Sacrifice

by Cayla Kluver

  As the night wore on, my mind began to drift, remembering other death watches, other times when people I cared about had been injured or ill—London, Steldor, even Narian once before. Those men had survived their ordeals due to the magic the High Priestess possessed. It was ironic and so unfair that she was the person who had now put Narian in jeopardy.

  Eventually, Narian’s breathing became slower and shallower, and I consoled myself with the thought that he wasn’t in pain, as small a blessing as that was. Tears trailed down my cheeks, for I wanted more time with him, wanted a life and a family with him, wanted to grow old with him. The High Priestess had no right to play God with our lives like this, and I hated her for it. With a sigh, I whisked the moisture off my cheeks, then studied Narian’s handsome features, creating a portrait in my mind. I traced his cheekbones and jaw, lingering over his lips. Impulsively, I leaned down to kiss him and his eyelids flicked open.

  “I will always love you, Alera,” he murmured, momentarily regaining clarity.

  “And I will always love you.” I curled up beside him, my arm across his chest, willing him to stay with me for as long as possible. I continually fought against drowsiness, but exhaustion and grief eventually got the best of me, and I drifted off to sleep.

  Someone was shaking my shoulder and I slowly came awake to see London crouched down beside me. I bolted upright, then reached out to touch his face, certain I was seeing a ghost.

  “Alera, it’s all right. I’m here to bring you safely home.”

  I nodded, then shifted onto my knees, my voice urgent. “The High Priestess has poisoned Narian. She doesn’t want him to fight against her if she sends reinforcements to Hytanica.”

  London placed a hand upon Narian’s chest, feeling for a heartbeat, for the rise and fall of breathing, for warmth.

  “He’s still alive,” he told me. “How long ago was he poisoned?”

  “About ten hours now. He can’t have much time left. According to what the High Priestess told me about the poison, he should already be dead.”

  “Listen to me. He may still have some of Nantilam’s healing power inside of him.”

  “From when the Overlord tried to kill him?”

  London nodded and hope surged within me. It had been the residual effect of Nantilam’s healing abilities that had enabled the deputy captain to withstand the Overlord’s torture.

  “That’s probably why his dying is prolonged,” London continued. “With any luck, she may have miscalculated what it will take to kill him. But we need to help him fight, Alera.”

  “How?”

  London retrieved his water flask and bedroll from his horse, handing them to me.

  “Get as much water as possible into him, to dilute the toxin in his bloodstream, and we’ll cover him with all the blankets and cloaks we have. He’s fevered, so let’s help his body sweat out some of the poison.”

  I began to cover Narian while London added wood to the fire. Then he removed his own cloak and tossed it to me.

  “I’m going to gather some herbs that might help. I’ve learned a few things about Cokyrian compounds over the years, knowledge that I’m guessing the High Priestess would like to take away from me about now. You stay here and care for him as you have been doing. And, Alera, keep talking to him. He is strong and will fight to hear the sound of your voice—fight to come back to you.”

  “I think the High Priestess is in love with you, London.”

  “Just proves folly knows no limit.”

  I nodded, and London disappeared into the night in search of the herbs he had mentioned. After adding the deputy captain’s cloak to the layers that covered Narian, I lifted his head, encouraging him to drink, talking to him about the future and the life we would have together.

  London returned within fifteen minutes, then added the important parts of the plants to a second water flask, tipping the liquid into Narian’s mouth.

  “Any sign of improvement?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Then we wait.”

  I examined London in the light of the fire. To my relief, he looked the same as always, ever young, his silver bangs partially obscuring his indigo eyes.

  “Where have you been?” I asked.

  “In Cokyri.” He smirked. “Creating a diversion.” He paused, staring into the flames, then continued. “Prior to that I was in the mountains, helping Cannan and the rest in whatever fashion I could. Mostly trying to keep my head on my shoulders.” He shrugged and ran a hand through his unruly hair. “I was a wanted man, you know, although not wanted in the way I would like to have been.”

  Had I been in better spirits, I would have laughed at his wry humor, but as it was I moved to his side to give him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Thank you for coming. Thank you for finding us.”

  He nodded and put his arm around my shoulder. “Get some sleep, Alera. I’ll wake you if things get worse.”

  I stayed where I was for several minutes, glad for his comfort, then lay down next to Narian, talking softly to him, wanting to be near him if he slipped away.

  Morning broke, and I felt Narian stir. I sat up and stared at him, then at London, who was cooking some broth over the fire.

  “He’s going to make it,” London said. “I told you he was strong.”

  Narian’s eyes opened and his gaze fell on me. “Now this is a welcome sight,” he rasped, and I kissed him. He looked over at London, then remarked, “And you’re a surprising sight.”

  I helped Narian into a sitting position and London brought him the broth.

