The Changeling

by Jennifer Lyndon

  The Changeling

  by

  Jennifer Lyndon

  The Changeling

  By Jennifer Lyndon

  Copyright © Jennifer Lyndon 2016. All Rights Reserved

  Cover photograph provided by Shutterstock.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  -Prologue-

  Marania, Queen of Vilkerland and the Western Noge Territory, played with her daughter most mornings. Often, as on this occasion, the game was hide and sneak. Their playground was vast, the whole of the upper level of Vilkerdam Palace. This particular round of the game had been ongoing for the past couple of hours. The little Princess, Lore, as her mother called her, could usually be counted upon to give her hiding spot away by giggling when she saw her mother’s approach. The Queen would then smile and look in all the least likely places, aware she was being watched by the little Princess, as the giggling heightened, reflecting Lore’s amusement with the game. Finally, Lore would jump out, somehow managing to surprise her mother and earn praise for her brilliance and stealth. It was a routine they both knew well, and relished, however, on this particular morning the game had taken a wrong turn.

  Lore couldn’t quite comprehend at what point everything had gone wrong. The game started normally, with the Queen waiting below stairs while slowly counting. Lore had then carefully contemplated her hiding spot, eventually selecting her favorite, thus least used, the space behind the tapestry in the music conservatory. She had then waited the normal amount of time. Unfortunately, the Queen failed to come and find her.

  As Lore patiently waited to be discovered, she heard a multitude of unusual sounds coming from the floors beneath her, and even outside. There were strange horses calling to one another beyond the front windows, and loud boots on the stairs. At first the Princess thought her papa must be returned home. In fact, she was on the verge of giving up the game, to seek her father out, when the yelling began, coming from different directions through the levels below her. It was the sound of glass, or porcelain, breaking that truly frightened her, holding her to her hiding place. Her mother was protective of her vases, always cautioning Lore to play calmly when near them. Lore heard light footsteps, and then her mother’s cousin, that stern woman Lore knew as Aunt Kessa, calling to her.

  “Lore, child, where are you?” Aunt Kessa whispered in a shrill tone. “Come out now. We must hurry.”

  For some reason, the call failed to draw the Princess to her. Aunt Kessa frantically searched some of Lore’s usual hiding places, behind plants and under chairs, but with no luck. Finally she spotted the small, pink slipper-clad, feet showing beneath the hunting tapestry. Aunt Kessa hurried over and lifted back the heavy tapestry to discover Lore trembling behind it. Aunt Kessa’s tone was strange, her voice urgent, her movements even less fluid than was usual, almost erratic. Lore was frightened when Aunt Kessa grabbed her wrist and jerked her up into her arms. No one had ever jerked Lore before. A sense of her own smallness, her utter vulnerability, assailed the child as her breath was knocked out of her. She felt heat in her face, her eyes filling with tears.

  “You can’t cry now, child. Use what little sense you have and be brave. Stay quiet,” Aunt Kessa hissed next to her ear.

  Somehow, those heated words failed to comfort Lore, and the child was on the verge of wailing when she heard loud footsteps coming up the stairs, following the quick, light steps she recognized as her mother’s. The Queen rounded the corner of the conservatory at a run, bumping the harp as she passed. Lore’s eyes followed the tipping of the large instrument, back and forth several times, until it righted. Lore wanted to look anywhere but at her mother, with her dark, frightened eyes, her thick black hair uncharacteristically loose. There was a rip in the sleeve of her mother’s shimmery gown that Lore tried not to see. The tears Lore was holding back dried up, as dread took root in the child.

  The Queen wrapped her arms around both Lore, and Aunt Kessa, who was still carrying the Princess. Lore felt her mother shaking, her grip too tight on the child’s small shoulder.

  “I told you to get her out of here, Kess,” her mother snapped as she stepped back. “Why are you still here? It’s not safe. They’ll kill her if they find her.”

  “But, she was hiding, Mara,” Aunt Kessa stammered.

  The Queen guided them over to the edge of the chamber, and a door Lore had never seen before opened when the Queen kicked a place in the floorboard. With both arms she shoved Aunt Kessa and Lore into a dark, musty smelling space and then stepped back to look over her shoulder in apprehension.

