by Billy Wong
After a moment's hesitation, chants of "Eleanor! Eleanor! Eleanor!" filled her ears. She walked to Lynn who stared pale-faced at her, took her rings and slipped them back on her fingers.
"You did well to assert your strength, Your Majesty," Reginald whispered at her back. "But, and I mean no offense, Gunther's accusations of hypocrisy arguably ring somewhat true."
Elly gave a small shrug. "This wasn't an opportunity I had time to prepare for. So as a practical queen, I'll take what I can get. Retrieve that divine sword of his for analysis. We might well have use for such a weapon in the future."
Chapter 10
In the following days, the nobility and government officials questioned Elly less, seeming to give her more of the deference a monarch might expect. She wasn't thrilled that it had taken gruesome violence to earn some respect, but perhaps it also reminded them she hadn't always been the vain, lazy brat they'd gotten used to. She couldn't keep up that attitude anymore as queen, so she decided to take further steps to put it behind her. "How do I look?" she asked Lynn as she tried on her dress in front of the mirror. It seemed a tad tight, even though it'd been fitted to her thick arms and shoulders, but she supposed that was to be expected of a new garment. It should get worn in and feel more comfortable soon enough.
"It doesn't really look like you," Lynn said after a moment. "Besides, are you sure a more dark and evil image is the right way to go?"
"I'm not trying to look evil. Just a little more serious and mature, and not one to be trifled with."
"I think... this might be overdoing it."
She gazed up her black sleeve, to her black fingerless gloves, to her nails which she'd planned on painting black, then glanced at the black cape that waited in the closet for after she finished straightening her dress. "I suppose I could do without the gloves and nails. I like the dress though, and the cape could be useful to keep warm on colder days."
"I hope you won't always stick with this one color scheme."
"Of course not! I'm much too colorful for that, this will just be for a while until my reputation's more established." She put the cape on, twirled around so that it swished through the air. "So cape or no cape?"
Lynn smiled. "It actually looks good. If you're not worried about today being too warm for it, go ahead."
Elly wore the cape through the rest of the day, and spent a majority of the time suffering under a blanket of sweat while discussing varied issues with lords and ministers. It tempted her to give them silly answers relating to her condition. Peasants would complain less about taxes if they weren't as hot. It would be easier to defend ships from pirates if it was less hot. The drought in the southwest would subside if it was less hot. Well, the last things might actually be related, but wouldn't help to say since humans didn't control the weather. She resisted the immature urge and did her best to reason through the problems as well as she could, though her limited knowledge hurt her at times. She hadn't been quite as averse to studying as she let on, sometimes doing it in secret in case the worst came to pass, but she was still young and hadn't had much time to become learned. Good thing she was robust enough to get by on a few hours of sleep, so she could take time in the night to catch up on useful knowledge.
After the day's business was done, she retired to the royal chambers to read before going to bed. It struck her how big and empty seeming both the bedroom and adjoined study were; she still hadn't gotten used to it, and didn't know if she ever would. Her father and mother should be here, not her. Even though Elly wanted her to stay, out of respect for tradition her mom had moved into her old room. Maybe she just needed a spouse of her own... but she'd have to choose carefully, because being stuck with the wrong man for the rest of her life was not anything she needed in addition to being stuck where she was.
When her eyelids drooped from taking in the small print of scholarly texts and she headed for bed, she noticed the folded up note tucked between the two big pillows. She opened it and her eyes widened. Meet me in the clearing where your father proposed to your mother. I have something important to discuss with you. There was no signature, but she instantly recognized the handwriting as Cyril's. Though he had been a dear friend to her, and they got along well again now that she no longer disappointed him by acting like a delinquent, she felt uneasy. What could require such privacy that they needed to talk deep in the forest? She had some idea, but didn't want to believe it until she confirmed it. Waiting until no guards looked towards her window, she jumped out of it, landed on her feet far below, and snuck her way out of the city.
She arrived in the clearing where her parents had become engaged after a royal hunting trip to find Cyril leaning against a tree. The full leaves of the forest seemed like a cruel irony; where one great partnership began twenty-some years ago, tonight another might end. "You certainly took your time," he said flatly. "I've been waiting for hours."
"I didn't see your note until I was about to go to sleep. I was reading until then."
"If you left immediately after finding the note, you must have been going to bed very late. So you're actually trying to live up to your responsibilities as queen. I'm glad, but..."
"But what? What do you want to speak to me about?"
He paused. "Is it true, what merchants say about you?"
Her heart nearly froze. As much as she'd wished and prayed for him not to go there, he had. "Is what true?"
"You know. That's why you behaved as you did for years, isn't it? You had no desire to inherit, and wanted to aggravate your parents into giving you a sibling who you could shove the duties as heir onto. But death stole your chance."
She hadn't really been trying to aggravate her mother, who knew what she was doing, but close enough. "So you know I didn't mean for this to be, and had no choice. What now?"
"Even if it was not your will, this cannot be allowed to stand." He drew his long, straight sword, gaze sad. Her very mentor meant to kill her? It made her question with a chill whether she should even exist. Yet since she already did, she found herself ultimately unwilling to give that up.
