"Sir Grainer’s training is very intense," Sandrion said. “The trials and drills are inhuman.”
"He is perfect for you."
"Indeed he is. And Sir Wildon?"
"He is stern. Traditional training is foremost in his mind. I see some of my father in him.”
Delcan leaned back slightly, looking past Sandrion in Stanlo’s direction. Stanlo’s head was turned away from them, perhaps surveying the meadow to the North or following the flight of an owl. He was seemingly out of range to hear their words. Delcan shuffled slightly toward Sandrion.
"The way he demands I put heart and fire into every swing of that heavy metal," Delcan continued. "The way he makes me spend hours in the smallest of details, combing my horse, sharpening my arrows…” Delcan stopped and lowered his eyes. He whispered, “It is the same way my father taught me the bow and arrow.” He raised his eyes to Sandrion. “It is the type of training we hear King Marcius demanded of his knights. It makes me wonder why he serves Orsak."
"Little options," Sandrion responded, his whisper softer than before. "Blindness. Fear of what lies around the corner and terror of what may step in his way if he tries to take a peek."
"Same old story."
Sandrion shrugged. "I suppose."
"My father told me much when I last saw him," Delcan said, not looking at Sandrion; his eyes on the road leading west toward the forest. "Things I had never known, or even suspected."
"About his years in the castle?" Sandrion asked.
"About his years as a knight," Delcan breathed out. The words fell out of his mouth and just as his mind commanded him to stop speaking, his lips continued to move. "He told me about fleeing to Berest; about Galyan the magician. About..."
Sandrion lunged at Delcan and took hold of his shoulder, turning him.
"Don’t," Sandrion whispered through his teeth, his face close to Delcan’s. "Whatever it is you feel compelled to share with me, don’t. I am your friend—no, your brother—and will be until the end of my life; I will fight beside you and for you. But do not make me fight for the memory of you. The words you have spoken can throw you in a dungeon at best. The thoughts you are so eager to express can take your life. Tell me no more."
Their friendship was old and true and that instance was the first time Sandrion had exploded with any emotion in Delcan’s presence.
"Hey, the two of you," Stanlo’s whisper alarmed both Delcan and Sandrion. They turned toward Stanlo who had moved closer to them and spoke with a hand covering the side of his mouth. "Stop your playing else we all face a lot of trouble with Malden."
Sandrion released Delcan’s shoulder and returned to his post.
They stood silently, each of them shooting glances at the night beyond the castle walls. The hills rose and fell in the shadows like the shoulders of giants hiding in the dark. On the horizon, the forest was invisible; behind it Delcan imagined the mountains’ dark peaks highlighted by moonlight.
"I saw the princess yesterday," Sandrion spoke quietly yet loud enough to startle Delcan out of his thoughts. Stanlo glanced toward him and shuffled his feet noiselessly in Sandrion’s direction. With yet another look he urged Sandrion to be quiet and Sandrion waved him away with his hand.
"She was riding her horse out in the meadow while I was with Sir—"
"Did you speak with her?" Delcan interrupted.
"In fact, yes; I did." Sandrion grinned at Delcan’s anxiousness. "She said hello and we spoke briefly." After a moment of silence, he said, "No, she did not mention you."
"I did not ask."
"But you wondered."
"I truly fouled up," Delcan said. "When she and I last spoke, I let my eagerness free as a wild creature and now I seem like an over-anxious fool to her."
Sandrion stifled laughter.
"What?"
"I am quite certain she does not think of you that way."
"It was a disaster. I feel a ping of pain in my stomach when I think of her, you know?"
"Yes."
"I can’t stop the thoughts of her."
"Don’t be so concerned. You may be in her thoughts as well at this very moment."
Delcan shrugged his shoulders and followed the path of a rabbit in the meadow, hopping under the moonlight, waiting for the owl to descend upon him.