  “They’re coming,” she whispered. “I’ll stay and keep them from finding you out.”

  “No, Mara. Please, come with me,” Aunt Kessa argued. The Queen shook her head.

  “I can’t, Kess,” the Queen whispered. “I was seen. They know I came this way. With luck, they’ll look in a few more rooms before they reach this one, but if they don’t find me, they’ll discover this passage and come after you.” The Queen kissed Lore on the forehead. “Go. Now. I’m commanding you. Keep my child safe. I’ll find another way out. Remember, you gave me your word, cousin. Whatever happens, you must keep Lore safe.”

  Aunt Kessa started crying as the door shut quietly, and they were left in total darkness. The tears that had been threatening began trailing silently down Lore’s cheeks, as the two remained there, waiting, hoping the Queen might come back. Then there was a loud noise, something thrown up against a wall with enough force to lift the dust in the dark corridor and make breathing more difficult. Lore heard her mother scream. Aunt Kessa placed a hand against the child’s ear, pressing Lore’s head tight against her chest in an ineffectual attempt to protect the child from hearing the violence. Aunt Kessa started moving uncertainly in the darkness, stumbling over stairs, and almost falling more than once. Finally, she resorted to walking sideways, her back to the crumbling wall, as her feet carefully picked out each steep, narrow, stair.

  “Everything will be all right. Mara’s strong, and smart. She’ll find a way to escape. And Master Toblin is waiting for us at the end of this passage. Everything is going to be fine. We’ll be fine. There’s no need to worry,” the Queen’s cousin assured Lore, though she seemed to be talking more to herself than to the child, whose ears she was still covering to block out the Queen’s screams.

  -CH 1-

  I’d passed the morning dodging Uncle Toblin and his unending lessons, first by spending the morning with one of the other village boys, Nilen, helping out at his father’s smithy, and then by escaping to the orchard. I was slowly moving between the tidy lines of apple trees, the breeze sifting through my sweat dampened hair, whilst I ignored the ceaseless echoing of Uncle Toblin’s voice, reverberating from various directions across the orchard, as he summoned me back to the lodge. I was tired of studying Old Noge. As far as I could tell, no one living actually knew the language, except of course Uncle Toblin and I.

  Lately, Aunt Kessa was hardly better. She was incessantly quizzing me on Vilken etiquette, despite the fact I’d never sat to eat at a fully laid table, and though I could not say for certain, didn’t remember seeing one. Regardless, she insisted I know the use and purpose, even ceremonial, of every piece of silver, crystal, or porcelain, as well as the proper response to both formal and casual bowing. It was all growing tedious. So, instead of submitting to yet another day of preparations for an unfathomable role I expected never to fill, I practiced my well-honed, and extremely useful, arts of stealth and evasion.

  For almost as long as I could remember my life was spent avoiding the notice
of others. For years Aunt Kessa concealed my blond hair with a muddy brown dye. Nothing could be done to hide my strange blue eyes, but my sex had been an easy enough matter to obscure, through the strategic use of loose clothing and shoddy haircuts. As a result, although I was born a girl, I spent the past eleven years living as a boy. And now suddenly they wanted to put me in extremely uncomfortable, stiff dresses, not to mention tight shoes, in an effort to make a queen of me.

  It all made me feel inadequate, or hollow perhaps. I wanted to be done with all of the hiding and fear. I wanted a life free of the threat of discovery, a hazard that had been hanging over my head for as long as my memory stretched back. I wanted to live without the knowledge that those around me might be killed, simply for aiding in my continued existence. And I was exhausted with wondering at the motives of those closest to me. I didn’t want to need my well-honed stealth skills. Still, for the moment, in the avoidance of more lessons, hiding was clearly my best course of action.

  My mind was lost in this gloomy pattern of thinking, and I’ll admit to more than my due of self-pity, when I noticed strange noises emerging from all around me. Then a peculiar sound, something like a birdcall, but not one I recognized, came from behind me. It was answered from a location very near but to my left. I scanned my surroundings and heard a small twig break not fifteen feet behind me. Instinct kicked in as I grabbed the nearest low branch and began frantically climbing an apple tree. When I was about twenty feet above the ground, I stopped to look below me at the strange collection of riders gathering around the circumference of my hastily chosen tree.