  “I’ll leave you two to talk,” he said. “But we’ll ride out in two hours’ time. We need to keep moving in case the High Priestess sends guards to verify Narian’s death. I don’t want to be sipping tea when she fails to find a body. And we need to see who is in control of Hytanica this day.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX:

  TRIBUTE

  SHASELLE

  When dusk fell, my family, along with what appeared to be all the citizens of Hytanica, gathered at the military training field, where the Captain of the Guard’s body had been placed on a litter above a stack of firewood, ready to be burned, his soul already committed to God by our priests. Soldiers had stood guard around the site all day, and people had been coming in a steady stream to pay their respects. Many of them had left tokens of esteem at the base of the pyre—weapons of various types, coins, embroidered handkerchiefs, trophies won in battle or at tournaments, military medals and insignia. Even small children came forward, laying flowers, notes, toys and other items that had some special meaning to them among the other gifts. It made me both sad and proud when Celdrid walked forward and added his sword to the growing mound of mementos, the one that had originally been given to Steldor by our father, to be passed on by Steldor to my brother. It was perhaps Celdrid’s most coveted possession. He looked to Steldor as he came back to stand by us, and our cousin gave him a salute.

  When all the individuals who wanted to do so had paid homage to the captain, everyone stood in silence, the stillness of the large crowd itself a potent tribute. Grief could be a powerful, uniting force. Off to the side, separated from the masses, stood Steldor and Galen, their faces stoic, both wearing their military uniforms and holding lighted torches in preparation for setting the wood ablaze.

  King Adrik finally broke the silence, stepping forward as the appropriate representative of the royal family to say a few words. Queen Alera
had not yet returned from Cokyri, another source of worry for the subdued throng.

  The former King cleared his throat and then began to speak, his deep voice easily carrying across the field.

  “We come together to honor a man of duty and devotion, strength and compassion, courage and wisdom. A man who put kingdom and family before all else, but who included within his family every citizen in need. A man of unwavering allegiance who steadfastly served his King and Queen for over thirty years. A man whose legacy will live on in his son and in every life he touched. A man I was proud to name my Captain of the Guard and to call my friend. And who, while serving the kingdom he loved, made the ultimate sacrifice. Let us celebrate his life this night, and may his funeral pyre burn as a bright beacon of hope in the darkness, letting the entire Recorah River Valley know that Hytanica is free once more.”

  Cheers went up from the crowd, then Steldor and Galen stepped forward and touched their torches to the pitch-soaked firewood. With a roar, flames shot into the air, befitting the man who had lived with an equally fiery passion.

  Mother took the younger children home after a half hour, for the November evening was cold. King Adrik and Queen Elissia took charge of Faramay, whose grief was too deep, too immobilizing, even for tears, and I was glad that Steldor would not have to be strong for his mother this night. He and Galen needed a chance to feel their own grief before being asked to comfort the rest of us.

  Grayden and I, along with Dahnath, Drael and countless others, stayed to keep vigil, sitting on the hillside until the funeral blaze consumed itself, settling into cinders. In the early hours of the morning, a light, almost magical snow began to fall, and the moon’s glow as it reflected off the ground brightened the scenery, making everything seem new.

  My uncle’s death had again set my family reeling. While we were accustomed to picking up pieces, sorting through rubble and holding on to memories, the brothers who had died had been the pillars of our family, strong leaders in Hytanica’s military, and shining examples of all that was good and honorable within our kingdom. But this time, beneath the grieving, there was hope—hope that glowed like the remaining embers. This land was again our own, the Province Wall would be torn down, and we citizens would once more walk through the city gates without fear or suspicion.

  I shivered, and Grayden put his arm around me, snuggling me close to him, and a melancholy smile played across my face. My uncle had promised he would find a husband for me who would meet my father’s standards. And at what did the Captain of the Guard fail?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN:

  THE CAPTAIN AND THE QUEEN

  ALERA

  Evening fell as we reached the ominously closed gates of our city. Narian, London and I waited to see if anyone was on duty and, if someone were, whether the person would be Hytanican or Cokyrian. Impatient for an answer after our harrowing journey, London rode up to the gates and removed his sword, running the blade along the iron bars, creating quite a clatter, only to spin his horse around and repeat the action.

  Narian and I looked at each other, uncertain what to do, then shifted our attention to the top of the wall where the scurrying of boots up a ladder signaled someone’s approach. London brought his mount back beside mine and I gripped my reins, mouth dry. Soon we would know which side had been victorious.

  A man appeared in the watchtower, staring down at us. Without a word, he turned to gaze at his comrades on the other side.

  “The Queen!” he shouted, giving us our answer as to who was in charge. “The Queen has returned!”

