Always Golden

by Gina Dickerson

  Vilas did not even feel Hashir’s hand on his shoulder this time until the latter spoke.

  ‘How did he die?’ the king asked the soldiers.

  The soldiers arranged Vilas’ father’s body on the wooden table. One of them, the stockiest of the pair, raised his eyes to meet his king’s. ‘We believe it was the princess who killed Commander Anearr. She was running across the fields on the outside of the moat when we found him.’

  ‘Are you certain it was Princess Oriana?’ Hashir asked.

  The other soldier nodded. ‘We could tell by her hair.’

  ‘And you did not try to shoot her down with your arrows?’ the king demanded. ‘You didn’t try to impair her so she would have been easy to capture?’

  ‘No, Sire, she was out of range.’

  ‘We didn’t dare, you said you wanted her alive!’

  ‘I do, you did right to not harm her.’

  ‘Why has it taken you so long to bring the body to us?’ Hashir asked.

  The soldiers looked at each other and at the floor.

  ‘We didn’t want to upset Vilas further.’ One guard gestured at Vilas’ face.

  ‘Leave us!’ Vilas bellowed, resting his hands on the table to one side of his father’s body.

  ‘You heard him,’ Hashir ordered the soldiers. ‘Close the doors behind you.’

  ‘Sire, shall we arrange a search party to go after the princess?’

  ‘Yes, assemble our best trackers.’

  The soldiers turned to leave.

  ‘Wait!’ Vilas shouted. ‘I will track the princess.’ Heat rose inside of him, further torturing his burns. ‘She will have to hear from my own mouth exactly what I think of her ending my father’s life!’

  Hashir laid a restraining arm on Vilas’ forearm. ‘You will lead the pursuit but first take a few moments to collect yourself. You have lost your father, I understand you will be upset. Go,’ he told the soldiers. ‘I want a search party assembled and dispatched the moment Vilas orders. Remember, the princess is to be brought back alive. If anyone has to impair her they had better ensure it is not life-threatening.’ He waved the soldiers away.

  Vilas clenched his fists. Tears threatened to prick the back of his eyelids but he willed himself to be strong. His father had never been a man of what he considered to be weak emotion. He sneaked a glance at Hashir. The young king had not shed a single tear for his own father, and he suspected nor would he, having been the one to send the older king to his death. It was different being a royal, it called for a colder heart with less attachment. Being Royal meant you would never know who you would have to kill to succeed. Vilas sighed. He would not mourn his own father. He could not afford the time. The only thought bouncing around inside his head was that he, Vilas, was trapped until he brought the princess back to Hashir.

  Now his father had gone and had himself murdered, the promise would rest solely on his head. If he chose to leave without honouring his father’s oath, it would be classed as an act of treason against Hashir. The price of which would be death, no matter how long their friendship.

  ‘The oath is yours now, Vilas.’ Hashir grinned, correctly interpreting Vilas’ simmering anger. ‘Do what you do best and find the princess for me.’

  ‘I do think this is unfair. You had her and you let her go.’

  Hashir winked. ‘Safe in the knowledge my best, most charming soldier could find her if she escaped. I know you can whisk her back to me with some of your usual charm.’

  ‘If it hasn’t all been burnt away. Once I have found Oriana I will be free to live my life as I choose?’

  Hashir nodded. ‘You have my word.’

  Vilas unbuckled his father’s sword belt and tugged it out from underneath his heavy bulk. Strapping it around his own hips he reached for his sword and sheathed it. ‘I will do everything within my power to bring you your prize.’ He strode towards the double doors.

  ‘Wait!’ Hashir worked the ruby gemstone ring from Anearr’s finger and tossed it to Vilas. ‘You are now my commander of the army. Show this ring to anyone within the realms and whatever you ask for will be fulfilled, if anyone does not recognise the king’s mark you have permission to take whatever you wish by any means necessary.’

  Vilas caught the ring and studied it. It was too large for any of his fingers—his father had had chubby, shorter fingers than him—so he jammed it onto his left thumb. Wearing it brought with it a wave of mixed emotions. Without thinking he reached up and felt the back of his head. There was still a lump beneath the hair from when he had been a boy and his father had struck him for answering back. He had learnt to keep his mouth shut. The ring had made his head bleed so much he had felt dizzy.

