“Yes. I loved her then, I love her more now, and I would love her more again should her hair switch back to the brightest red. She cannot do wrong in my eyes.”
“You are not well in the head, I think. You may have slipped on some Dogman entrails and cracked your skull.”
“You know what I was thinking? A bouquet of snow lilies. Oh no, wait, lily petals spread out on the table. I think she would appreciate that. She’s very artistic herself.”
“So you will build for her a house, filled with the plunder from the greatest raid ever led on the Dogmen, have for her a supper that is like to be even better than the one your mother prefers.” Titon heard Arron struggle with the decision of using past or present tense to speak of Titon’s mother—everyone did that. “And it will be presented upon a table strewn with the petals from the rarest flower. Then you ravage her?”
“Ha, no. Then I give her the metal ring to show my undying devotion to her. Then perhaps after that I can.” Titon could not control the size of the smile forming across his face.
“Well, I am no lady, but with such a showing you might even win my heart.”
Arron clasped his hands together, placed them to his chest, and stared at Titon affectionately. Titon punched him in the arm and snorted. The two young men walked for a ways in silence while Titon tried to determine if the flower petals should be randomly placed on the table or placed to form a symmetrical pattern.
“Titon,” Arron began more seriously, “how long do you intend to live in such a house, though? You have been adamant about our need to move permanently south. Why go through all the trouble just to leave?”
Titon had thought of it. There was not much that escaped his constant analysis. “I figure we have another year or two of easy raids on the Dogmen via the cliffs. I only warn of the need to move south so urgently because all things with our people seem to happen slower than planned. And to have an extra year or two alone with Red would be…” Titon trailed off dramatically at the thought, causing Arron to chuckle at his love-struck friend.
Titon had retaken his place at the front with his brother as they neared their home. Passing through other Galatai clan territories on the way, they were already getting a taste of what it was to return as heroes. Word of their conquest spread faster than the pace at which they traveled, so it was no surprise to see a gathering waiting for them when they finally reached their own lands.
What did surprise Titon was who was in attendance, or more precisely, who was not. It was always easy to recognize the outline of his father given his size, but it seemed quite obvious even from far off that he was not present. You neither see us off nor greet us upon our return, Father? Farewells before battle were not a Galatai custom, but a celebration upon victory certainly was. Perhaps you have a separate ceremony planned just for Decker. Titon’s sardonic thoughts shifted to confusion as he continued to inspect the figures in the distance. The center figure, toward whom the others were turned as if waiting for permission, was clearly that of a woman. With his father absent, Titon would have expected Keethro to be the one the clan would look to for leadership. Could it be Mother? The prospect excited him, but he brushed it aside just as quickly as it had come. He must not torment himself with foolish thoughts as did his brother and father.
It soon became evident that it was not his mother. The woman in the center, in addition to having a shape pleasing to the eye, had long dark hair. Beside her was a smaller woman with a similar shape, and around them were sprawled near a hundred of the members of their clan. Kilandra and Red.
Titon ignored Kilandra, concentrated instead on his heart’s tormentor. The weeks away from Red had only intensified her beauty and perfected her form. What was more, she seemed to stare directly at him with adoring affection.
As he closed distance, Titon saw an unfamiliar expression upon her face. She was infatuated, like a girl looking at her savior who had rescued her from a winter of desperate starvation, a man who single-handedly engineered a raid that went deeper and with more success into Dogman territory than any before him had dared. Titon’s chest swelled with pride and burned with the anxiety of being moments away from achieving what had been his goal all along, to have Red’s undivided affection. The notion to sweep her off her feet, take her alone into the woods, and have her watch as he built them a shelter in a single night entered his mind. It was foolish, he knew, but he suddenly felt capable of anything.
