The Ones Who Serve

by Jennifer Kenny

  “More personal? Glais they cut off my hair while we slept.” Evangeline could not contain her outburst, and in the safety of their rooms, she did not feel the need to censor herself even though they were not alone. The men in her bedroom stopped at her raised voice but quickly resumed their work before they could be accused of eavesdropping on the royal pair.

  “It was not only cut Evangeline, but it also appeared to be burnt.” Burnt was not the right word for what he had seen, but Glais had no other words to describe the ruin of her hair. He knew this news would not sit well with her. The look on her face made Glais reach for her hand, but she stood before he could lay claim to her touch.

  “Burnt?” Glais nodded, his hand still limp in the air and the offer not retracted as he watched her. “Glais, who could do such a thing?”

  “I do not know.” He fell silent as the soldiers marched past them with the bedding. Evangeline lowered her head as she realised that they were not in real safety. Once the soldiers were gone Glais took a small breath. “Thomas is collecting the men who were set to guard our rooms last evening, and I will personally interrogate them.” He stood, but Evangeline did not come to him like he wanted, but instead she started to pace back and forth in front of him. “We will find the culprit.” He tried to help.

  “Wick. Sable. Leave.” Sable moved immediately, but Wick paused. Evangeline turned to look at her. Wick’s lips parted, and it seemed she meant to speak but whatever she had intentions of saying were dismissed. She turned and left through the main doors, closing the thick wood closed behind her.

  Evangeline stepped in close to Glais’ chest and poked him. “You are still in search for whoever poisoned the soldiers.” She accused him, and Glais did nothing as she poked him again. “Am I safe here Glais?” she demanded the answer from him but did not wait for him to form an opinion. Instead, she retreated to their bedroom.

  Glais followed Evangeline’s hasty retreat, feeling he had no other choice. “Evangeline, please.” Again, he offered her his hand in an attempt to soothe her, but she slapped his hand away. A gust of wind interrupted their fight as it wheezed past the windows and disrupted the bedding that remained. The wind pulled at her robes, at the hair that remained on her head, and Glais could see the terrifying image of Evangeline’s wrath, personified with the help of the elements.

  “Glais, stop trying to touch me,” Evangeline said and sighed. “You seem to forget just what our relationship is.” She crossed her arms under her bust, staring at him with eyes that Glais had not seen in weeks, and had hoped never to see again.

  He blinked, shocked with how quickly they had fallen back into their old routines when they had been making such progress together. The bed was still rumpled from their lovemaking in the early evening. It seemed impossible that the woman before him was the same one he had lain with only hours before. “Our relationship is young Evangeline, and immature for the time we have spent together, but together we are working on it,” Glais said, feeling that Evangeline was about to lay waste to everything he thought they were working towards.

  “I told you many times Glais, and I cannot make it plainer.” Evangeline looked around their room, feeling frustrated with the surroundings yet had no one to blame for them. “I am trying, but you know I am lying to us both. I am lying to appease your guards who love to gossip, and for the spies, your father uses to keep track of me. I lie for your pride and to maintain the illusion of a committed marriage because the people need to see it.” Evangeline was getting worked up, the wind seemingly attracted by her hate.

  Like a coming storm, Glais did not know how he could calm her. Glais swallowed hard so he could speak calmly in an effort to soothe her. “I am not sure what you mean.”

  Evangeline turned to him suddenly, and never had Glais seen such emotion in her eyes. “I am faking my affections for you.” She blurted out.

  For a second there, his vision narrowed so there was nothing else in the room, but the swirl of the wind as Glais came to realise what she was telling him. He had tried to play the damaging words off as stress, or a reaction to her hair but Glais knew her well enough to know that what Evangeline had said was the truth. “You are faking all of it?” he asked, taking a step back from her. Never could he see Evangeline the same. He had believed deep to his core that they were working past the worst of it. He believed that when she called out blessings to the Gods in bed, it was him on her mind. Now Glais was forced to question everything. He felt a fool for ever falling for it.

  Evangeline sighed, and when she spoke next, her voice was calm. “I am committing to my wifely duties Glais and sharing your bed. I am ensuring the future of Braykith and hoping that Xado blesses us with an end to this curse that plagues your family. I do this for my own safety.” She interjected because he could try to make a reason for her. “Your father has not been quiet, and I have been warned by many that I am replaceable.”

  “I will never allow it,” Glais said, but he doubted Evangeline heard him.

  “I am trying to survive this cursed Kingdom Glais, and now this. Right beside you, with guards at our door, and someone has attacked me. If your father cannot get rid of me, then perhaps the rebel spies will.” Evangeline stood there, staring at Glais pointedly but he had nothing to say.

  Without even a murmur of an apology, Glais let himself out of the room. Still dressed in his sleeping clothes and a robe he headed towards the mess hall where he assumed Thomas would have gathered the men for questioning. He would think of anything else instead of the hurtful words Evangeline had just said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Q uintus was aware that the trip to Crimah would take longer than usual. In the past, he had visited his neighbour with only the barest of essentials. A few guards on horseback and supplies for a single overnight stop. Now his men were on foot, a hundred able-bodied soldiers dressed in armour and carrying their own weight in weapons and shields could not keep the pace he was accustomed too. He had made some leniency for the differences, but Quintus could see now that he had not been generous enough. As the sun set on their first day, he was forced to admit that this was taking far longer than he had anticipated and they would not reach the campgrounds he had been heading towards. Considering his options, Quintus dropped down from his horse as the scout returned to the main assembly.