  ‘Remember,’ Hashir called as Vilas swept from the hall. ‘I want the princess alive and I want her to agree to come to me. I want her willing when I marry her. Use your charm, Vilas, it’s what you’re best at!’

  Sure, Vilas thought, making his way to the courtyard for his horse. He was bound to charm the satin slippers off the princess now looking the way he did.

  Damn it, he wasn’t even sure he could muster a smile to start with.

  Oriana had, after all, removed his father from his life and bound him into the stupid promise he never wanted to be part of in the first place.

  It was the princess’ fault he was stuck in this blasted position when he had been waiting for this day his whole life.

  The day he was supposed to be free.

  Chapter Four

  Oriana

  Oriana stopped by the still waters of a pond in a hollow surrounded by tall, dark trees of Wolmwood. Sinking to her knees, she cupped a handful of water to her mouth, taking small sips. The ground beneath her bare knees was damp, the mud soft and cool. An earthy scent lingered on the night air. She had never ventured this far into the forest. In fact she was not even sure if this far into the forest was still within the boundaries of her father’s realm. She sobbed, choking on a tear before breaking into heart-wrenching cries which drove birds from the branches.

  It was no longer her father’s land. King Acapf and his merry murderers had seen to that.

  Trying to curb her sobs, Oriana tore a strip off the bottom of her already too-short and raggedy skirt. It was difficult, for the material was still wet from her swim across the moat. Rubbing her eyes on the back of her hand, she blew her nose on the already sodden material and bunched it into a ball in her fist.

  King Acapf was not the only one to blame, his son could have left the castle after he had killed his father but he had not, he had chosen to continue in his father’s footsteps and force his way to become ruler of the realm.

  Anger replaced the sick feeling inside Oriana.

  What game was Hashir playing? Why had he not just killed her in the first place and have it over with? Why had he taken Karima? Was it because he hoped she, Oriana, would return to free her?

  Oriana hurled the scrunched up material into the pond, breaking the even surface with ripples. Of course she would return for Karima. There was no way she would give up hope in rescuing her friend. Karima would not be part of Hashir’s sick collection for too long if she could help it.

  Slowly rising to her feet, Oriana looked around properly for the first time since she had crawled up the opposite side of the moat. She shivered, the air carried a chill. She had nothing except the wet clothes she stood in. Goosebumps prickled the hair on her forearms and she rubbed them rapidly in an attempt to warm herself. Knowing she had to find somewhere sheltered to rest for the remainder of the night, Oriana took off further into the woods. There was no point in her doubling back, she could not risk running into any of King Hashir’s soldiers.

  The cool breeze snaked between the tall trees, making leaves rustle, and Oriana wrapped her arms over her chest. Pressing her arms tight something jabbed into her chest, reminding her she was still wearing her chain with its pendant bearing her father’s coat of arms. The thought comforted her. With the pendant she could prove her identity as on
ly members of the immediate royal family wore jewellery adorned with the dragon design. It was a unique coat of arms, for the dragon had a long mane of hair.

  Representing first her mother, and now herself, Oriana thought, wondering why she had never realised it.

  The dragon itself represented the strength of her father’s bloodline.

  Realising the density of the trees had lessened while she had walked caught up in her thoughts, Oriana paused. She had reached the edge of the forest and before her spread land with low growing crops. Her heart lifted.

  There was a building beyond the fields...a house!

  With a surge of hope helping her along, Oriana ran through the crops. She was breathless by the time she neared the building. A warm, orangey glow emanated from one of the lower windows of the timber house, creating a pool of light on the wooden veranda outside. Three weathered steps led up to the veranda and creaked as Oriana ascended. She stopped still, glancing nervously over her shoulder. Before knocking on the door she wanted to take a peek through the window and see if she could make out who was inside the house. The last thing she needed was to walk straight into the hands of any soldiers.