He tried to envision what he must look like to her, marching back with so many men and provisions in tow, his face purposefully stern, as if their complete and total victory had been a foregone conclusion. She now sees me as a leader, he realized, regretting ever having considered a path other than the one that would allow him to take his father’s place. The shadow of accomplishment Titon now cast must make even his giant brother who walked beside him seem small. Titon turned his head left to see Decker wearing the very grin Titon had been so careful to avoid. He then gazed back at Red and felt his own rigid look melt away as he came to realize at whom she truly stared.
ETHEL
“A king for every island. I always wondered how that could even work.”
Having a friend near her age had been an incredible relief to Ethel, especially with the rumors now circulating about her family. Her suspicions that Annora was a mere puppet of Cassen’s had been all but quashed, given the sincerity with which she spoke of the man, both favorably and ill. In spite of her candor when speaking of Cassen, there was still the issue of Annora having been well trained, along with possessing a natural inclination not to speak of her life before having left the Spicelands. Ethel found it a difficult task to compel her to share any details regarding her past.
“Sometimes it doesn’t,” replied Annora. “Why is this road so rounded?”
The road of brick and mortar was actually a pipe that followed the inner side of the city’s western walls. The two walked atop it as they spoke.
“It’s an aqueduct,” said Ethel, mildly annoyed by Annora’s conversational parry. “This one brings water from many miles northwest of the city, a place in the mountains where a tributary that feeds the Eos has the freshest, cleanest water of the realm.” Annora respectfully nodded to acknowledge what Ethel had said and looked down. I will have to teach her to look at me as an equal, at least when we are in private.
“It is like a giant serpent,” Annora said quietly.
Ethel had always thought of the wall as shaped like a ribbon, and the pipe as just a thing made to follow, but she could see how a serpent might be a better comparison. The aqueduct seemed to slither beside the wall, alternating westward and northward in kind. “My father was never able to tell me why they were built this way. He says a great deal of stone was wasted, though—that the King’s Arm was more properly constructed.”
“Why do I not hear any water?”
“No water is flowing now. These were made hundreds of years ago.” Ethel kicked a piece of loose mortar as she walked. “My father says they used to carry a stream of water at all times back then, but over time many small leaks developed. As the city’s needs grew, it was determined that less water would be wasted if they dammed the flow nearer the source, only opening it for a few hours a day.” Ethel forced herself to silence, realizing she rambled details that were not likely of any interest to the girl. She’ll see me like the rest of them do, Ethel thought to herself, now fearing Annora may have originally only wanted a simple explanation of how they received fresh water, not a lesson and tiring voyage toward the source.
“It must be a great sight when the dam is opened. Is it too far to reach?” Annora sounded genuinely interested, which surprised Ethel.
“I am afraid it is too far to reach on foot, and dangerous as well. But if we have timed it properly, we will reach a spot still within the walls where we can see the start of the daily rush of water.” Ethel’s mood was once again heightened. “I have often gone there alone just to see it.”
Their journey continued in a com
fortable silence. A cloud of dust trailed them from the dry dirt they kicked up while walking, but other than that, there was nothing to see but wall and the distant castle. The desolation of this place was in stark contrast to all other areas of the city sheltered within the outer walls. The first King Adellos was the one to have made it unlawful to bring carts or horses over these sections of the piping, due to their tendency to cave. Had Ethel and Annora traveled in any other direction from the castle, they would already be in the middle of an impoverished area, but this corner of the kingdom was only frequented, it seemed, by young highborn looking for mischief, privacy, or both.
“Have you ever actually seen a serpent before?” Ethel asked. She’d been unable to rid herself of serpentine imagery since Annora had mentioned it.
“I have done more than see them. We ate them on the islands.”
Ethel looked at Annora with confusion and disgust, and watched as Annora’s contentment drained.
“It tastes fine,” Annora said in her defense before looking down again.
“Then I should hope to try it some time.” Ethel lied as believably as she could. “How did your cooks prepare it?” she asked, feigning interest.
Ethel was pleased to see Annora amused, but did not understand the cause of it.
