The Gypsy Queen

by Samuel Solomon

“I know you are hurting, your majesty,” Mille said in a hushed tone. “You don’t have to say anything... but maybe just for today, you could use more rest.” She was overstepping her bounds, but she really wanted to help the young King. Bastion looked her right in the eye.

  “You are a gypsy, yes?” Bastion said.

  “Yes, your majesty,” Mille answered.

  “Are you a prisoner of this palace?” Bastion asked.

  “No, your highness.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing here?” Bastion growled quietly.

  “King Bastion,” Otta said with surprise, entering the galley. He had heard the news, too.

  “Good morning, Uncle Otta,” Bastion said with contempt. Otta was unprepared to address the King so early.

  “I, uh...” He started, not sure what to say.

  “Do not speak to me,” Bastion said with conviction. Otta was taken aback.

  “I am sorry, my King,” Otta tried to respond.

  Crash! Bastion threw his hot clay cup full of coffee directly at him, forcing Otta to duck. It shattered against the wall behind him, as Otta looked at him in shock.

  “I said do not speak to me!” Bastion boomed at him. The whole room froze again. Mille intervened.

  “Please, your majesty, come with me,” she said, taking his hand. Bastion did not resist. He knew he was not well at all, and that Mille was saving him from further embarrassment. They walked past Otta, into the palace halls, and Mille led him to the King’s chambers. Bastion entered in, and Mille shut the door.

  Bastion sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, thinking of his beloved gypsy girl. Thoughts of other things came into his head- his job... his citizens... his responsibilities. He wished he could dwell on them, but Yana invaded his every thought, every sinew. He could not make it stop.

  Bastion looked up at the sound of his door opening. It was Della. She let herself in, and came over to Bastion with a small urn of coffee, and two cups. She sat next to him on the floor, and poured them both a cup.

  Della handed him a cup, feeling so bad for the King. His eyes were red, and his face displayed so much pain she could feel it herself. Bastion took a drink, and looked at Della with a nod of thanks. Della sipped hers too, sitting in silence next to the King. She had no idea how to comfort a King, or what to say to him at all, so she said nothing. She played with a straggling thread on the hem of her apron, and looked down. She didn’t even know what she was doing there, and certainly did not belong there. She just didn’t want him to be alone. They drank coffee together in total silence, and Della refilled their cups until the coffee was gone.

  Della got up, finally, and collected the urn and cups. She gave a sympathetic smile to Bastion, who wasn’t even looking at her, and then she kissed him lightly on the forehead. She left without a word, closing the door behind her. Bastion sat alone, looking at nothing, through the blurred vision of his eyes.

  “Don’t leave me,” he said out loud, drunk with pain.

  “Don’t leave me,” he said again. The birds chirped off in the distance beyond his window, oblivious to his quiet plea.

  “Don’t leave me,” he said in his privacy. Yana’s red and gold shawl hung on the wall, where she had left it behind. He got up and took it, and lay on his bed, letting it rest across his chest.

  “Please don’t leave me,” he said, heard by no one.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  “Hey,” Gunari whispered. “Get up.” He shook Draiman.

  “Huh? What?” he mumbled. Draiman had slept on the ground to the side of Yana’s campfire. He had escorted her back to her caravan, and made sure she was put to bed in her wagon. He made the acquaintance of her friends, and offered to stay the night outside.

  “We got trouble. Hurry,” Gunari said. Draiman scrambled to his feet. The morning sun was shining, as they scrambled away from the camps, where they would not be heard.

  “What the hell?” Draiman said.

  “They closed the gates,” Gunari said.

  “They what?”

  “The King has ordered the gates to close every night,” Gunari said.

  “Why?” Draiman demanded, immediately realizing the answer. Yana. “Damn it,” he said.

  “Degonyat is close!” Gunari continued. “He wants to see you right away!”

  “Ugh,” Draiman thought, trying to clear his head. “Close? Where?”

  “About five or six miles south of the meadows.”

  “His whole army?”

  “No, no, they are not all in place yet. Still some troops marching,” Gunari said.