  The windows were grimy on the outside. Oriana rubbed at a corner, making sure to keep her head low. Peering through the glass she could see the room was a kitchen. In the centre was a wooden table with the contents of what looked like an evening meal scattered across its surface. Chairs were upended and lay in broken pieces. Oriana shrank back, clasping a hand to her mouth as she spied two bodies among the chair and food debris, each in a pool of blood with arrows protruding from their backs. Tiptoeing along the veranda she wondered if she could see into any of the other rooms. From the looks of things she figured the soldiers had passed through here on their way to the castle, which meant she was still within the castle’s lands.

  The kitchen was the only room lit and Oriana returned to the front door after having fully checked the outside of the house.

  There was a creak from further along the veranda.

  Oriana scanned the wooden boards; there was nothing to serve her as a weapon. Shaking her hair she pulled it over her shoulders so the tresses ran down her back and across her chest in a kind of hairy cape.

  ‘I know you’re there,’ she said, taking a deep breath. ‘Show yourself!’

  In response there was another creak.

  ‘I will fight you,’ Oriana said more bravely than she felt.

  Footsteps approached in the darkness.

  Oriana tensed, the thudding of her heart filling her ears, matching the footsteps.

  ‘W...w...what do you want?’ a voice asked timidly.

  Relief washed over Oriana as a young girl with her brown hair in braids nearly as long as Oriana’s own hair, drew into the pool of light.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Oriana soothed. ‘There’s no need to be afraid of me.’ Guessing the girl could not be more than fourteen, Oriana smiled. ‘Is this your house?’

  The girl, her eyes wide, and with cheeks dirtied by the tracks of tears, nodded. Unshed tears glimmered in her eyes and she picked the forefinger of her left hand, pulling at the skin, seemingly not noticing it was already bleeding. Her cotton smock dress was grubby and her feet, like Oriana’s, were shoe-less.

  ‘Your parents are on the floor inside?’ Oriana questioned gently.

  Another nod.

  ‘And the soldiers, the ones with the dark armour, they hurt your parents?’

  ‘Yes.’ The girl began to cry. ‘I was watering the flowers when I saw them coming. There were so many of them I was afraid so I hid in the field behind the house, between the crops. They didn’t see me but I saw them. They went inside the house and I heard my mother scream...the soldiers were laughing when they came out as if it was a lot of fun for them!’

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss, and I’m sorry but I have to ask,’ Oriana said. ‘Can I have a change of clothes?’ She pulled out the chain around her neck and showed the girl her pendant. ‘I am Oriana.’

  The girl stopped crying. ‘Princess Oriana?’

  Oriana nodded. ‘I know this is a really bad time but I need a change of clothes so I don’t stand out.’

  ‘I haven’t returned to the house since the soldiers left. I couldn’t face it.’

  ‘I understand. They killed my parents, too.’

  The girl gasped. ‘King Germaine is dead? Oh no, that will mean King Acapf is our king now...my father always said King Acapf is a monster!’

  ‘King Acapf is also dead, Hashir, Acapf’s son, is king now. He killed his own father and has taken control of my father’s castle and lands.’

  The girl reached for Oriana’s hand. ‘I will help you because it is what my parents would have done. My father said King Germaine is...was...the best king we could have hoped for. He was kind to all of us. I’ll be pleased to help you in any way I can.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ Oriana asked, following the girl to the door.

  ‘Mairsile.’

  The door opened into a wide hallway. Light from the kitchen added a gentle, warm sheen to the wooden floor. Mairsile trembled as she looked to the room where her parents’ bodies lay.

  ‘You don’t have to go in there,’ Oriana said gently. ‘Not if you don’t want to.’

  Mairsile swayed and Oriana reached for her, offering support.

  ‘I’ll have to sooner or later,’ the girl said. ‘I must bury them.’

  ‘I’ll help you.’ Oriana’s own eyes filled with tears. ‘I can’t offer my parents the same privilege but I can help you honour yours.’

  Mairsile wiped her tears on her sleeve cuff. ‘Thanks, I’d be grateful of the help. I don’t think I can do it on my own. I’ll end up crying and it’ll take forever. Follow me upstairs, I think something of my mother’s will fit you. You’re bigger than me so my clothes will be too small.’