Elly looked at him with imploring eyes. "So just because I fell into this position I, who you trained and molded into the person I am, must die?"
"It is an affront to God's law! You are not of royal birth, you have no right to sit the throne. You knew this, yet you accepted it even against your own better judgment."
She spread her palms in a helpless gesture. "If me then who? I don't consider myself a perfect candidate for the crown, not even close. But there's no one else, and if I let the monarchy fall do you think this nation will survive the fighting among the nobles to decide the next ruling house? Or will God step in to choose?"
Cyril replied matter-of-factly, "God will give a sign when the time comes." Not that she questioned His existence, but to be honest she had her doubts about divine intervention when she'd never seen it before. "Until then, we must have faith and let things run their course."
"I can't!" Tears welled up in her eyes. "I can't stand to watch this land fall into ruin, and so many people die like in the last civil war. I'm a monster who's drenched her hands in the blood of thousands, but that doesn't mean I'll stand by and turn a blind eye to such bloodshed happening again."
"So you intend to fight?"
"Even if I have to kill you, I'll stand by my convictions! Sword, come." Elly gripped her blade tight, sweat already beading her neck. She hated this, feeling like the world fell apart around her. But since she was queen, even in that case she had to try and hold it together.
He gave a slight nod. "Then let us see how we measure up nowadays." They circled patiently, blades poised to strike at any instant. "Your duel with Gunther was impressive. Even so he was but a brute, so don't assume you've surpassed your teacher just yet."
She wasn't sure if he was trying to warn her or chip away at her confidence. "You don't need to tell me. You don't fight anything like Gunther." As if to emphasize her words, he sprang forward. She parried his slice, powe
rful yet looking almost light being as controlled it was. Her return stroke hit nothing but air, him flowing away with no need to intercept her weapon with his own. He came right back in, a long thrust seeking her solar plexus. She sidestepped and slashed back. His sword whipped up, at the same time deflecting hers and threatening her face. Elly leaned away but the point grazed her cheek. She ducked another high swing and cut at his legs. He jumped it, kicked. She moved her head enough so that it glanced off her shoulder and punched up. Her fist plowed into the softness between his legs, lifting him through the air before launching him away. He flew a good ten feet before bouncing head over heels and flopping onto his belly.
He looked up with his features contorted in anguish, trying his hardest to stop shaking with it. "You don't... spare any mercy for your teacher, huh?"
She touched her throbbing shoulder, badly ripped by Gunther's axe-sword and held together with stitches his boot might have popped. "I'm still a little weakened from that last fight. So I can't hold back."
Cyril hobbled upright. "Certainly. Nor would I expect you to." He resumed his attack, but now fought more carefully, staying grounded and doing all in his power not to reveal any openings. Despite his more cautious approach, he still attacked frequently, testing Elly's guard with lightning-swift, flicking strokes of his blade. She took a cut to the arm and adjusted in turn, becoming quicker to back away so Cyril couldn't put sustained pressure on her. They danced back and forth around the clearing, neither making much headway against the other's defense though their pace would still make most think it should be over in seconds. For over an hour they fought, landing a few minor cuts but no significant damage on either's body.
Breathing just a tad heavily, Cyril said, "It's almost morning. At this rate, we might not make it back in time before we're missed."
Elly's arms and legs burned with fatigue and her wounds hurt, but she could probably still go for a while yet if she wasn't killed. "Do you mean to propose something?"
"Let's put our all into offense. Even though it won't be a completely fair test of skill, if we both agree it should be an acceptable way to settle it."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I'll force you to commit." He renewed his assault, fiercer and faster than before. Even she struggled to keep track of his glinting sword, which nicked her hand and legs. Had she not caught up with him after all? It was tough to see when she could even find a chance to strike back, without opening herself up to a decisive blow. But after a missed thrust that grazed her dress, she sliced him down the arm. His bladework slowed and she took advantage, increasing her offensive output so that he was driven back. He landed a solid kick to her liver after a clash of swords, almost freezing her with the nauseating pain. Yet she powered through and swung anyway, and not counting on her to shake off it so quickly he didn't jump back quite fast enough. Her blade tore diagonally down his torso, and he groaned. She stepped briskly after him, stabbed at his ribs. He pushed her sword out to the side with his own, spun around her. She turned just in time to block a slash, but her balance was thrown off and she stumbled. Trying to recover, she misjudged the timing of his next thrust, and he ran his sword straight through her.
Elly stood shuddering while she clutched the huge blade transfixing her stomach, liquid fire filling her insides. "Sorry for killing you," Cyril said. "I know you aren't a bad person, but God's law must be-"
"You think I don't know?" she screamed, punching him away so that the sword was dragged out of her. "I've spent my adult life trying to uphold that law!" She charged him as his eyes bulged, pushing aside the ghastly pain though she felt the hot blood running down her trunk and legs. Her sword smashed into his over and over, sent him reeling across the forest floor. "But I can't die. I may not be an ideal queen, but I'm all we have—I won't let this kingdom fall!" She struck his weapon down at the ground, burying it into the soil. Before he could free it, she planted a foot atop the blade and used it as a springboard to jump up and at him. Her fist plummeted down into his cheek, and she heard bone crunch. He let go of his hilt. She ducked his clumsy attempt to punch back and tackled him into a tree so hard the trunk cracked. Too close to swing her sword, she pinned him to the tree with left hand after left hand, turning the right side of his face into a bloody pulp. Finally the trunk split apart completely and he fell through it, landing on his back.