  A cloaked rider, certainly sent to assassinate me, dismounted her tall black horse from within the circle and approached my tree. She raised a gloved hand to lower the hood of her dark green cloak, revealing striking, long, white hair, the color of the Vilken winter. Knowingly, she tilted her head back to gaze up, effortlessly locating me on my high perch. She smiled as our eyes met, sending a shock through me. I was surprised to see that, in spite of her white hair, she appeared only a few years older than I. The only people I’d met previously with white hair had been aged.

  When her pale silver eyes focused on me, holding my gaze, I realized my assassin could not be Vilken. Though I’d never before seen a member of the Fae race, I knew she must be one. Only Fae could have eyes like hers, full of molten silver. She led fourteen riders, or soldiers more like. Their uniforms were in various shades of dark green, matching the different leaves of the trees in the forest. The brown leather of their boots looked supple, and their strange, lean, horses appeared fit and fast.

  “Loredana, of the house Castelyne, true Queen of all Vilkerland and the Western Noge Territory,” she called out to me in Vilken, through a lilting, clipped accent. My assassin’s voice was gentler than I expected. “I mean you no harm, girl. Please, come down from that tree. I’ve traveled a great distance, deep into enemy territory, for this small window of time in which to meet with you. Don’t let’s waste it.”

  That was not at all what I’d expected my assassin to say. It occurred to me that I might have misjudged the situation. Holding her gaze as my mind sped, and my heart pounded in my chest, I considered my options. Any one of her riders could easily pick me off with a carefully aimed arrow, and yet none showed the slightest inclination toward their weapons. I used this bit of comforting insight to calm myself, and made a decision.

  Concentrating to still the shaking of my hands, I began my descent from the apple tree. As she waited, the cloaked figure removed her pale green gloves, tugging each finger precisely to loosen them, before easing the gloves from her hands and tucking them away. She then chose a well-ripened, bright red apple from my tree. She rubbed it against her thigh, thoroughly shining it, and then walked over to her black horse. And so her back was turned to me as I dropped to the ground at the base of that apple tree.

  “Who are you?” I demanded, as she held the apple in offering to her mount. The black horse slurped at the apple and bit into it with a crunch. When the cloaked woman didn’t answer, but continued to focus on her horse, I pressed on. “What do you want from me?”

  “Only a moment of your time,” she replied, shaking the juice and fragments of chewed apple from her fingers in brisk movements as she turned to face me. “And to give you a gift.” She wiped her hand on her breeches without concern for the mark she left on her clothing, and grinned at me, her expression almost impish. “If you’ll allow me, Queen Loredana.”

  “Lore,” I corrected almost in reflex, reacting with anxiety to the sound of that title being spoken so freely, and by a stranger no less. I scanned the faces of her soldiers as I swallowed back my fear. “Do I look like a queen to you?” I added in a fiercer tone.

  The woman laughed, revealing a mouthful of bright teeth as white as pearls. She then glanced at one of the riders, the one closest to her. “Lore has a point. What do you think, Shiroane? Does this scruffy little peasant look like our missing monarch? Can this skinny adolescent boy be the queen you’ve been tracking for over a decade?”

  The rider called Shiroane calmly trailed her strange dark grey eyes over me and nodded. “She is Queen Loredana,” Shiroane confirmed with a sullen nod.

  The white-haired woman met my gaze again, her smile fading as she stepped forward to stand in front of me. “You see. There is no mistake, Lore. Shiroane is infallible in such matters. Regardless, I would know you anywhere. You’re her perfect twin. The rags you wear, that unsightly dye marring your beautiful hair, they conceal nothing from me.” Her gaze skimmed over me as she adjusted her stance, placing a hand on her hip. “I know exactly who, and what, you are.”

  “Then please, tell me,” I whispered. “I honestly don’t know who I’m supposed to be anymore, what lines to remember, what character to play. Tell me. What game are we playing at today?”