As Delcan and Sandrion spoke, Stanlo stood perfectly still—careful to avoid even the slightest rustling of his clothes—as he concentrated on listening intently to every word. He smiled to himself as he listened and watched a cluster of clouds sweep over the moon.
Chapter Sixteen
In the tower that rose from the castle keep, candlelight flickered in Aria’s chamber. As the princess stood at the window watching clouds eclipse the moon the soft whisper of a breeze brushed against her face.
“Medcina,” she said to the nurse and servant who busied herself preparing Aria’s bed for the night. "I am to be alone all the days of my life. Aren’t I?”
"No, dear; of course not. Why would you say such a thing?"
“I am a nuisance to my grandfather and he will forever want to be rid of me; and if he cannot, he will keep me out of sight. To this kingdom I am nothing. I am not royalty."
"Nonsense. There is greatness in you,” Medcina responded quietly. “Perhaps it is you who will inherit the kingdom."
"Oh, Medcina. Do not be foolish."
"It is not foolish. What is foolish is to assume that you are to become nothing."
Medcina approached Aria and wrapped her arms around her.
"What you are capable of my sweet child is determined by what you choose to do," Medcina whispered with tears forming in her own eyes. "You have such strength and passion. You have a destiny and you must answer its call."
"And what is my destiny, to end up as my mother did?"
Medcina lifted Aria’s chin and gazed into her eyes.
"Your mother was extraordinary and she did all she could. She never surrendered her conviction and if you lack inspiration look to her."
"Medcina, there is no sense in pursuing any form of destiny. I should surrender all attempts to make a difference."
"Because you fear the King? He is not indestructible, you know."
"Because I’m in love."
Medcina smiled and took hold of Aria’s shoulders. "Then you must look toward your mother even more so."
"What did she know?" Aria shook away from Medcina and sat on her bed.
"I had no father. Our obsessed King used my mother as a pawn, for want of a son."
"Aria, you do not have enough knowledge of the past to understand it."
Medcina sat beside Aria and held her hands. She let out a surrendering sigh and continued. “Kaira, your mother, took her first breath just as her own mother, Queen Cyndia, let out her last. She lived her life as she died, in continuous struggle against her father—against his indifference toward her. She struggled from the moment of birth; she struggled to bring you into the world; and struggled to breathe life into these castle walls."
"Tell me about the way she died," Aria asked.
"You know, child, how it happened. There is no need—"
"No. I do not know how it happened. She fell off a horse, in the meadow, and did not get up again; that is all I know. But how did it happen?"
"She did not fall off just any horse," Medcina said. "It was her horse; a white stallion with a mane almost gold in color. The most unusual of horses; he had such bad temperament. He allowed no one to ride him, that horse. Yet, Kaira came to know him, spent hours daily by his side. She connected with that stallion and he welcomed her. He almost seemed to enjoy having her in control of him."
Medcina looked closely at Aria, her face distressed. "There is nothing," she said, "That would ever make me believe that horse dropped Kaira, the kingdom’s most accomplished rider."
Aria returned Medcina’s gaze and thought of the implications behind her words.
"Was it because of her defiance of him; of her father?" Aria asked after so
me time.
Medcina smiled and gently touched the princess’s face.
"Because she was in love."
The night Aria’s mother was born King Orsak waited for notice of the birth with his eyes aglow and his whole being focused on the future. When Malden relayed to Orsak the difficulties with the labor, his only concern was that the baby be delivered, at all cost.
When Orsak heard the infant’s cry through the closed door of the Queen’s chamber, he rushed into the room and watched Cyndia grin at him for the first and only time.
"It’s— it’s—" Queen Cyndia stuttered weakly before her body relaxed and death overcame her.
Orsak offered no reaction to the Queen’s death. He only turned toward the sound of the wailing child.
"Her name is Kaira, Sire," said Medcina, the Queen’s nurse and servant.
Orsak looked at the crying infant in Medcina’s arms seemingly not understanding.
