the words with a commanding quality that he saved for criminals and misbehaving daughters.
The prisoner, whose hands were bound in front of her, did not respond. Instead she shifted position, pushing herself more upright so that she crouched on one knee, the other foot planted beneath her. Her head was bowed, although most certainly not out of respect.
“Answer now, Cokyrian,” my father ordered, and I surveyed the scene in confusion, for I would have thought it unnecessary to press the woman about her identity.
Still she did not reply, but slowly raised her head, meeting the gaze of her enemy evenly, almost challengingly. There was an unmistakable aura of power about her.
“Need I remind you that you are in our control, and we therefore have the ability to make you talk? You would do well to cooperate.”
At last Nantilam spoke, her tone derisive. “And you would do well to let me go, for I am not now, nor will I ever be, in your control, Hytanican cur.”
The insult had barely reached my ears when I felt, more than heard, London move forward to jump from the dais and land before the prisoner. With a swift kick to the chest, he knocked her backward off her feet, and I gripped the arms of my chair in alarm, terrified that his hatred of Cokyri had taken control of his senses. I watched as he dropped down beside Nantilam, one of his blades pressed against her throat, his deep indigo eyes boring into her belligerent green ones.
“How did she obtain a weapon?”
Cannan was striding down the steps of the dais, jaw clenched. He halted next to London and yanked Nantilam to her feet. My bodyguard rose, and I barely registered, above the wild beating of my heart, the clatter as the small dagger the prisoner had been clutching landed on the floor.
London reached out with one hand and jerked the silver chain from the prisoner’s neck, examining it thoroughly, for the pendant looked broken. Picking up the dagger, he carefully fitted it into the portion of the pendant that dangled from the chain.
My father had risen to his feet and was now twisting the royal ring in agitation, his expression a mixture of disgust and fear.
“Take her away,” he ordered. “Bring her before us again at the end of the week with a looser tongue.”
Kade signaled to his guards, who grabbed the prisoner by her arms and pulled her away from London and Cannan. She did not resist, but her cool gaze never wavered from my father’s face.
The men conferred in the aftermath of the incident while I pondered the question the King had repeatedly posed.
“Father,” I asked, when I finally had an opportunity to approach him. “Why did you demand her name when we already know who she is?”
My father’s brow creased.
“We do not know who she is, or what she is doing in Hytanica. All we know is that she is a Cokyrian intruding upon our home, and we intend to discover the reason.” He considered me, his frown deepening. “Why would you think otherwise?”
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I just assumed.”
I left the Hall of Kings in a muddled state, wanting to talk to London, who had stayed behind in discussion with Cannan. I knew, however, that he would soon return to duty as my bodyguard, providing ample opportunity for me to satisfy my curiosity and clear up my confusion.
CHAPTER 4
TREACHERY AFOOT
THOUGH THE INTERROGATION HAD NOT yielded any information about Nantilam, the next few days did indeed prove to be notable. Cannan had organized a search of the entire kingdom for other Cokyrians who might have been aiding our prisoner in her as yet undetermined scheme; he also had put additional security measures in place within the palace. No member of the royal family was to be left unguarded at any time for any reason, which meant that London was now on duty twenty-four hours a day. In addition, Kade, at Cannan’s direction, had posted Palace Guards around every corner, and areas that were already under guard were reinforced so that it was impossible to be alone under any circumstance.
As the initial flurry of activity subsided, my father tried several times to talk to me, no doubt about choosing a suitor, and how that suitor should be Steldor. While I was confident he would never force me to marry Cannan’s willful and arrogant son, I also knew he would not understand my resistance to the match. Most people agreed with my father’s assessment of Steldor, and it pained me to witness the adoration that was heaped upon him; it seemed every young man wanted to be like him and every young woman wanted to be in his arms. Giggling girls were the worst—from their point of view, he was status and wealth wrapped in a very enticing package, and they did not seem to mind that he toyed with them for his own amusement. But I needed neither status nor wealth, and had no interest in being used for entertainment.
Ultimately, my father did manage to confront me about my marriage prospects. I was lounging on the sofa in my parlor in the early evening when there was a knock on the door.
“Should I get that, or do you want to pretend you’re not here?” London asked from where he was placidly leaning against the wall in the back of the room.
“You can answer it, if you wish to do so,” I replied with a shrug.
I tried to disregard his last comment. It was true that I used that ruse on occasion when I was trying to avoid someone, and London knew I was not looking forward to a conversation with the King. In any case, he went to the door and granted entrance to my father, who swept across the threshold before I had time to mentally prepare.
“Alera,” he said cheerfully. “With all that’s been going on, I feel as though we’ve been dodging each other!” He chortled at what he considered to be a joke. “It’s good to finally have some time when we can talk.”
“Shall I step outside?” London offered from his position by the open door.
“No, no. That’s not necessary at all. I’ll only be a moment. Besides, you’d probably run afoul of one of your captain’s rules if you did. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for getting you in trouble with Cannan!”
London closed the door and rested against the wall, arms crossed in his usual manner, while my father came to sit beside me on the sofa, spurring me to straighten my posture.
“As I was saying, Alera. I had intended to speak to you on the night of your birthday, but things got a bit chaotic. Thank goodness for Cannan’s clear head. If it weren’t for him, I don’t know what sort o
f mess we’d be in right now.”
London bristled in an uncommon show of annoyance that my father was giving Cannan credit for dealing with the intruder. All the same, he held his tongue.
“What I would like to discuss with you is the selection of your husband,” my father continued, his brown eyes warm and affectionate. “I was delighted to hear from Lord Steldor that he greatly enjoyed the evening he spent with you. Tell me, has any other young man caught your eye?”
While almost any young man might have been better than Steldor, I could think of no one whom my father would be willing to seriously evaluate. Steldor was clearly the heir apparent; he had been groomed his entire life to be successor to the King.
“I’m afraid not, Father.”
“I will not conceal my thoughts from you,” he responded, a satisfied air settling over him. “I am content that Steldor is the only young man under consideration, and I am quite heartened that he has shown an interest in you.”
I suppressed a grimace, having noticed that my father was far more concerned about Steldor’s opinion of me than he was about my opinion of Steldor.
“Lord Steldor is…a remarkable person. But I am not convinced he is the man I should marry.”
“What can you possibly mean, Alera?”
“I simply mean…” I was scrambling for a rationale other than the truth, which he would not find sufficient. “I see Steldor only as a friend. Perhaps it would be better if he were to marry Mira.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “If he married Miranna, he wouldn’t become King.”
“But she is better suited to his…personality.”
“And he is better suited to rule than anyone else in this kingdom.” My father’s rising level of frustration was evidenced by the increasing animation of his hands. “And ability to rule is the primary basis upon which this decision is to be made.”
“I understand that, Father,” I acknowledged, looking toward the floor.
He cupped my chin to raise my face to his, and his countenance softened.
