The Affiliate

by K. A. Linde

  “Do you think we’ll make the First Class?” Rhea whispered.

  Cyrene looked at Rhea whose ever-present pallid complexion had only turned more ashen with fear. The touch of rouge on her cheeks couldn’t hide her waxen appearance. In the faint carriage light, her hands visibly trembled, a problem she’d had since childhood.

  “How could we not?” Cyrene asked with a false sense of confidence.

  “What if we don’t?”

  “Don’t even think about it, Rhea. We’ve been together this long…”

  She couldn’t imagine life without Rhea. Cyrene knew that the First Class children were rarely placed into a lower Class, but it had happened. Only last year, a girl from Cyrene’s own neighborhood had been selected into the Third Class.

  Cyrene shuddered at the thought. She had worked and studied too hard to spend the rest of her life reaching for a place where she already belonged.

  The three carriages swiftly passed through the gates, entering the lush garden paradise. As far as the eye could see, the royal grounds were covered with flourishing trees, brightly colored flowers, acres of fresh green grass, and even a slowly trickling creek with a stone bridge. Birds chirped overhead as the carriages rattled forward through the sprawling garden. In such a natural habitat, the drone of city life was all but obscured.

  A footman descended the castle stairs and opened the carriage door. Cyrene dropped Rhea’s hand and exited first. She regally tilted her head up as she placed her expensive Biencan gold slippers onto royal land. The corners of her lips turned up, and years of etiquette training took over.

  A gentleman directed her inside, and Rhea followed behind on the arm of another escort. Their families had already entered the castle and were being ushered into the Grand Hall.

  Allowing her escort to lead her away from Rhea, Cyrene silently wished she had told her friend good luck. Each Affiliate was given his or her own Presenting chamber, so Cyrene wouldn’t see Rhea until this was all over.

  Cyrene’s escort walked her through several winding hallways to a broad stone door. With anticipation, her heart thudded wildly in her chest. This was the entrance to her Presenting chamber.

  Richly colored curtains and tapestries hung on the walls. The cost of the thick Aurumian carpet could provide a year’s worth of meals from the Laelish Market. An ornate silver pitcher and several crystal glasses sat atop an artfully constructed mahogany table against the back wall.

  Cyrene poured herself a glass of water and brought the cup to her lips.

  The room reminded her about the ancient history of the reign of the Doma court under the dreaded Domina Serafina. Nearly two thousand years ago, Byern had been ruled by an aristocracy that took everything for themselves, laid waste to the land, and starved the populace they deemed to be lesser. Then Viktor Dremylon had risen up against the court, seized Byern for the people, and freed the realm from oppressive rule. All the Doma’s horrible practices had been reversed, and the prosperity of the past two millennia had validated the Dremylon victory. Now, only rare artifacts, history lessons, and folktales were left of that time period.

  A rustling of the carpet drew her out of her thoughts, and she turned quickly.

  Shrieking in surprise, she nearly dropped the glass. She rushed across the room and threw her arms around her older sister. “Aralyn!”

  Aralyn held her tightly.

  “It’s so good to see you,” Cyrene gasped out.

  “I’ve missed you.” Aralyn examined Cyrene at arm’s length. “Why, you are positively gorgeous! And in red! Did Father approve this color?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s not a court color.”

  Cyrene ignored her sister’s slight. “Forget about the color, Aralyn. I haven’t seen you in a year. What is it like in Kell as an Affiliate Ambassador? Tell me everything!”

  “I didn’t come to discuss my travels with you. I came to make sure you were prepared. I have your Presenting letter.”

  Aralyn extracted a letter from the sash on her gown. Cyrene reverently took the letter in her hand.

  “You don’t have much time before they call. I came to be your Advisor.” A small smile played on her features. “I couldn’t miss my little sister’s Presenting.”

  Questions bubbled inside of Cyrene, but she held her tongue.

  “What you read inside that envelope may not be spoken of to anyone, save other citizens in kind as well as King Edric, Queen Kaliana, and Consort Daufina, but know that they might not hold any answers, or they might even lead you astray. Do you understand?”