"The baby, Your Majesty. Her name is Kaira. The Queen spoke it before—"
Orsak turned to Cyndia’s limp body with what seemed like anger and disgust and said, "Bury her somewhere. I shall marry again in a week’s time."
He turned to leave the room and Medcina’s words stopped him.
"Sire, you have a daughter—"
"I do not!" he roared. "That child serves no purpose. You care for it if you wish." And he hastened out of the chamber.
“It is Galyan’s curse.” The words were whispered in every corner of the castle as news of the new princess spread. Among the whispers, vile rumors scattered of the King wanting to sacrifice the newborn to the dragon that haunted the Twilight Mountains. In time, the hearsay abated and the years passed.
For ten years Kaira lived within the castle, among the servants who fed her, clothed her, and cleaned her wounds. Beyond these basic needs, she was independent and self-reliant. Despite the surroundings in which she came of age, she was a princess; not just in the familiar sense but in every way in which she carried herself. She knew her place in the world; even then, she knew she would leave a mark.
By the time her eleventh birthday approached, Kaira was already insistent on winning the King’s affection. Medcina had taken care of her every need and had tried her best to educate the child on the various facets of a lady— how to embody the royal blood that ran through her—but the child knew well enough of her own accord about royalty and what it meant.
Kaira attended every event. As much as she could, she placed herself within Orsak’s sight, creating a public connection between her and the King. She learned to ride royal horses in the yard and in the meadow. She became a fixture in the castle and a presence often recognized by nobles who visited the King. In time, her persistent and subtle demands earned her the King’s recognition, albeit reluctant and dismissive.
At the age of twelve, Kaira unexpectedly attended one of King Orsak’s grandiose affairs and stole not only the attention of all those present but their hearts as well. King Orsak’s power was at its peak and the castle vault still held enough riches to create an illusion of stable wealth throughout the kingdom.
On the last moon of every month, the King held a Royal Ball attended by all nobles in good standing—that is, all those who properly fell to their knees at the sound of the King’s approaching boots. The gala served as a time to display their loyalty to the King. Orsak maintained control of each barony by making certain that an unyielding tension was always present between them. Each nobleman had been given his position of wealth and stability by the King himself and with weapons and martial training outlawed, the nobility relied on the King for protection. Barons from throughout Paraysia attended the Ball to remind Orsak that they stood behind him, or more accurately, still cowered before him. The celebration also served as an opportunity for the King to assure those in attendance that all was well with the kingdom; and that each lady and lord should report to their villages the joyous state of affairs.
Candles were lit atop the castle walls and along the paths that led to the castle keep. Inside, ornaments constructed of wild flowers hung from the grand staircase leading to the Grand Ballroom and the marble floor blazed with the reflection of a chandelier crowded with light.
The best musicians of each village had been called to the castle and required to perform their finest piece of music during the King’s supper; those who had refused the invitation received a visit from a pair of royal guards who proceeded to remove a finger from each of the musician’s hands. The performers who most impressed the King were rewarded with the coveted honor of playing at the Ball.
The King often sat in his throne during such festivities, watching the nobles enjoy themselves, rubbing lightly the large diamond atop his cane. He smiled as genuinely as required when the nobles knelt at his feet or bowed their heads to him while dancing in the middle of the floor. Through the celebration he sat with half his mind in the present and the other in the future—in the hours of the next day or in the afternoons he would spend hunting with Malden. He sat with glassy eyes, numb fingers holding his prized cane.
Kaira attended the ball that evening without an invitation, accompanied by Medcina. She wore a simple gown that complemented her dark eyes and hair. The gown itself was old, but Kaira was radiant.
When the King’s guards denied her entrance, Kaira pulled her shoulders back, gazed hard into the guard’s eyes and in an even voice demanded, "The kingdom’s one and only princess has a right, a burden, to attend this event. My word carries with it the authority of the King himself."
The guard hesitated a moment at first.
She said, "Now, open the doors and announce that the Princess Kaira has arrived."