  Mairsile sat quietly on the edge of her parents’ neatly made bed while Oriana peeled off her wet clothes and looked through the clothes hanging in the wardrobe. She selected a plain, dark blue tunic with long sleeves, and a pair of riding trousers. Skirts would be a hindrance and she did not care if anyone thought her common for wearing the skin tight trousers. Slipping the clothes on, Oriana instantly felt warmer. The tunic was a little snug across her bust, and the dip of the ‘v’ on her clavicle strained. Luckily the trousers were a perfect fit and were made of a soft, comfortable material. There was a pair of leather, lace-up, flat boots in the bottom of the wardrobe and Oriana tried them on. They were a little loose but she pulled the laces tight, hoping she would not end up with blisters.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said to Mairsile, who was still silent on the bed. ‘I understand how difficult it is for you. There is so much to take in.’ Oriana sat down beside Mairsile and slipped an arm around the girl’s shoulders. ‘At first light we will bury your parents.’

  Mairsile cried quietly. ‘And what happens to me? I can’t run the farm on my own...I don’t want to be alone!’

  ‘Do you have any other family you could stay with?’

  Mairsile shook her head. ‘There was only me, my mother, and my father.’

  ‘Any friends?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘None from school?’

  ‘Mother taught me here, she used to be a teacher before I was born. I have no-one else!’

  The same as her, Oriana thought. ‘I will help you as much as I can.’

  ‘But you can’t, you’re the princess!’

  Oriana laughed. ‘Just because I’m a princess doesn’t mean I’m entirely useless.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Mairsile jumped to her feet and raced to the window. Pulling back the lace curtain she peered out. With a yelp, she dropped to the floor.

  Oriana knew. ‘Soldiers!’

  Mairsile nodded. ‘They’re at the edge of the forest.’

  ‘They are looking for me, I bet.’

  ‘You can’t outrun them.’ Mairsile crawled back to Oriana. ‘They’ll be sure to see you if you leave the hous
e. We have to disguise you!’

  ‘With this?’ Oriana grabbed a fistful of her long hair.

  Mairsile screwed her face up. ‘I got it!’ She punched the air. ‘My mother was dyeing her favourite dress, it had faded so she made vegetable dye. We can dye your hair if we’re quick!’

  Oriana slid from the bed and crawled after Mairsile. The bathroom was a simple room with an iron bath and a wash stand. The bath was filled with material soaking in an ebony dye.

  ‘This will take too long!’ Oriana wailed.

  Mairsile shook her head. ‘No, it won’t. Mother plunges her dress in and swirls it around in the dye. Dunk your hair in and swish it around, it’ll work, I know it will!’ She grabbed a length of dark linen from the wash stand. ‘Once you’ve done it, wrap this around your hair.’

  They both jumped at a loud knocking on the front door.

  ‘I’ll go down.’ Mairsile looked frightened. ‘They didn’t knock last time, they just barged in.’

  Oriana nodded tightly. She watched Mairsile leave the bathroom before dunking her hair into the water. Swishing her hair around, she forced herself to count to one hundred even though every fibre of her being was telling her to run. Spying a pair of tongs hanging over the side of the metal bath, she grabbed them and used them to squeeze the worst of the dyed water from her hair so to lessen the threat of dye to her hands. There was a towel discarded on the floor behind the bath—presumably Mairsile’s mother had dried her hands on it when the soldiers had stormed through the first time—so Oriana rubbed her hair, starting from the bottom and quickly working her way to her scalp. Her arms were exhausted by the time she wrapped her damp tresses in the material Mairsile had pointed out. Although the material was too long, and hung down her back, it helped disguise her hair further and suited the style of someone living on a farmstead. She shoved the towel into the dye water and used the tongs to submerge it, that way it would look as if both the dress and towel were being dyed. There was no way she could empty the bath without making a noise, and if she did the tub would still need scrubbing to hide the evidence, it was better to leave it in plain sight and hope no-one worked it out.