She doubled over grabbing her stab wound as an especially sharp pang lanced through her, coughed excruciatingly while she vomited blood. To her dismay she heard Cyril clamber slowly to his feet. He was stubborn too, much like her. He walked over and brushed her hair out of the way to see her face, and she squinted up at him trying to focus her blurry vision. "You are so strong." He drew a dagger and plunged it towards her neck.
She caught his forearm on her own, keeping the knife from her flesh. Even as her sight cleared a bit, his countenance was barely recognizable due to the damage she'd inflicted. "A stupid dagger? Hardly the way I'd die." She shifted to grab his arm and tossed him—right next to his dropped sword. "Pick it up."
He almost fell bending down, threw the dagger only for her to bat it away. They limped-ran at each other once more and swung. His blade pushed hers down, the edge nearing her face. But then she stopped it and wrenched it aside. She cut him up the torso, the new wound intersecting the older diagonal one. He backpedaled, sword hanging down at his side. As she pursued and drew her own sword back, it swept at her knees with incredible speed. A deadly counter, meant to catch her off guard while she tried to press the advantage. Yet she'd figured he might try that trick. She hopped over it and then unleashed her slash. Taken off guard himself, unable to retract his weapon in time, Cyril desperately ducked. He just avoided having the top of his head removed, but couldn't stop her followup kick to where his wounds crossed. As he cringed his back bumped against a tree, and he had no more room to run. But the instant before her sword would have speared him through the neck, she stopped it. He stood staring, her point just touching the skin of his throat.
She lowered the weapon, knowing he wouldn't try to kill her right after she'd definitively proved the victor. "Go. If my reign is truly such an affront to God, let him correct it."
His gaze fell. "The student has become the master." To her surprise, he knelt, looking up to meet her eyes. "There is something to what you say. The collapse of this kingdom is a high price to ask. I suppose we can leave it to God to enforce His law, if he so pleases. Will you allow me to to serve you again?"
The pain in her stomach, such that she could scarcely stay standing, tempted her to say no. But even if he had grievously injured her, she knew him to be honorable, and if he promised to follow her he would be loyal. "You've never technically left my service. We just had a simple disagreement."
"I thank you for your forgiveness." He inspected the gash in her abdomen. "This wound... I am appalled at what I've done to you."
Elly slapped him, though all the blood from his mangled face sticking to her hand made it less satisfying. "Damn right you should be. My beautiful skin shouldn't get stabbed, too much of that will make me ugly." She sighed. "Well, time to think of an excuse for being so beat up on the way back." Leaning against one another, they headed towards the city. "If even you would betray me over this," she said under her breath, "I fear how the rest of society would react. Perhaps Reginald was right, and those who know too much should indeed be silenced."
#
"Did you hear what happened to Elly?" Celia asked while she, Edge and Lina ate roast pork and drank beer in a cozy Throwal tavern. Edge and Lina nodded. "I can't believe she and Cyril both got hurt so badly by assassins. After hearing how she took down Gunther without too much trouble, I wasn't sure anyone could challenge her—and to think none of the assassins even paid with their lives for it."
Lina shrugged. "Anyone can be injured. Eleanor herself was known for winning the last battle of the civil war with six arrows in her. Besides, they said they were caught by surprise during a late night sparring ses
sion—which is quite odd, come to think of it."
"It's bothersome still. If there are assassins out there that dangerous, I imagine it wouldn't go well if they targeted my family."
Edge patted her back reassuringly. "Don't worry so much, no assassins have come after you for a while right?"
"Yes, but without the question of who sent them and why ever being resolved, I just can't stop looking over my shoulder..."
After chatting for a while longer, Celia had drank enough beer that she needed to relieve herself. She heard someone walking behind her as she entered the stall, but thought nothing more of it than that she should hurry up for the next person's sake. But when she had finished and came out, her heart skipped a beat when a figure ran into her and pushed her roughly her back inside. It was a square-faced woman with close cropped hair, who slammed her up against the back of the stall and tried to jam a knife through her ribs. Celia caught her wrist and they struggled there growling softly at one another, no space to do much. She thought about shouting for help, but any lapse in concentration could get her killed. She kneed at the assassin's hip, didn't seem to do much damage but made her shift her footing. There, that might be her chance. She ducked while pulling her foe's arms up, causing her to unintentionally drive the knife into the wooden wall. Now she headbutted the woman in the face, knocking her back out of the stall minus her weapon. She followed, but as she made to draw her sword, her attacker turned and ran for the dining room.
"Help, thief!" Celia cried, since people might be less inclined to help subdue an assassin.
