Sacrifice

by Cayla Kluver

  Footsteps drew me from my thoughts, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Cannan approaching. He stepped up beside me, his hands clasped behind his back, and I wondered how even shoulders as broad as his could carry so much responsibility.

  “You wished to see me, Queen Alera?”

  “Yes, I did. I would like to know your thoughts on how our citizens are doing. I see the poor and desperate every day in my Hearing Hall, but you spend considerable time out among the people. How do you perceive their overall state?”

  “The citizens are better than they’ve been, now that homes and shops have been rebuilt.”

  “They’re better but…”

  “All things are relative, Alera. The Cokyrians see the reconstruction as finished—most Hytanicans do not.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The captain exhaled heavily and placed his hands on the smooth wood of the railing.

  “Conquerors remake the lands they claim in their own image. Structures are rebuilt but not necessarily restored. After all, the victors take the spoils. Just look around the Bastion, Alera—the palace no longer exists for more than one reason. And sacred places are unlikely to be rebuilt, for no better reason than a show of power and dominance.”

  “The churches?” I inquired, hating to admit, even to myself, that Steldor had been right about a number of things.

  “Power and dominance, Alera.”

  I carefully considered his words. Better meant improvement, which was not necessarily the same as good. After all, sixteen people dying in a harsh winter was better than twenty, but it was still too many.

  “Then spirits have fallen already?”

  “Spirits are difficult to maintain when merely being Hytanican casts you under suspicion. People are stopped and searched on the streets with impunity. Homes are searched any time of the day or night, and punishments for real or imaginary transgressions are harsh. Our people are not easily cowed—they fight back. Most incidents are not serious, just some throwing of stones or jeers. But yesterday a Cokyrian soldier was attacked in the street by a group of Hytanican men.”

  I bowed my head, my hands gripping the railing. At times like these it seemed to me that the arduous road that lay ahead was never ending. Was there really such a thing as abiding peace?

  “We need to do something—something that will make a difference,” I asserted, meeting Cannan’s eyes. “Something that will show our people that we can adjust to this world, that we can move forward with our lives.”

  “What do you have in mind, Alera?”

  “A festival.”

  I tried to sound decisive, but was truly seeking his opinion. The idea might be foolhardy, after all—assembling the people, providing them with ale, letting them celebrate and feel invincible. It could be a disaster. Or it could be exactly what they needed.

  The captain showed no reaction, other than to direct his gaze out over the buildings and homes that made up our city. In the silence, I grew nervous—it was easy to be intimidated by Cannan. His unflappable demeanor, self-confidence and determined nature, coupled with his height, impressive build, and nearly black hair and eyes, were enough to make even the most dangerous beast recoil.

  He turned to face me, and I was encouraged to see he was nodding. “A festival would be good for our people, Your Highness. A wise decision.”

  I smiled, my mind beginning to whir. Historically, our Harvest Festival consisted of a faire and a tournament and usually entailed months of planning. We didn’t have months, but then, the Cokyrians wouldn’t permit us to sponsor all of the customary events.

  At that thought, I blurted, “Without a tournament, of course.”

  “Yes, it would be difficult to hold a tournament without weapons.” A flicker of amusement showed in the captain’s eyes. “But a faire would be possible.”

  We stood side by side for a few minutes more, both of us enjoying the view of the city. The sun was shining, and the landscape looked stunning to me, in no small part because of the work that had gone into the homes, businesses, churches and schools over the years. But more than that, Hytanica was rich in history and tradition, and I was responsible for guiding her future.

  “Hytanica is a beautiful place, even in enemy hands,” Cannan reflected, his thoughts tracking my own. “You do your kingdom justice.” He briefly laid a hand over mine, then left me alone to determine how best to proceed.

  In previous years, the Hytanican Harvest Festival had been one of the largest and most talked about celebrations in the Recorah River Valley. Vendors and traders from neighboring kingdoms would come with their distinctive products; dressmakers would receive a rash of clothing orders and hire young girls to help with the sewing; bath houses, places of lodging, taverns and livery stables would stock up on supplies for a large influx of visitors; and food would be planned and prepared for the feasts.

  Last year, there had been no festival, for our kingdom had been under siege. No festival was expected this year, either, and it would be a sign that we still had things to celebrate if I reinstated it. Admittedly, planning would be rushed, for in the past, criers and heralds would have already been sent out to announce the event, which always took place during the last few days of October, less than a month away. But it could be done, especially since there would be no tournament, generally the most difficult part of the festival to coordinate.