  No. How could I possibly understand until I read the letter? She prayed to the Creator that she’d become an Affiliate, so she could ask Aralyn all these pressing questions.

  “Cyrene, do you understand?” Aralyn repeated more sternly.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Very well. After you read your letter, proceed to the far door, and wait for an official to open it for you. When you are given the signal for dismissal, return to this room to await your Selecting.”

  “Will you be here?” Cyrene blurted out.

  “No. You must await your Selecting alone.”

  Cyrene glanced down at the letter within her hands and back up at Aralyn. “Do you think I’ll make First Class?”

  Aralyn produced her first real smile. “I’ve no doubt you will be selected to your proper place,” she said, pulling Cyrene into a hug. “You’ll do fine. Now, I must go. I’ll see you on the other side.”

  Aralyn placed a peck on each side of Cyrene’s cheeks and departed the room.

  A weight formed in the pit of Cyrene’s stomach. It was judgment day. The small piece of paper in her hands felt like a heavy load.

  After turning the cream envelope over, she tore the royal seal back from the parchment and pulled out the letter. The royal crest, a green Dremylon D wrapped in gold flames, was stamped on the front of the card.

  She flipped the card open.

  WHAT YOU SEEK LIES WHERE YOU CANNOT SEEK IT.

  WHAT YOU FIND CANNOT BE FOUND.

  THE THING YOU DESIRE ABOVE ALL ELSE RISKS ALL ELSE.

  THE THING YOU FIGHT FOR CANNOT BE WON.

  WHEN ALL SEEMS LOST, WHAT WAS LOST CAN BE FOUND.

  WHEN ALL BEND, YOU CANNOT BE AS YOU WERE.

  It’s gibberish! Just a series of riddles!

  What am I seeking? A position as an Affiliate, next to my sister? Yet that makes no sense because that position is available to me. Is it the same thing I need to find? If it is, how can I find something that I can’t pursue and that can’t be found?

  The second part was slightly more straightforward. But what do I desire? She didn’t know how becoming an Affiliate would risk everything else in her life. Plus, she wasn’t fighting anyone. Byern hadn’t been at war for two hundred years!

  The next line made even less sense. She felt pretty lost right now, but she hardly thought that was what the line was referring to. Am I to lose something…everything? She reread the final line once more and tried to puzzle out the hidden meaning. Who is bending? If people were bending in some way, how would I lose myself? That seemed to be the most troubling part to her. She didn’t know how she could possibly be something she was not.

  She didn’t have time to figure it out now. She had to complete her Presenting. She stuffed the card back into the envelope, placed it on the table, and walked to the far wall. As soon as she reached the entrance, the doors began to creak open.

  Standing before her was the Royal Court of Byern.

  The Byern court rose from their elegantly crafted chairs, turned to the corner of the ballroom, and stared at Cyrene in the open doorway.

  Cyrene held in her gasp. The ballroom was exquisite with interchanging cerulean, jade, and mother-of-pearl columns and gold-outlined ornamental moldings. Her eyes tilted upward to the hand-painted ceiling with a grand clock designed into the artwork. Through a dozen floor-to-ceiling windows, the ever-darkening clouds outside shed a murky glow on th
e room.

  Soft music came to life from the strings of a musician’s harpsichord.

  That was her cue.

  Pushing her shoulders back, Cyrene stepped one gold slipper and then another onto the marble ballroom floor. All traces of her previous anxiety vanished from her powdered face, and she produced an easy smile for the awaiting crowd. She walked gracefully down the back of the room to a long center aisle. At the end of the path sat King Edric on a high-backed gold throne. With her fair hair tied up into a tight bun, Queen Kaliana was on his left, and the dark-haired Consort Daufina was to his right.

  Cyrene’s heartbeat pulsed through her fingertips and thumped against her neck. Her stomach seemed to drop out of her body as she made eye contact with the King. The intensity of his gaze made her cheeks flush. She hoped her rouge hid her nervousness.

