by Cayla Kluver
The next day, my thoughts returned to the Harvest Festival. Following what had happened, would a celebration seem disrespectful? And Rava’s concern that the event would give the people an opportunity to join forces was no longer dismissible. They were agitated, and certainly some among them would be seeking to avenge those who had been maimed. I didn’t want more deaths to result.
I brought my fears to Narian, catching him in the Grand Entry, and was not surprised to learn he had also been considering the issue.
“Despite the risk, I don’t think it would be wise to cancel the festival,” he said, and would have left it at that had I not pursued a justification. “The Hytanicans are on edge, but there are still several days until the event. Word of the compensation we provided will spread, tempers will cool and excitement over the festival will set in. If we shut down the celebration, the people will feel twice wronged, and I’ll again be the most hated individual in the province. I’m the one they will blame.”
Narian was accustomed—as accustomed as one could be—to being disliked, but he didn’t want to lose the small bit of progress we had made toward redeeming his character. I wondered if this was in part because our marriage hung in the balance.
We were interrupted by sounds of a trumpet fanfare, and turned to stare at the door in confusion. There was no royalty outside, no one to be announced. Cannan stepped out of his office, drawn by the commotion, and we all three hit on the reason at the same time.
“The High Priestess!”
“Why is she here?” I asked, my heart beating erratically. But there was no time for Narian to reply, for the doors swung wide and the Cokyrian leader entered, surrounded by five shield maidens and an entourage of heralds.
The High Priestess waved off the criers and trumpeters—I could not imagine they were to her liking. It was Hytanican custom to make a show of a ruler’s arrival or departure; Cokyrians preferred stealth in all matters.
“Narian. Alera. Cannan.” She walked forward, removing the black riding gloves she was wearing. “How gracious of you to meet me.”
She scanned the quickly amassing crowd, all of whom bowed, and I knew she had already noted an absence. “Where is Rava?”
“Not here, for the moment,” Narian said smoothly.
I glanced at him, not sure that lying to the High Priestess was prudent, realizing a second too late that her highly observant eyes would catch my movement.
“There is something you aren’t telling me, Narian.”
“Yes, but this is not the time or place to discuss it.”
The High Priestess’s sharp green eyes narrowed. “This is the time, but we will move to a more appropriate location.” She gestured to the antechamber doors. “Alera, you will come, as well.”
Narian led us through the antechamber and across the Hearing Hall, Cannan remaining behind. But instead of taking us to his office in the Cokyrian command center, Narian escorted us to my study, thereby minimizing the possibility that someone might overhear. Before entering, Nantilam took a moment to instruct the shield maidens who had accompanied her to prepare accommodations, then she crossed the threshold, closing the door behind her. She looked suspiciously between Narian and me, and I went behind my desk, consciously mimicking what Cannan always did. I also wanted to put distance between myself and Nantilam, for her eyes seemed to pierce my flesh. Narian, on the other hand, went to stand directly in front of her.
“We weren’t expecting you,” he admonished boldly. Having grown up a member of a royal family, I winced, knowing if anyone had addressed my father, the King, in such a manner, great offense would have been taken, followed by great retribution.
“That much is apparent,” Nantilam responded, her words clipped. “I ask you once more, where is Rava?”
“In the dungeon.”
“What?” Nantilam was shocked—of all the answers she might have postulated, this was the most outlandish. She dropped her riding gloves on the seat of an armchair before the fireplace, then crossed her arms, her icy expression suggesting that Narian and I might trade places with Rava if we did not have a good rationale.
“Narian, I grant you many privileges as the commander of my army, but imprisoning the shield maiden I have placed as your second is not among them.”
She was patronizing him, and he glared at her. “Unless I gravely misjudge you, Rava was never granted the privilege of arbitrarily torturing and murdering Hytanican citizens.”
Nantilam scrutinized him, trying to determine if his judgment of Rava’s actions was skewed by his loyalty to me.
“My party was intercepted by a messenger during our journey to the province,” she said testily. “She brought news of Saadi’s death. I don’t know what transgression Rava committed which, in your eyes, makes her deserving of punishment, but this is not how she should be treated during her time of grief.”
“Then you had best remove her to Cokyri. I won’t release her here.”
The High Priestess was not amused by Narian’s response, and she approached him, her lips compressed into a thin line. Laying a hand against the side of his head, she grasped a handful of his hair.
“That is for me to decide,” she said, her voice dangerously soft.
Narian pushed her hand away, and she raised a displeased eyebrow. Feeling like an intruder, I racked my brain for a way to leave, for the sake of my own comfort.
“Your party was intercepted?” I asked, reminding Nantilam of my presence. “Then you were traveling here for some other reason?”
“Yes,” she said, shifting her focus to me, her tone rounding into the rich, controlled cadence of a ruler. “Rava sent word to me about the festival you are hosting.”