  I decided to seek assistance from my mother in pulling things together, and I went to my parents’ quarters, unexpectedly finding my father with her in their parlor.

  “Alera, come in, come in,” he greeted me, stepping forward to usher me to an armchair. His hair was now more salt than pepper, and his waistband was a little tighter, but he otherwise exuded the same warmth and command I remembered from when he had been King. “What a pleasant surprise this is,” he continued, sitting next to my mother on the sofa.

  “Thank you, Father. Nice to see you, Mother.”

  “To what do we owe this visit?” my mother asked, and I was struck by how young she looked today, so like Miranna, with her blond hair down about her shoulders and her blue eyes sparkling.

  I quickly told them of my idea, encouraged by their receptive attitudes.

  “Given how little time we have for preparations, I’m wondering, Mother, if you would be willing to organize a feast sponsored by the Bastion. It would be served out of doors, in the style of our annual Christmas Eve feast.”

  “Yes, of course, and I’ll coordinate the banners and the decorations for the faire grounds and marketplace.”

  “What about you, Father? I know you’ve been occupied with repairs here in the Bastion. Do you have time to spare?”

  “All three floors of the West Wing are nearly restored. The only real work that remains is in the East Wing, in the first-floor quarters that used to be occupied by the Palace Guards.” He paused, then added with a chuckle, “I think the Cokyrians can undertake that work without the benefit of my expertise.”

  “Would you be willing to seek out minstrels and other entertainers to perform at the faire?”

  “I’ll send out a call at once. Good entertainment is something I’ve always been able to spot.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation, ready for a more enjoyable—and less Cokyrian involved—task.

  “Thank you. If you would like, you can use the Hearing Hall in the mornings to hold auditions for performers.”

  “I will indeed. This is an inspired idea, Alera. A return of
our Harvest Festival is long overdue.”

  He beamed at me, and I blushed at his compliment, gladdened by the enthusiasm my parents were displaying, for it was exactly the sort of reaction I hoped to inspire in all of Hytanica’s citizens.

  Over the next few days, I grappled with the decision of where to locate the faire. The military field was the best option, but I was hesitant about seeking permission from Rava to use it. In the end, I decided to wait for Narian’s return—he would be in favor of the festival, and I wanted as little to do with his current second-in-command as possible.

  On the third day of hasty preparations, I sat down at my desk to draft the proclamation that would announce the Harvest Festival. When I was finished, I sent it to the scribes who worked out of the library on the second floor. They would make several copies of the document and distribute it throughout the city and, with Narian’s permission, to our neighboring kingdoms.

  Pleased with my efforts, I straightened my desktop, then left the study, intending to join my family for dinner. Rava stepped out of Narian’s office area at the same time and advanced on me, her expression even less friendly than usual. Without a word, she slammed her hand against my closed door, dangerously close to my face, pinning a copy of my proclamation in place.

  “I have spoken to your scribes and have forbidden this from being issued.”

  I took a step back, then resolutely met her pale blue eyes. “You can forbid whatever you wish. But the proclamation will go forth.”

  Rava slowly and deliberately crumpled the parchment, then tossed it at my feet.

  “If this is sent out, you will be sorry,” she threatened, her lip curling in disgust. “I will not permit your people to rally.”

  “Is that how you see this? I don’t plan to facilitate a rally, Rava. I plan to let the people of this kingdom smile for once.”

  “The people of this province should learn their place before they are allowed to smile.”

  “Then I’m thankful it is not your decision to make.” I had taken enough of her condescension, her arrogance and her despotism. Her belief that she ruled this Bastion and this province needed to end. “That proclamation will be issued, or you will be the one who is sorry.”

  Her fingers locked around my wrist. “If you are lying about your intentions, Grand Provost,” she said in a near whisper, “I will see you dead.”

  I did not doubt the sincerity of her threat, but had too much at stake to back down. Despite my fear, I grabbed her wrist in the exact way she was gripping mine.

  “If you thought you could get away with killing me, Rava, you would have done so by now.”

  I wasn’t certain of my standing in the High Priestess’s eyes, but I knew from her conversation with Narian that he, at least, was important to her. And she would lose him if Rava—or any Cokyrian for that matter—injured me.

  Rava growled, a low and animalistic sound that shook me to the core, and shoved me into the door. Pain shot through my shoulder, but she had turned away, storming back toward her office at the other end of the hall. I watched her go, my wrist throbbing, Narian’s cynical words coming back to me—she is no diplomat, I’ll grant you that.