  With her chin held high, Cyrene proceeded. She passed her parents seated in the front row alongside Aralyn, Elea, and her older brother, Reeve. On the other side of the aisle sat the Gramm family. Cyrene wondered if Rhea had been presented first. Cyrene couldn’t judge from the Gramms’ expressions.

  After walking the remaining few feet to the front of the dais, she climbed the stairs to stand before her King, and then she dropped into the lowest curtsy possible.

  She held her position for what felt like an eternity before King Edric’s voice boomed throughout the ballroom. “You may rise.”

  Her knees shook as she lifted herself off the ground.

  King Edric had changed since she last saw him at Aralyn’s Presenting. His father, King Maltrier, had died from unknown causes when Edric was only fifteen years old. Edric had shouldered the responsibility of the kingdom as well as the welfare of his younger sister, Jesalyn—now Queen of Aurum—and his younger brother, Prince Kael. Five years later, King Edric was now twenty and had rightfully come into his own. His very presence exuded a confidence no one but a king could manage.

  Slowly, King Edric rose from his throne to his full height. In her thoughts, Cyrene couldn’t even capture the full extent of his intrigue. He was incredibly tall with a strong jawline covered in stubble and piercing blue-gray eyes that surveyed the crowd behind her.

  “Welcome. We are here today for the Presenting of a daughter of the Strohm family, who nobly served my father, King Maltrier—son of King Herold, son of King Viktor of the royal line of Dremylon. Creator rest their souls.”

  The crowd softly murmured their own blessings to the former kings.

  “Come today to stand before the throne to be presented is one of our own,” he said. “She was raised in our land, educated in our land, and will forever be part of our land. Her Presenting today signals acceptance of the traditions and values of Byern. Such a step represents her desire to be part of the everyday improvement of our land. Acceptance of her Selecting requires responsibility and adherence to the foundation of Byern principles.”

  Cyrene’s head swam. She was agreeing to be presented and selected, no matter the consequences. No matter if she was placed in the Third Class. This would decide her entire future, and her heart constricted painfully as possibilities flooded her conscious.

  “Today, I Present Cyrene Sera Strohm, daughter of Hamidon and Herlana; sister to our own devoted member of the High Order, Reeve; and our trusted Affiliate, Aralyn. We shall begin the Presenting now.”

  King Edric took a step toward her, and her blue eyes met his. An electric shock shot through her at his nearness. For a moment, while locked in the King’s gaze, all she saw was the here and now. There was neither time nor distance between them. It was just a pull as if they would be tethered together from this point on.

  King Edric jerked back a step and shook his head, pulling her out of the trance that had come over her. What just happened?

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he pulled himself back together. Then, he spoke softly for her ears only, “Cyrene.”

  She silently cursed and dropped her gaze to the polished floor. What am I doing? She wasn’t even supposed to directly look at him yet.

  “You may look at me.”

  Surprised, Cyrene did as commanded. She didn’t understand what had passed between them, but looking at him made something within her fall into place.

  “Miss Strohm, I stand here as your King, willing to select you into a proper position within the Byern community. Are you prepared to do your duty?”

  Her lips quirked up into a haughty smirk. “Yes, My King.”

  King Edric paused, eyeing her mouth. “Do you always wear that smirk?”

  She tried to tamp down the expression on her face, but she didn’t seem to be able to. “Yes, My King.”

  His blue-gray eyes narrowed, and her heart thumped. Why can’t I keep a lid on my attitude today of all days?

  “Every Class performs fundamental tasks for the improvement of Byern. Are you aware of the three Class tasks?” He returned to the Presenting dialogue.

  “The Guardians, Auxiliaries, and Essentials,” she said, giving the formal names for the three Classes, “perform vital tasks to improve Byern. Guardians keep the system functional. Auxiliaries offer protection. The Essentials see to the daily needs of the many.”

  “And why are the Classes necessary?”

  Cyrene responded as if she were reading straight from a script but with more conviction than she had ever felt before, “To maintain peace and prosperity. After Viktor Dremylon freed our people from the Doma overlord, he founded the Class system to utilize the benefits of all his citizens.”