  “It’s no game, Lore,” she said gently. I shook my head. “You were born to rule. It’s who you are.”

  “Really? Last year I was just a peasant. My best friend was a builder’s apprentice named Corby. I hoped I might one day join with Corby’s younger sister, Taira. She has the most beautiful mahogany hair. I was apprenticed to my Uncle Toblin’s friend Lord Marak, and training in the arts of war. My aunt and uncle were simple, quiet, country people. That’s who I was, just a common boy. Now suddenly I’m called queen, and expected to answer to it. It’s a stretch, you must admit,” I explained.

  “There’s nothing common about you, Lore,” the stranger said, her tone softening. “You’re a miracle,” she whispered. “You’re the righting of a fraud committed more than two centuries ago, and the remedy to this brutal time of war. You, my beautiful girl, are the true Noge Queen, last of that great royal line, and the first authentic ruler of your realm to be born since the Demon Prince usurped the throne.” I shook my head.

  “You’re mistaken, stranger,” I replied. “I’m not Noge. My parents were the King and Queen of Vilkerland.”

  “We don’t have time to debate this now,” was her curt answer. “I’m certain my party has been tracked. As dull as they are, those Vilken soldiers can’t be too far behind us, even on their short, plodding, mounts. You must be made safe before they find you.” The white-haired woman stepped nearer me before she continued. “Now, this will be more effective, I think, if you’ll indulge me by standing still,” she said, sounding uncertain for the first time. She placed her hands firmly on my shoulders and I shied away. “It’s all right. I could never harm you,” she said softly. “My only desire is to protect you.”

  “Then don’t touch me,” I snapped.

  She diverted her gaze quickly, but still I caught the sort of stunned, possibly even hurt, expression that flared across her clean features. I could feel her anxiety mounting as she worked to keep from reacting. She covered though, forcing a smile and managing to appear undaunted. Aunt Kessa had slapped me for similar conduct. I wondered why this stranger endured it.

  “I’m sorry, Lore. It can’t be helped this time,�
� she said, gripping my shoulders again, but more warily this time. I didn’t try to pull away. “Once I’m done, no one will ever be able to touch you without your consent,” she assured me.

  She closed her eyes and began whispering strange, vaguely familiar words in a language that might have been Old Noge, but for her peculiar pronunciation. At first I noticed only a warm sensation in my shoulders where her hands gripped. After a moment my skin was prickling, as if a thousand millipedes were swarming over me, under my skin, through my hair, in my ears, down my throat even, stinging with every miniscule step. As the intensity grew, my bones began burning. Deciding she meant to kill me after all, I struggled to break away from her hold, but her grip was tight. When I was on the edge of panic, she released me. I stumbled back and lost my footing, collapsing backward, catching myself with both hands just before I hit the damp grass. It took a moment for my racing heart to slow.

  “What was that? What did you do to me?” I asked, my voice shaking slightly as I stood again. “Your words burned.”

  “Yes. That was more painful than I expected,” she admitted, showing obvious relief in her expression. I noticed a shiny layer of sweat across her brow and upper lip. “After so long, it had to be torn away from me,” she added. Her contained rigidity melted as she exhaled deeply, running an elegant hand across her white hair as if checking she was still in one piece. “But now you’re safe.” I stared at her.

  “Safe from what?” was my next question.

  “It would be better to ask what can kill you,” she replied. “It’s still possible for you to drown under the right circumstances.” She smiled that playful smile again before asking, “Are you able to swim?”

  “Of course I can swim,” I snapped.

  “Good. Then you need only worry about poison. Don’t handle correspondence until it’s been properly inspected. If that’s impossible, wear thick gloves. Even more important, make certain you know and trust your cook, or only eat what you prepare yourself. Never allow anyone you don’t trust within arms length of your food. Never allow an enemy to feed you, under any circumstances. As soon as possible, you need to start a habituation regime, small amounts of poisons to inure your body to the most powerful ones. It’s the only truly effective course. For now, you’ll need to keep antidotes nearby. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been poisoned, possibly without even realizing it on occasion,” she explained, laughing at that last part as a silvery, mirthful, sound echoed around me.