  * * *

  Narian returned the next afternoon, seeming well-rested, leading me to believe the trip had gone smoothly. We greeted each other formally, but I was eager for the day to pass so that we could talk in private—and without fear of being overheard. Though Rava did not know it, she had unnerved me with her warning, and I wanted him to assure me that she would soon be gone.

  As usual, he dropped into my bedroom through the window that night.

  “Don’t you ever worry you’ll fall?” I asked from where I was sitting on the bed, reading. It was easily a twenty-five-foot drop from my window to the ground, and even farther from the roof where he began his descent.

  “No,” he said, taking off his sword belt and laying it on the side table before sitting next to me. “There’s no room for fear once you’re committed to a course of action.”

  I gaped at him, for he made it sound like fear could be extinguished much like the flame of a candle.

  “But think how high up you are! You never consider that you might slip or lose your balance?”

  “No,” he repeated with a laugh. “But I’m starting to think you fear clumsiness on my part.”

  “It’s your neck,” I said, scooting closer to him. “Although I would hate to see it broken.”

  He put his arm around me and I snuggled against his chest, realizing how much I had missed the sound of his heartbeat and the cadence of his breathing.

  “How did things go in Cokyri?” I asked.

  “Better than I anticipated. The High Priestess took the news of Steldor’s recent actions quite well. She thought the punishment was appropriate.”

  “The punishment, yes, but surely not the method by which Rava carried it out?”

  He was so quiet that I sat up, inferring something was wrong. He straightened and ran a hand through his thick golden hair.

  “Alera, the High Priestess is not our ally on this issue.”

  “What do you mean? How can she overlook Rava’s blatant insubordination?”

  Once more he sat quietly, and understanding came to me.

  “You didn’t talk to her about Rava.”

  “No, I didn’t,” he flatly admitted.

  I frowned, feeling slighted and betrayed.

  “I’m sorry, Alera, but not because I didn’t discuss Rava with the High Priestess. I’m sorry because I didn’t take the time to clarify my thoughts on the subject before I left.”

  “What thoughts?” I demanded, Rava’s threat against my life fueling my anger.

  “If you’ll calm down, I’ll explain.”

  I scrambled out of bed, too agitated to stay still, and began to pace.

  “We’re in the midst of a very delicate political battle, Alera, and everyone plays their part. You are the province’s figurehead, the voice of the people. The High Priestess presides over us all, and she placates me—not out of trust or respect, but because I am powerful. She doesn’t know that I’ve sworn never to use those powers again, and therefore sees Rava as her means of keeping me in check. Rava is her ally, her handpicked shield maiden, her confidante. The last thing she’ll do is remove her ally when she sees me as a risk.”

  He paused, assessing me, trying to determine if I understood the true nature of our situation. I stopped pacing and met his gaze, not wanting to believe he was right, and he tried once more.

  “If I speak against Rava, the ice on which we stand will crack. The High Priestess will suspect me, she’ll suspect you and it doesn’t matter if we’ve done anything or not—we’ll be gone, and we’ll no longer have a hold on Hytanica.”

  For the first time, I fully appreciated the danger of our position, and I swayed on my feet. I had foolishly trusted the High Priestess, believed that I was important, that she was on our side, that Narian and I could restore this city, that my people would be treated fairly. Rava had seemed an unimportant player—now she seemed a puppet master with Narian and me on strings.

  I stumbled to the bed and sank down upon it, my eyes burning.

  “While you were gone, I began planning for the return of our Harvest Festival. Rava doesn’t want the event held. She told me to call it off.”

  “I know,” he wryly acknowledged. “She made me aware of your activities and her decision when I arrived.”
<
br />   “And?”

  “She won’t yield. She’s already sent word to the High Priestess.”

  I nodded, then asked, my voice barely audible, “And what do you say?”

  “I say…” He reached for my hands, determination building in his intense blue eyes. “I say we proceed with the festival until and unless the High Priestess comes here herself and brings it to a halt. Political fires aren’t interesting without kindling.”

  I smiled, and he took me into his arms, lightly kissing me.

  “At least we don’t have anything to worry about tonight,” I murmured as we lay down next to each other.

  “I always worry.”

  “Really? I wouldn’t have thought of you as the worrying kind.”

  “I worry when I cannot act,” he mused, drawing me close, and I felt life and strength flowing into me, warming me from head to toe. “I can handle heaven and hell, but not limbo.”

  “I thought you had no religion in Cokyri. How do you know about heaven and hell?”

  “We don’t practice religion, but we have education. I probably know more about your faith than you do.”