Now I wished I had not spoken. I looked to Narian for help, but he offered none, perhaps could offer none. Still, the issue needed to be addressed at some point, and she didn’t sound angry.
“Yes, I am reinstating, on a smaller scale, Hytanica’s annual Harvest Festival.”
“Rava wished me to put a stop to it, but I see no need to do so. I believe, along with you, that it will lift the people’s spirits. But I share Rava’s concerns about rebellion, and have come so that my presence may discourage such foolishness.”
“Your presence is most welcome,” I said, relieved that she did not intend to interfere with my plans. “I’m glad you thought to come.”
“Thank you, Alera,” she said, bestowing a slight smile on me as though making a point to Narian about his rudeness. She turned on her heel to go, picking up her gloves as she did so. Just before she stepped into the Hearing Hall, she spoke once more to her commander.
“Narian, you will release Rava at once and escort her to my rooms.”
“I won’t,” he said, a simple, firm refusal.
A simple, firm refusal that merited a significant reaction. The High Priestess closed the door again and stood facing it for a long moment, then she turned toward us, her quiet anger heating the room.
“You will, Narian.”
“You haven’t even asked after Rava’s crimes. I will not release her, and if I see her free within the Bastion, I will personally return her to the dungeon.”
“Tell me, then, what she’s done. Justify your defiance if you can.”
I foresaw this battle between them growing lengthy, for neither of them was disposed on principle to give ground.
“I’ll tell you of her crimes,” I said, perhaps imprudently, but instinctively knowing that it would be best if I gave answer.
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The High Priestess’s brows drew together in irritation—I was not the person from whom she wanted to hear. But when neither she nor Narian spoke, I took the opportunity and forged ahead.
“Release Rava, and I guarantee she will not last long on the streets of this city. Whether you see it as punishment or protection, your shield maiden belongs in that dungeon cell. What she did to my people in retaliation for her brother’s death was neither fair nor justified. It was cruel, inhuman, archaic vengeance that has no place in a civilized land. Saadi’s death was never proven to be anything but an accident, yet she seized four innocent Hytanicans, mutilating three—the fourth she would have killed if Narian had not stopped her. At best, her presence here has been endured. Now she is hated openly. I believe that the only course of action, not merely the best course, is to remove her from Hytanica.”
There was utter silence, the benevolence toward me that I had seen in the High Priestess’s green eyes replaced by outrage, perhaps due to my outspokenness, perhaps due to Rava’s brutal actions. Nantilam had a heart, and it was the cause of her defense of Rava; but it was also what had prompted her to end her brother’s life. Like me, she did not crave or abide violence, although she would not hesitate to use force if she viewed it as necessary.
“Narian, are you confident in your ability to oversee the festivities?” she queried, her gaze never leaving my face.
“Yes,” he answered, though he was no more certain than I.
“Then I shall depart, with Rava, in the morning. We will take Saadi’s body to Cokyri for burial. I shall leave one of my shield maidens behind, Narian, to take up position as your second-in-command during Rava’s absence. At the close of the festival, you will come to Cokyri and report. Understood?”
“Understood. But I think it would be better if you let me appoint a new second-in-command from among the officers who currently work with me. They have the advantage of familiarity with the province.”
I knew from Narian’s words that he had a person in mind, and that the officer would be someone he trusted, not just someone the High Priestess trusted.
“We can discuss that on the morrow,” she decreed, showing no reaction. “I bid the two of you good-night.”
She exited, leaving Narian and I to wonder how we had escaped her wrath. Nantilam was a woman of great pride, but from what I had learned about her over the past few years, she chose her battles carefully, and she made certain to win them.
“She is not happy,” Narian declared, in answer to my unspoken question, his words perhaps the largest understatement I had ever heard.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT:
WELL AS WELL
SHASELLE
I was in a battle against myself. I envisioned a warrior in my head, a warrior fighting a snake, both wearing my face. One side of me wanted to be strong, to let go of Saadi and my regret, and the other side maintained that everything that had happened was my fault. Both sides were united, however, by grief. My family was overly solicitous toward me, believing me to be recovering from an illness, trying to please me and keep me happy. While I appreciated their efforts, they unwittingly added to my guilt.
Cannan had come to see me in the aftermath of Rava’s brutal actions, wanting to assure me that Narian had decreed Saadi’s death to be an accident. Rava alone was responsible for what happened after that, he told me, for no one could have made her accept the commander’s conclusion. Her interest had not been in finding the truth, only in revenge. I wanted to believe him, but could not banish the ache in my heart.
The extent of Cannan’s desire to pull me back into the world became known a few days later when Steldor paid us a visit, this time bringing word that he was to escort me to Lord Landru’s estate for a casual lunch with Grayden. My mother was shocked, but pleased.
“Lord Grayden wants to see her again?”