  “Good, good.”

  “Not good. They are bringing catapults now, in case they have to assault the city. He is furious!” Gunari said. “He wants to see you!”

  “Mulo baxt,” Draiman cursed. “Where’s our horses?”

  Draiman and Gunari traveled to the place Gunari said the army would be. Sure enough, there were troops assembled, already encamped. Not many, Draiman counted in his head. There was still time. They went to the tent on the west fringe of camp, where Degonyat was set up. He emerged, his huge eyebrows looking as surly as his voice sounded.

  “What have you done?” he demanded.

  “What? It’s not my fault!” Draiman protested.

  “You said your man was going to make sure we had a clean shot!” Degonyat said.

  “We did! I mean, he was!” Draiman said.

  “Where is your man?” Degonyat demanded.

  “I will find him. I will talk to him.”

  “You have to find us another way. I don’t know if a siege will work. I will lose too many men,” Degonyat said. “My scouts tell me that the King has fortified the walls with outposts.”

  “Yes,” Draiman sighed. “I hate that son of a dog,” Draiman spat on the ground as he said it.

  “Can we trust your man? Is he behind this closing of the gates?” Degonyat said.

  “No, no, he is not behind it. The King closed the gates because his little gypsy girlfriend left him,” he said.

  “What do you know of her?” Degonyat asked.

  “I know plenty,” Draiman said. “I used to ride with her. She was drunk last night, and I kissed her,” Draiman laughed. “She is a sweet treat.”

  “Can we use her?” Degonyat said. “Is there another way into the city?” Draiman lit up with an idea.

  “Brilliant,” Draiman said. “If there is another way into the city, she may know it.”

  “Will she tell you?” Degonyat said.

  “She will tell me,” Draiman said, his voice full of evil. “If I cannot seduce it out of her, I will beat it out of her.”

  ______________________

  The Gypsy Queen- CHAPTER 26- “solace”

  Bastion sat in his throne room, alone. His crown sat in its enclave, next to the queen’s crown. He stared at them, until he could look no longer. He sat, and he waited, hour after hour. Palace stewards came and went, and asked questions. Otta came in to see him, and Bastion answered him without emotion or interest, sending him on his way.

  He was King, and he would do his job as King. Even on the throne, he was isolated and alone. He could talk to no one. Otta should have been his closest confidant, but Bastion did not trust him. In fact, Bastion realized, there was no one for him to reach out to. No one who would understand, no one with whom he could afford vulnerability. With each passing hour on his throne, he could feel himself turning to stone. He turned away food, and poured his water out on the periwinkle. The day passed, and the city’s business concluded as evening set in. Bastion remained, for lack of anywhere better to go.

  “King Bastion,” Nico and Nathaniel strode into the room. Bastion sat up. He missed his friends. He wanted to be out riding with them in black.

  “What is it, my brothers?” The look on their faces showed urgency.

  “There may be military action afoot,” Nico said.

  “What action?” Bastion said.

  “Men have assembled at Tatu Castle in the Lo
wer Reach.”

  “Men from where?”

  “We think they are Moldavians,” Nico said. “We think they are from Kaffa.” Bastion nodded.

  “Do you think it was that man that escaped the boat?” Bastion had been thinking of him.

  “Could be. He likely knew who we were.”

  “I want you to keep a close eye, and find out everything you can. Keep the black riders close to the city.”

  “Yes, Sire,” Nico said.

  “King Bastion,” Nathaniel spoke up, “Did you not have this information already?”

  “I had my suspicions,” Bastion said, “but no reports. Why?

  “We have already reported all this to Otta,” Nathaniel said. “He told us to report directly to him. We thought he would have passed along our reports.” Bastion thought about that, scrunching his brow.

  “From this moment, you report only to me, not to Otta,” Bastion said.

  “What if Otta asks of us?” Nico said.

  “Tell him nothing. Tell him all is well.” Bastion said. Nico and Nathaniel looked at each other.

  “Boys, we have known each other since we were children. We have ridden together, and fought together.”