  “Have you any skills necessary for acceptance into one of these three Classes?”

  Cyrene knew she was supposed to admit that the skills she had learned would be sufficient for any Class, that no talents dominated one Class over another, yet the words were stuck on her tongue like a lie. She did have talents that would be more useful for the First Class, and she couldn’t stand before her own King and tell him that she did not, no matter how much training she had been given to say otherwise. Staring up into his face, she felt compelled to offer him the truth even if she knew that she should not.

  “Yes, My King.”

  King Edric cocked his head to the side. The silence between them stretched and felt weighted with her indiscretion. She bit her lip, and the stress of the afternoon pressed in on her. Did I just ruin my chance at the First Class?

  “Well, what are your skills?” King Edric demanded.

  “My sister says I can predict the weather.”

  “As can most witches.”

  Cyrene looked up at him under her full black lashes. “I don’t believe I like your accusation,” she murmured in a near whisper, “My King.”

  “My apologies.”

  The King of Byern had just apologized to her.

  Her breathing was heavy as she forced herself to keep going. “Of course, it’s not possible to predict the weather, but I believe I have more determination and will than you might find in a hundred people. I will fight for my kingdom until my last breath.” Her voice was hoarse with emotion.

  “A loyal subject.”

  “Byern’s most loyal subject.”

  “And as Byern’s most loyal subject, you would use this determination and will as instructed?”

  “Yes, of course, My King.”

  “Do you always wear this shade of red? Few wear such a daring color in my court.”

  Much of her family had said as much. Soft colors were always in fashion, but Cyrene was not soft. She had never cared about how it would look if she wore red until the moment she was standing before the King.

  “Do you like it?” she couldn’t help asking.

  After a moment, he nodded. “Yes, my lady. It seems it is not just your clothing that is daring.” He did not seem displeased. “Once you are selected, you will be announced to your Receiver and placed in his or her charge for proper training. Do you accept the circumstances of your Selecting?”

  “However I am fit and however I am able,” she breathed. She had never meant the words mo
re than when she was speaking them to King Edric. She felt an electric tug when she delivered the words.

  He quickly stepped away, and she wondered if he’d felt it, too.

  “You may proceed, Miss Strohm.”

  Cyrene faced her audience with a million thoughts running through her mind. How did that conversation go so far off course? And why would I give anything to speak to the King one more time?

  She pushed her thoughts away from King Edric and continued with her Presenting ceremony.

  “The Royal Court of Byern, I have taken the Oath of Acceptance, tying myself to my Selecting, to my Receiver, and to the land. I trust in the decision of the court to utilize my services to the best of their abilities for the people of Byern. I, Cyrene Sera Strohm, daughter of Hamidon and Herlana, fully present myself on the day of my seventeenth birthday to shirk the immaturity of my youth and take on the responsibility of my adulthood.”

  Cyrene dipped into another low curtsy.

  “Miss Strohm, you may return to your anteroom until you are received for Selecting,” King Edric announced.

  “Thank you,” she said before walking back the way she had come.

  Soft murmurs sounded all around her, but she couldn’t hear anything that was said. Her head was abuzz with her conversation with the King and the pull that made her want to turn around and go back.

  A member of the Royal Guard opened the door to her waiting room. She ducked inside and breathed out a huge sigh of relief. She had successfully been presented to the Royal Court.

  It was over, yet it had just begun.

  Cyrene stumbled toward a divan covered in a mountain of throw pillows and collapsed on top of the heap. Her body sank into the padded plush seat as she crumpled from exhaustion. For so long, she had been anticipating her Presenting. She could hardly believe it was over. Her fate was out of her hands now.

  She buried her face into the pillows. Her body was shaking from shock. I just spoke to the King of Byern as if he were a common suitor! She didn’t care how handsome he was. And he was very handsome. It was not proper to flirt with the King, and it was certainly not proper to reprimand him for his tone, yet she hadn’t been able to stop herself.