The guard did as told and all heads turned to the doorway. The King, whose throne faced the doors, stiffened, his glazed eyes suddenly awake, and from across the room, Medcina could see his fingers tightening around the dragon skin of the cane.
As Kaira entered the room, she stood out among all the much older, much more elegant ladies of the court; she seemed common in her dress, but yet the smile upon her lips and the glimmer in her eyes shone brighter than any of the other ladies’ gowns. She approached the throne and Medcina followed closely behind, silently hoping she would not proceed with what she knew Kaira had planned.
The King’s placid smile changed to surprised anger and he stood.
Kaira stopped and kneeled, bowing her head low as she knew only the most faithful of the King’s servants did.
The musicians faltered on a note when they heard the King’s baritone voice speak so suddenly, then continued quickly to mask their surprise.
"What do you think you are doing, child?" he roared.
Kaira, who had stopped being a child long before that night, rose and spoke softly, "I wish to dance with you, father." It was the first time she had addressed him as such.
The music softened to a lower volume so the room could hear their conversation. The King threw a quick glance at the musicians.
Aware that all eyes focused on his reaction, Orsak sighed deeply, fury ardent within him, and struggled to produce his own wooden smile.
The guests danced, taking measured steps while they kept their eyes on the King and the child who stood like a woman with her head held high.
"Dance?" the King asked in a voice that sounded like he was clearing his throat; his lips barely moving.
"Yes," Kaira responded calmly, sure. "It would be lovely to dance with you on such a fine evening. I am certain your guests would not mind sharing the floor with you and your daughter."
Their eyes were locked like the links on a chain. The ballroom was silent for a long while, until an anonymous voice yelled from the rear of the room, "We would be honored, sir."
The King’s eyes surveyed the room quickly, looking for the culprit.
"Yes, your majesty, it would be an honor," various other guests responded shortly after, each hiding his face behind the shoulders of others.
"Well." The King’s face stretched to form a wider,
uncomfortable smile. His pride tugging at his legs, reminding him not to embarrass himself in the presence of those to whom he portrayed leadership. "How can I deny such a beautiful lady’s request?"
Kaira blinked and her smile brightened, her eyes sparkling. She reached for the King’s hand. Orsak and his daughter stepped onto the marble floor and the music rose in volume and spirit. The two danced while ladies and lords formed circles around them. Their eyes stayed fixed on one another and behind Orsak’s smile, the King’s mind was already shaping the situation like clay; the princess would marry a nobleman’s son and she would give him an heir.
Kaira had hoped to touch the King, find what humanity slept deep inside the caves of his soul. And perhaps, for a brief moment, while they danced, she had. But if so, it had been only for that instant, because even as the music played and their feet shuffled on the dance floor, Orsak saw Kaira as only the next possible bearer of the heir for which he so desperately craved.
Orsak did not accept her as his daughter, and even if he recognized her to be so, he did not admit it, publicly or otherwise. But Kaira did gain a place in the kingdom. She was no longer a maiden aimlessly stumbling across the castle yard; to Paraysia she was the King’s daughter. If the King, himself, then attempted to be rid of her, have his own daughter shoved out of the way, the kingdom would rise against him and perhaps even the nobles would unite. The entire kingdom had come to love Kaira’s persona; her bold posture; her aggressive voice. And with time that voice grew.
By the age of eighteen, Kaira had authenticated her royal birthright among the people. She had gained popularity among the nobility, charming them with the elegance and liveliness expected of blue blood. A refreshing cleansing of King Orsak’s patronizing and overpowering style, she earned the love of peasants with her openness and genuine concern. She did not look down her nose at them; she was willing to kneel and pray with them, to weep with them, promising nothing, yet giving them all of her self. She became a giant figure in Paraysia, a figure who all subjects respected. Still, in spite of all the admiration as a royal figure she had no power. Her greatest challenge lay not in winning the support of the kingdom, but in changing the heart of the King himself.
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