  The gates groaned as they were raised, and London, Narian and I rode forward to survey the aftermath of the battle. A low-lying haze, no doubt from scores of fires, clung to houses that were once more in shambles, the doors of pubs, shops and other businesses hung loosely on their hinges, and the thoroughfare was awash in reddish-brown dirt and ash. But despite the physical chaos, the city was quiet, seemingly abandoned, and I wondered if the battle had been so ferocious that few had survived. Fear seized my heart, robbing me of the strength to even urge my mare onward, but she followed instinctively behind the other horses.

  It was when we approached the northern end of the city, nearer to the Bastion, that faces began to appear. From within the homes and shops that were still standing, my people stepped onto the street. They came from alleys and stumbled from piles of hay that had become makeshift beds, eager to see me. And almost every person I saw wore a tired but triumphant smile.

  To my relief, no one tried to interfere with us as we rode—I had actually been worried about Narian’s safety. We approached the Bastion—the palace once again, I supposed, feeling a buoyancy in my chest—and dismounted, leaving our horses untended outside the open courtyard gates. From what I could see, the home of my ancestors had not been harmed during the rebellion, our soldiers no doubt having protected it. All was, however, unnervingly still.

  London left us, and I assisted Narian, who was still weak from his ordeal, up the courtyard path and through the front doors without encountering any servants or soldiers. We stopped in the Grand Entry to rest and let our eyes adjust to the heavy darkness, for no torches were lit, nor could the moonlight penetrate the stone. Though this was my home, the lack of light, the lack of noise and the lack of movement made it feel foreign, and I shivered.

  With Narian leaning heavily on the banister, we walked up the Grand Staircase, and I wished I had thought to bring the last of our food supplies from our saddlebags, for his stamina was waning. Upon reaching the second floor, we proceeded into the Royal Ballroom, crossing its expanse to step out onto the balcony, which afforded us the best view of the entire kingdom. But even from this vantage point, there was little sign of life. My eyes took in only one flickering light, no doubt generated by a single fire, its location suggesting the military training field. I couldn’t help but think it was a funeral pyre.

  With nothing to be done until morning, Narian and I went to my quarters. He sank onto the sofa in my parlor while I started a fire in the hearth, for the room was bone-jarringly cold. Satisfied with the strength of the blaze, I went to sit beside him, and we soon gave in to our exhaustion, letting sleep claim us.

  * * *

  The sound of voices and footsteps drew me to wakefulness in the early hours of the morning. I left my quarters, deciding to let Narian sleep, for this was a tonic he desperately needed, and hurried through the corridors to peer over the railing of the Grand Staircase. Below me in the entry hall, maids, cooks and other servants were arriving for work, accompanied by Hytanican guards. They were talking excitedly among themselves, oblivious to me. I continued to watch, embracing the utter simplicity of the scene as I debated whether I should proceed to the first floor or return to my parlor to check on Narian.

  “Alera! You’ve returned!”

  Miranna was hastening toward me, followed by Temerson and my parents. Though I had thought the palace completely vacant the previous night, my family had returned at some point to sleep in their quarters on the third floor. I hugged them one by one, exchanging happy greetings, then asked that they accompany me onto the ballroom’s balcony, knowing our citizens would be gathering.

  Despite the brightness of the sun, I shivered in the brisk November air, for I had not taken a cloak with me when I had left my parlor. As if by magic, one fell about my shoulders, and I knew without looking that Narian had joined us. His mere presence bolstered my courage and brought my thoughts into focus. I scanned
the throng of eager Hytanicans, some of whom were gathered inside the Central Courtyard with more outside its walls, then raised my hands to quiet them. Taking a deep breath, I began to speak.

  “Spread the word. Tell your families and friends. Let it be known across the Recorah River Valley that I am proud to be Queen of this Kingdom of Hytanica!”

  Cheers exploded, rising and falling in waves, and I let myself enjoy the sights and sounds of victory for several minutes. Then I once more raised my hands to quell the crowd.

  “Be it known that Commander Narian stands with me as a loyal citizen of Hytanica. Without him, I would not have been able to travel to Cokyri and safely return. And without him, I would not have been able to begin negotiations for lasting peace with the High Priestess. I believe a trade treaty that is fair for both of our countries will soon be signed. Regardless, we stand here now and forevermore as a people free of Cokyrian rule.”

  Jubilant shouts greeted these words, and I took Narian’s hand in mine, raising it high into the air. The people did not know that we were in love. They did not know that we were bound to each other according to Cokyrian custom and would soon be joined in marriage under Hytanican law. But this was a step forward, and that was enough for now.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother appear at Narian’s other side to likewise take his hand and hold it aloft in a show of support. When the rest of my family followed her lead, my father next to my mother, Miranna and Temerson at my side, tears spilled down my cheeks. I met Narian’s mystified blue eyes and smiled, then gazed out at our people, a member of a united royal family, the man I loved among us.