“My mother cooked it several ways. The best was in bubbling coconut oil.”
“Ah, your mother was a cook?”
“On the islands all mothers are many things.” Annora spoke quite matter-of-factly. Nonetheless, Ethel was impressed.
“You must have loved her very much.”
Annora looked as though she was contemplating whether to simply agree or divulge whatever it was that clearly bothered her—Ethel willed the latter with intensity.
“I grew to neither love nor hate her.” Annora let out a breath. “She was a weak woman.”
“How so?” Ethel prodded when it seemed Annora would say no more.
“How can you love, let alone pity, a woman who folds to the will of a man so completely that when he tells her north is south, she not only agrees with him, but convinces herself that it is indeed the case?”
Ethel had not expected such candor from Annora on this subject, but she welcomed it. Ethel did not welcome her lingering worry that Alther may possess the very characteristics that Annora described in her mother, however. He is not so weak as that, Ethel assured herself. Not with Mother, at least. The king may have been a different story, but Ethel could not fault her father for obeying his own.
“She did not object when your father sent you to Adeltia?” She did not distrust Annora’s story of being sold, at least in some sense, but she could not bring herself to repeat the word.
“By then it did not matter,” said Annora, despondent.
Ethel feared that would be the end of the story. It was obviously not a pleasant one. Much to her surprise, Annora continued.
“The kings on our islands not only have many wives, they have many young wives. At the age of eleven, when my father saw I’d grown faster than the others, he began preparing me to marry his cousin, the king.”
Ethel was able to keep from gasping, more at the revelation that Annora may have been considered some sort of savage royalty at some point than at the potential for incest—if indeed marrying one’s father’s cousin was considered such on their islands.
“It seemed a great honor at first, and my father and I grew close as he showered me with jewelry to raise my status. I was quite jealous when a close friend of mine married the king before me, becoming his fifteenth wife. She was gone for months celebrating her marriage during which I envied her undeserved luck. But when she returned she was different. She had no great tales of wonderful sights seen on distant islands. She barely spoke at all. She’d become a joyless shell of the girl she once was, and I had no desire to follow in her path. My mother…”
Annora stopped and cleared her throat, causing Ethel to fear for a moment that she meant to spit.
“My mother did nothing to stop my father from forcing me to attend the king’s next marriage ceremony. The event attracted the entire island to watch as the king asked his potential brides what made them fit for marriage. The girls before me answered aloud the typical reasons, that they were good cooks, or weavers, or swimmers. When my turn came I asked to tell the king in secret. It was my only chance of escape, as I lacked the courage to have scarred my face, the only other way I could think to avoid this marriage. I watched my father’s expression, likely mirroring the king’s, turn from pride to dread, as I whispered into the king’s ear.”
Annora went quiet.
What did you say? Ethel wondered, but she would not press her further, not today. Annora’s revelation was more than Ethel had expected. Annora did not seem the type to want pity, and Ethel kept herself from attempting to console her. She decided she’d simply let the rushing water of the aqueduct cheer Annora instead. They were very close now.
As they neared the final bend in the wall that led to their destination, Ethel heard voices. Had she been by herself, it would have been her cue to turn around and leave. They sounded like children at play, however, and with Annora by her side, Ethel did not feel the need to avoid the potential for interaction as was her normal inclination.
“A little farther,” a boy said. “At the end you will find a gemstone. You must retrieve it.”
Ethel and Annora rounded the bend and saw three boys crouched around the opening in the aqueducts. Ethel quickly recognized one of the boys as Sture. Most Adeltian highborn had an air of arrogance, but Ethel knew Sture to exceed that immodest standard. She also had trouble determining the source of his pretentiousness, as he was quite feeble looking for his age.
“I do not see it,” echoed a squeaky voice from inside the tunnel. “I want to come out.”