  “Yes, Sire,” they both answered.

  “And now, I am the King of Jedikai,” Bastion said. “There is something brewing, and Otta may be involved. We cannot trust him until we know. Understood?”

  “Yes, Sire,” they said.

  “Otta may not be the only one involved,” Nico added. “You remember those two gypsy girls that we pulled out of that forest fire? The ones that said that some of the slave traders were gypsies?”

  “Yes,” Bastion said.

  “We think that the Ursari gypsies may be involved.”

  “I do not fear any kind of gypsies,” Bastion said, confused. He looked into the faces of the two men, his life-long friends.

  “What are you not telling me?” Bastion demanded.

  “I cannot bear to say,” Nathaniel said.

  “Out with it,” Bastion said.

  “Draiman is a Ursari gypsy,” Nathaniel said.

  “Draiman...” Bastion searched his memory. “Draiman...”

  “The man we removed from your wagon at the Coronation parade,” Nico said.

  “Draiman. Possible slave trader?” Bastion said. His men did not answer.

  “Tell me the rest of it!” Bastion demanded, standing up.

  “Draiman is a spy for Otta,” Nico said.

  “And?” Bastion said tersely. There had to be more.

  “Well, as you know, Draiman has some kind of history with Yana,” Nathaniel said.

  “Yes.”

  “Last night I was scouting in the meadows, my normal assignment. I was in black, scouting Draiman on orders. I saw him, and Yana, kissing near the caravans.”

  Bastion fell back into his throne, staring at his friends in shock.

  “I am deeply sorry, my King,” Nathaniel said. “I did not want to tell you.”

  “Otta gave us orders to kill that bastard if he sets foot in the city, after the parade incident,” Nico said. “Give me the order to kill him tonight, my King. Please give me that order.” Nico wanted him dead already, and a hundred times more, seeing the grief on Bastion’s face.

  Bastion’s head was swimming in an ocean of sorrow. Tears streaked down his face, but he did not seem to notice.

  “She... she was kissing him?” Bastion said, glancing over at the crowns he had stared at for hours. The men said nothing.

  “Kill him?” Bastion mused. He summoned the stone that had been growing in his soul all day. Numb, cold stone.

  “No. I will not give that order,” Bastion said.

  “Your majesty, we can end him right now. Tonight!”

  “No, damn it!” Bastion said, looking him in the eye. “Yana is free to go where she will. Free to kiss whom she will. Free to love...” Bastion cut off, unable to speak, his stony front failing him. He fell from his throne to the floor, his friends rushing to his aid. Bastion gasped for air, feeling like his chest was tightening, closing in on him.

  His friends sat with him on the throne room floor, as his breathing began to steady. Both of them wanted to take action for their King.

  “Let me destroy that vile gypsy, my King,” Nico said. “Please.” Bastion let out a sigh.

  “If I decide that the black riders will visit him,” Bastion said, “It will be my own blade in his gut. It will be my face that he looks upon, as he breathes his last.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  “Otta, what the hell is going on?” Draiman demanded.

  “The King has ordered the gates closed,” Otta said. Otta had come out to the Ursari camp once more. He knew Draiman would seek him urgently, but had not been able to get out of the city sooner.

  “I know that!” Draiman said. “What are we going to do about that?”

  “I have already considered it. I have a plan,” Otta said. “I will order the gates to be opened early, well before sunrise, for a delivery we are expecting. The gatekeepers will think nothing of it.”

  “You don’t think they will suspect anything?” Draiman said.

  “Everyone in Jedikai knows that the gates are closed because the King is heartbroken. No one is expecting an assault.” Otta said. “The entire city will be dead asleep.”

  “Dead asleep!” Draiman laughed. “I like that!”

  “When will the army be in position?” Otta asked. “How much longer until I am King?”

  Draiman handed Otta a drink, at his campfire, and raised his own, high in the air.

  “Tomorrow!” Draiman said. They clinked their glass bottles together.

  “Na Zdorovie!” they toasted together, taking a drink. Draiman was eager to see it done, too.