“Indeed,” Steldor replied with a furtive smirk for me. “In two hours’ time. The young man was quite insistent.”
“How is that possible?” I asked, trying not to sound disappointed.
Mother frowned at me, and I dropped the subject, for Grayden was still a sore point between us.
“Dahnath, take your sister upstairs and assist her to prepare. A casual lunch, you said?”
Steldor nodded, and Dahnath took my arm, leading me up the steps past Celdrid, who was bounding down in long sleeves, carrying his boots.
Mother caught him with an arm around his chest at the foot of the stairs. “Coat!”
“Mama, this shirt is warm. We’re going to be riding anyway!”
“Ah, even soldiers need coats,” Steldor said, winking at my mother. “Soldiers also put their boots on before leaving the house.”
Celdrid grinned, then ran back up the stairs past Dahnath and me, for my sister was insisting that we proceed at a ladylike pace.
I didn’t even have the energy to run Dahnath in circles as she sorted through my wardrobe, trying her best to elicit opinions from me on the gown I would wear and how I wanted to style my hair. Usually, I would have enjoyed driving her crazy. In the end, I settled on a green gown that complemented my hazel eyes. I didn’t want my garb to be dubbed “distinctive” on the chance that Lord Landru would be in attendance at the luncheon.
Steldor and my brother returned from their ride just before Dahnath was done with me, giving him time to clean up before readying a buggy. He came to the door to fetch me, bowing and kissing my hand, succeeding in the impossible—he was making me feel beautiful. It came to me then why he had been the one to reach Celdrid through his sorrow. Steldor had Papa’s charm, and now he was using it on me.
He let me sit on the front bench seat with him, which was not strictly proper, and we drove through the western residential section, across the thoroughfare and into the eastern section of manor houses. During the drive, I caught Steldor looking at me once or twice, which confirmed that Galen had shared my confession with his best friend as well as with Cannan. This didn’t really bother me, for they often seemed to be a single person. But I made an effort to talk with him to allay his worry, knowing full well that I was wasting energy I should be saving for Grayden.
Steldor brought the buggy to a halt in front of Lord Landru’s home, and I thought of the earlier visit I had made to this estate to apologize to the young man. Despite that and everything else, he still wanted to see me. This was incomprehensible, and worry nipped at me as to what the luncheon would entail.
After handing the reins off to a servant, Steldor lifted me down from the buggy and we approached the front door. He gave me a reassuring smile just before he knocked, having picked up on my rising anxiety. Grayden answered, and I wondered if it were a habit of his to stand in for their butler.
“Lady Shaselle,” the slender young man said, bowing at the waist, and I curtseyed politely in return.
Steldor had been assigned the task of chaperone, and he thus followed when Grayden took my hand and led me through the impressive house to the sunroom, where a small table was adorned with a cloth and plates. Grayden pulled my chair out for me, waiting for me to sit before he moved to his own place. There was a third chair for Steldor, but he showed more interest in the comfortable settee by the window.
“I’m not overly concerned about your conduct,” Steldor said when Grayden inquired if he would be joining us for lunch. “I have every confidence in Shaselle’s ability to scream if you upset her.”
Grayden was not sure how to take this, but I co
uldn’t quite stifle a laugh at my cousin’s humor. Steldor picked up a book from the side table and settled down on the settee, prepared to ignore us and his vital duty for the next hour or two—or however long this would take.
Servants entered with soup and bread, no doubt delicious, but neither Grayden nor I had much of an appetite. We didn’t speak, either. This, ironically, Steldor found interesting. His eyes flicked to me several times during the meal, and he made no effort to hide his mirth.
Finally, my suitor managed to ask, “How have you been?”
“Well.”
The awful silence recommenced, and I started counting the seconds, hoping Steldor would interrupt and take me home. He didn’t; he was enjoying our plight.
“How h-have you been?” I stuttered.
“Oh, I’ve been well, as well.”
I laughed. “‘Well, as well.’ How very…articulate.”
I paled, for he could consider my comment an insult. I needed to win him over in a hurry if I were to salvage our time together.
Grayden chuckled, rescuing me from embarrassment. “I thought I heard your uncle say that you have been ill. Is that true?”
And here I thought the situation could not get any more awkward.
“My uncle is an honest man,” I said, trying to dodge the topic.
“Of course! I certainly didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
“And I didn’t mean to imply that you meant to imply…anything.”
We stared at each other, and I could see that Grayden was on the verge of laughing. I probably would have laughed myself, but the spatter of freckles across his nose forced me to look down at my napkin. My eyes welled at the powerful recollections sweeping through me, and at the images of handsome, strong, charismatic Saadi that rose unbidden in my mind.
“Are you all right?” Grayden asked.
I raised my gaze to his and forced my tone to brighten. “Yes, I’m sorry, just a speck of dust in my eye.”