“Derudin will be disappointed if you cannot carry out this simple task. All named students have to complete it in order to progress in their training.” Sture looked at the other boys, lifting his shoulders and covering his mouth with his fist as if to stifle laughter.
“What are you doing?” Ethel demanded.
The boys shot to their feet. Two of them made only brief eye contact, but Sture scowled at Ethel with contempt. “What business of yours is it?” The golden insignia of House Ellavium shone against his moleskin coat like a badge of authority.
“It is not safe for your friend to be down there. It will be a rushing river any moment now.” Ethel moved toward the opening as she spoke.
“Oh, I know you,” Sture said with a growing smile. “You are the bastard girl!”
Ethel ignored his comment and continued toward the lip of the tunnel to yell a warning to whoever was inside, but Sture shoved her back.
“You must come out,” Ethel yelled, hoping it would be heard from inside the aqueduct.
“Stay out of this, bastard bitch. I heard you were seducing your own grandfather, you incestuous slut. How about you go—”
Ethel charged Sture and tried to push him out of the way. She may have had five years on the weakling, but he still outweighed her, and her long dress made things difficult. The two fell to the ground, him on top. His look of rage turned to one of amusement, realizing he’d won.
“Does your grandfather ride you like this?” The glee in Sture’s empowered voice sickened Ethel, and the smell of leather, sweat, and his minty breath drove her to nausea.
Sture shrieked. Annora had him by his bright blonde hair and pulled him off of Ethel. Annora was a small woman, slightly smaller in frame than Ethel even, but she seemed to have an ox’s strength as she handled Sture the way a mother would her young brat.
“Release me,” he screamed, but Annora merely signaled to Ethel to continue what she had originally attempted. Ethel sprung to her feet and hurried to the opening.
“Get out of there, it is not safe,” she yelled into the dark tunnel. “Come toward my voice!” She thought she heard the pitter-patter of small feet running, but all sound was drowned out by
the roar of distant rushing water. The hole was almost the height of a man from the bottom of the aqueduct, and there was no ladder, making it difficult for even a tall, agile boy to get out on his own. Ethel feared she would not be much help either, but she got on her stomach and stretched her arms out nonetheless. “Run to me,” she called again, though it was unlikely the person inside could hear her over the water.
She waited, expecting at any moment for a boy’s body to wash past her in a flash, unable to grab hold of her hands or, worse yet, pulling her in with him. She tensed her muscles in anticipation, hoping he would not be a heavy one. Then she felt hands grasp her own—tiny hands with spindly wrists—but even so, Ethel was pulled with so great a force that she almost flipped forward.
“Annora, help,” she cried, realizing even this small child was too difficult to hoist on her own.
Annora must have flung Sture to the ground before coming to help her, because after the two of them wrestled from the aqueduct what turned out to be a tiny girl with stark-white hair, Sture was covered in dirt and irate.
“You do not lay hands upon an Adeltian highborn, you servant whore! I will have you flayed for this!”
The little girl was crying, drenched from the waist down, but, from the looks of it, otherwise unharmed.
“She could have been killed.” Annora’s Spicelander accent was unsuppressed by her normally careful articulation.
“My father, Alther, will see that no harm comes to her for helping to save a girl’s life.” Evoking the king’s name rather than just her father’s would have been more consequential, but Ethel had no mind to speak his name again after the ball. “You overstep yourself. You may be highborn, but you are still a conquered people. It would do you well to remember.”
It was the simple truth. Ethel had been told by her mother that Adeltians were always a proud people, but that prior to the short and bloody war, their pride had had more justification. All the best had been lost during the fight to save their kingdom. To Ethel, all that seemed to remain of the once noble Adeltians were the dregs and detritus. The irony was not lost on her that the very thing that made their land so rich for farming was now unfortunately foremost in their people. If only the likes of Sture could have been lost and buried, feeding the crops, so that our best could have remained.
The Axe and the Throne (Bounds of Redemption Book 1) Page 24