  “To King Otta!” he said with a grin.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Yana had a miserable day. She woke up with a crushing hangover, most of the morning already spent. She drank water and sat by the fire as her friends offered her lunch. She ate, feeling better as she watched her people go about their day. There was still music, in other camps, and her friends were kindly towards her, bringing her berries and figs, but otherwise leaving her alone.

  She sat with Lyubov, who seemed to be getting worse, as Luba treated her. Lyubov slept in her wagon, saying very little.

  “I think this will work,” Luba said, applying a compress to her head. “I made this medicine myself. If it works, I can help the other gypsies who are sick.”

  “How do you know what to do?” Yana asked.

  “I teach myself,” Luba said.

  “Yes, but how? I see no books. Lyubov is your teacher.” Yana said. Luba smiled.

  “Smell,” she said.

  “Smell?” Yana said with disbelief.

  “I smell the different oils, and herbs. I smell the mixtures they make. Then I smell the person who is sick.”

  “You think that is going to work?” Yana said.

  “I hope so,” Luba replied. “We will lose good gypsy folk if it doesn’t.” Yana’s chin trembled at the idea of losing Lyubov. She was the closest thing she had to a mother.

  “I pray you succeed,” Yana said, doubting very much that she would.

  “What will you do?” Luba asked, sensing Yana’s angst.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

  “What will you do about Bastion?” Luba asked.

  “There’s nothing to do. He is in the palace, and I am in the prairie, and that is that. Just like it was before. It was cruel for him to come pursue me. He should have left me alone,” Yana said.

  “If he had, Kizzy and Nadya would have been killed in a fire, and Jaelle would have remained in a dungeon, and the nearly forty other captives you freed would be living beaten-down lives as slaves.”

  “He should have been noble enough to leave me alone,” Yana said.

  “Did he seduce you? Or did you seduce him?” Luba asked.

  �
��Shut up,” Yana hissed. “I’m sorry, Luba,” she said right after, “it’s not your fault. It’s my fault. It’s very much my fault.”

  “It’s not,” Luba said.

  “Yes. I broke the heart of the only man I have loved, or ever will love.”

  “And broken your own as well,” Luba said.

  “Aye. My own as well. I let myself love him, kiss him, embrace him, lay with him... though I knew I shouldn’t. I was afraid of the pain, but I did it anyway, and now this pain is upon us both. Perhaps I deserve it. He didn’t. He deserves a much better woman than me.”

  “He does deserve a good woman,” Luba said. “Maybe you should just be that woman.”

  “Luba, I am a gypsy. A thief. A killer. How could I possibly be queen?”

  “Um... by saying yes?” Luba said.

  “You don’t get it. They hated me. I think if I stayed, Bastion would end up hating me too. It is better this way. This way, I can be the villain that I am.”

  “You are a terrible villain,” Luba said with a smile. “Saving lives, and all that.” Yana let her have her smile. She didn’t want to burden Luba with her past, from her time riding with Draiman, to recent days of killing men with the black riders.

  “I am a terrible villain,” Yana agreed.

  “Maybe you just need healing, like we saw in the crystal ball.”

  “There is no healing for me,” Yana said. “There is no way to heal anything in my life. I just hope what you saw was for Lyubov.”

  “You have a good heart, Yana,” Luba said.

  “I have no heart at all.”

  Yana left Luba, and her caravan, and took her bow and arrows into the forest. It always made her feel better to shoot, and the arrows she had gotten from the kingdom were of excellent build.

  Yana wanted out of Jedikai. She did not want to wait for Lyubov to die, or anything else. She would not leave on her own, it was too dangerous. She thought of ways she might escape, as she drew an arrow, and fired it at a tree. It missed, whizzing right past.

  Strange, Yana thought. She fired another. It skiffed off the side of the tree, sailing where the other one went. She checked her bow, and the string, as she thought. Her heart ached so much for Bastion. She felt guilty for what she had done to him. She was furious with him, but in the end, she could only be angry with herself. It hurt even worse, with the humiliation she had brought on them both. She should have ran much sooner.