  “My grace, the path appears to be clear of rebels ahead.” The scout reported.

  The king nodded, dismissing the scout casually as Quintus took in the sight of his men. The horses were not tired. They were used to harder rides than this, but his men had been on their feet all day, walking through the trees which were slowly taking over the passageways and forcing the men to stay more alert as trails were lost. Nothing on this trip was starting to meet his expectations, but Quintus would not turn back. He had promised his citizens that he would rid this land of the rebellion, a task that he had been avoiding for far too long.

  The rumours attached to Braykith had kept them safe for many years, and perhaps Quintus had become lazy as negotiations were reached easily without bloodshed. Very few even dared to look in the direction of the kingdom before flinching and turning the other way. He had been proud of that achievement, and never aware of how isolated Braykith had become from the rest of Accila. Until very recently, Quintus had undoubtedly felt that the rebellion was a problem for Crimah and not for Braykith. Until the death of his youngest son, he still believed the rebels would never directly attack him.

  Now, there was too much proof mounting to prove that false strength Quintus had felt was nothing more than the king believing his own lies. He cleared his throat, but it didn't do anything to clear his mind. Quintus looked out into the trees, and while he didn’t see anyone looking back, he had the feeling of being watched. His scout had said the lands were clear, but no one had seen a soul while the rebels were inside the castle. They were master manipulators of their domain, and Quintus knew he was just the visitor here in the trees. Unable to shake the feeling, he pressed his men on. �
��We will find shelter before nightfall.” He promised, but he could not be sure if he would.

  The unease did not settle the longer he rode. Somehow, the men kept pace with him, but Quintus wanted to turn around. Looking over his shoulder, Quintus could no longer see Braykith in the distance, but he dreaded moving forward. Trees blocked his view, and behind every trunk, there seemed to be dangers waiting in the dark. He had never experienced such an intense emotional response before, and his hand twitched for his sword. A scream carried up from the back of his ranks just as he started to believe he was merely paranoid and nothing more.

  Pulling hard on the reigns of his mount, he turned entirely, but there was nothing to see. The trees spread out in ways that had never been possible before. The clear paths he was accustomed to no longer existed, and while his men had complained of the same thing, he had never realised it was quite so disorienting to be lost in your own homelands. Clipping his heels into his horse’s sides, the animal jolted forward, leading Quintus into the danger.

  When he arrived, there was nothing to be seen but shocked soldiers. “What happened?” he demanded. Stunned faces stared back up at him, and he dismounted, shaking the first man he came in contact with. “What happened?” Quintus said again.

  “The trees. They just came alive.” He said, his voice shaking as his eyes flickered from one tree trunk to the next. He could not focus, and he would not look at Quintus out of fear of whatever had just come to pass here.

  Quintus looked at the tree line, but there was nothing to been seen. “That makes no sense.” He pushed the man away, and he fell into his brethren.

  Unsteady on his feet but standing the man shook his head at Quintus as the soldier used those around him to get his bearings. “I assure you my grace. The trees seemed to come alive, and they just took them.”

  “How many did they take?” Quintus asked. If the men wanted to believe that the trees had come alive, then he would let them. It would not make him believe it, and it would not interfere with his questions.

  Watching the confused faces of the men as they looked around, Quintus wasn’t sure if the men were counting who was missing or if they were simply looking for the next attack. These were not the soldiers he had wanted to bring and with good reason as well. But they were here, and Quintus felt their lives were his responsibility. He could not let them be picked off one by one by rebels or tree ghosts.

  “Stay together.” Quintus directed them. He walked toward the back of the regiment. Just being present appeared to help them regain their composure, and Quintus took the opportunity to test how strong his arm was. Holding his horse by the reigns, Quintus seemed to be watching and waiting, but he was listening to the heartbeats of his soldiers. He had learnt a few tricks in his long years, minor convenience of the curse which he had been sure to teach his son. While the curse used this ability to take good victims, Quintus now homed in on his own men and collected the data of their energy. The shock was wearing thin, and they were regaining the confidence in their steps as the energy of the curse swept unseen among them.

  Slowly they found a good rhythm, a pulsing unity that Quintus would come to expect from his men, but even the slightest sounds made their hearts spike. Frowning, Quintus looked into the trees, and still, there was nothing he could see.

  Reigning in his curse and forcing the thing back into the depths of his soul where it usually resided, Quintus drove the stallion on little faster than the men were marching, hoping to spot a difference in the heartbeat of his men and those in the trees. Ahead, shouts were heard, but again Quintus was too late to see the exchange. These men were not taken but laid dead on the ground. Their bodies were crumpled with their weapons drawn, but they were not used. The dead soldiers had been taken by complete surprise.

  Quintus drew his sword, his horse dancing in place as the tension ran through the air. Holding the reins tightly, Quintus struggled to bring his horse back under control. “Formation.” He shouted, and it was a moment before the men responded to his orders. Never had they been trained for these conditions and no one was quite sure what to do. As soon as one moved, others followed, and the men came to form battle ready circles.

  Back to back, swords at the ready with bowmen in the centre, prepared to fire should Quintus call for it as the horses continued to fret back and forth. Silence settled slowly on the tracks as the Braykith army waited for the next attack. No forest animals darted across the leaves, and no birds flew. The silence was unnerving, but the men continued to stay quiet. Quintus knew it was useless. Their foe had been so silent in their attacks there had been no warning. They would not be making mistakes now.

  The sun was setting quickly, but Quintus would not let them break formation. He was playing directly into the enemy’s plans, and he knew it, which Quintus hated to admit. He also hated to admit that the sluggish formation of his troops was a reflection of his own leadership. He would need to protect these men now so they would live to learn better lessons in warfare. His horse would not settle, and a sharp tug on his reigns only seemed to agitate the black stallion further. Finally, Quintus slid from the animals back and would let Xado decide the horse’s fate as it took off out of his view.

  With only one weapon that could be useful, Quintus pressed back into his own men. He stood with his sword at the ready, body poised for moments, except his eyes were closed. In his mind, the curse was a tangible object, a mist that could be grabbed and used in the world when Quintus needed it. He took his growing thirst and Quintus pushed it out into the woods to seek its prey. He needed to find where these rebel men were hiding. And they were only men. He knew there were strange things in this world that the ordinary could not believe, and their imaginations filled in the blanks creating monsters when there was nothing there.

  Quintus knew bloodlust, witches, and dryads as only the beginning of a list that may never be finalised. Quintus did not plan to finish that list, but he would not create monsters in the closing dark. Settling back, he pushed on his hunger, and slowly it found the warm body of something in the trees. Snake-like coils brushed over the figure, and it longed to strike out. Instead, Quintus used his sword to direct his own men’s focus on his prize.

  “There,” Quintus shouted, and a wave of arrows shot out from his troops a second after he spoke and into the trees. Something heavy hit the ground, but Quintus did not let his men break formation to celebrate. He pushed the thirst more, turning the curse into a tangible thing as his father had taught him. He had trained the curse to seek food, and now he used it to track down the people who had been planning to pick them off one by one.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  E vangeline sat in the chair, running her hand through her hair and bringing the ends into her vision. She did not like it. With a loud huff, Evangeline shoved the hair back over her shoulder and sunk lower in the seat to sulk. She knew it did not fit for a lady of her station to act in such a manner, but with only Wick and Sable in the room with her, Evangeline was free to express herself rather than cast the image people expected.

  “Thomas is looking for the person who did this,” Sable said, but Evangeline did not respond. Sable had been saying it all day.

  “Forgive me if I am not certain in his abilities to do that job well,” Evangeline snapped back. “We are still yet to locate the person responsible for the poison.” Evangeline rose from the chair, not apologising to Wick. She knew that she should be politer to her since she had fixed the worst of the damage, but Evangeline had been simmering in her annoyance all day, and that was not likely to change anytime soon. “How did this even happen?”

  It was the one question she had that no one could answer. Evangeline took her leave and did not pause when she saw the guards stumble when she suddenly appeared in the doorway. One moved to try and follow, and she stopped him instantly with a hand to his chest. “Please do not bother. Your reputation has been exaggerated.” Too afraid to go against her orders, the soldiers stood back and let Evangeline walk down the corrid
or without an escort.

  Nothing could drain the emotion from her body. She walked as fast as she dared, thinking terrible things she would never say. The hate seemed to rise and recycle back within itself rather than disperse. Feeling hot and overwhelmed she dashed down the stairs and out the doors. The fresh evening air hit her face, and Evangeline stopped. Breathing in deep, she took in the cold air and held it within her lungs.

  Letting it out slowly, Evangeline opened her eyes without realising she had closed them, to begin with. Her arms were crossed over her torso, hugging her chest tightly. She loosened her hold a little but never could quite relax. She could not believe that someone would be so daring just to enter her rooms and do such things. The rooms had been her sanctuary, and now she felt homeless. Sitting on the bench in the gardens, hardly illuminated by the torchlight, she felt safe enough at least.

  Evangeline brought her hair forward again, looking at the ends which Wick had trimmed into simple layers. She would need to apologise to her mute servant when they met next. Evangeline ran her fingers over the collected strands and tried to find something positive, but there were no silver linings. Regardless of what Wick had done, seeing her hair now was just a reminder of how dangerous this Kingdom was. Her hair would always appear damaged to Evangeline, and she simply could not forget how she had been attacked in what was the only safe room she had in Braykith.

  Tears came to her eyes, but she wiped them away with a decisive flick of her fingers. She would not cry over such things, not here where she could be witnessed. Evangeline knew better than to believe that the guards outside her chambers would let her out of their sights. She felt like she was being watched but did not bother to find the source. The individual did not matter, and there was no threat she could produce that would cause them to leave. The guards were always watching her.