The Reign of Trees

by Folkman, Lori

  The lady’s maid looked rebuked and gave Illianah a slight bow before exiting the room. Illianah did not know that she had ever felt so enraged before. She paced about the room, making certain she kept her hands clasped together as she desperately wanted to throw something against the wall and watch it suffer the same fate as her heart.

  She passed the day in such a manner—constantly walking back and forth, wringing her hands, and reminding them not to cause any damage. She only stopped her solitary march three times and that was when the stable hand brought Liberty to the tower to be fed. On his last visit, the stable hand told her that the pup was growing strong and had successfully nursed from her mother earlier in the day. “Well that is just wonderful,” Illianah seethed. “I suppose in a matter of days Liberty will not want my company either.”

  The stable hand looked shocked at the way Illianah had lashed out. “No My Lady, I will continue to bring the pup to you. She has a likeness for you.”

  “That means nothing,” Illianah replied. She turned her back to the room and looked out her one and only window—her one and only connection to the world. While she had seen plenty of people crossing the courtyard, she had not had a glimpse of Donovan all day. There was not a person in the world she liked better than Donovan, and yet she was forbidden to interact with him. How was it that her life was so cruel?

  The stable hand left without saying anything in response. He continued to prove his loyalty to the princess as he brought the pup back several times each day, even though the dog now nursed with the rest of the litter. Her visits with the pup were the only escapes she had from the monotony of her bedchamber. After her fourth day within the chamber, Illianah again resumed work on the family tapestry Donovan had given her so long ago. As she began to work on it, she found a sense of urgency burning within her. Queen Sofia deserved to have her work finished before anymore turmoil happened to her family. Illianah could not shake the premonition that the war would not end well for Deltegra—even though she hoped for their triumph.

  She stayed awake through the night and finished her embroidery just before dawn. There were not any guards outside her door, nor were any of the servants in her corridor. She snuck through the castle as morning’s first light began filtering through the castle’s windows. It was her plan to leave the tapestry in Queen Sofia’s chest to be found by Donovan at some later date, but as she turned to enter the tower housing the royal family’s bedchambers, her body collided with another. He looked as shocked as she felt.

  “Princess! What are you doing?” Donovan quickly backed up so their bodies were no longer touching.

  “Going to your mother’s bedchamber.” She gestured to the tapestry she had rolled up and tucked under her arm.

  He nodded when he saw the tapestry, but he did not ask to see it, nor did he ask if it had been completed. “You cannot go into the tower. The king will be awake shortly.”

  “Perhaps you could take it for me?” she suggested.

  “I am sorry; I do not have the time.” The manner which Donovan spoke was fast and clipped, as if he did not even have time to speak one more word to her.

  Before she could say anything that would hide her disappointment, the sound of a heavy wooden door closing came from behind them. He jumped and looked over his shoulder, then nodded in the direction of her tower. “Walk with me,” he said, but it did not sound as if it was an invitation to go on a leisurely stroll.

  Once at the foot of the stairs to her tower, he said, “I must get out to the stables.”

  “Are you leaving?” she asked, suddenly feeling panicked at the thought of Donovan leaving the castle, even if it was only temporarily. Knowing that his heart beat underneath the same roof as hers was the only comfort she could find while trapped in her tower.

  “No. I am taking a letter to the messenger.” He sighed and looked down the corridor that led to the great hall. It was clear of any occupants. “I may get in trouble for sharing this with you, but a messenger arrived just a few hours ago from Luis del Sans. Montague and the troops arrived, but there was no sign of Prince Harrington’s army. The castle is fortified and ready for an attack; however, Montague said he plans to let his troops rest a day and then he will march them out toward Tudela del Sans. He hopes to head off Prince Harrington before he has the chance to damage the castle.”

  “But … that was five days ago when he attacked Tudela del Sans. He should have long since been to Luis del Sans, should he not?”

  “Exactly. It is another trap; I am sure of it. And this time, my father agrees with me. We are sending another messenger to Luis del Sans, hoping to catch Montague before he marches out. If he leaves the protection of the castle and enters the northern forest, we are certain he will meet with destruction.”

  Illianah’s heart thumped within her chest, so much so that she thought Donovan would hear it. She felt winded, as if she had just galloped for a hundred miles with Kasba. “Then you must get back to the stables quickly,” she said, turning toward her bedchamber. She did not want to delay the messenger for another second.

  Donovan nodded, but before he turned to leave, he said, “Illianah, I am sorry for the treatment you are receiving from my father, but I do think you are best to keep to yourself for a time. Emotions are too steep.” His eyes looked somber, as if he really was sorry, but there was no other emotion portrayed there. Not fondness. Not desire. And definitely not love.

  “But of course,” she said. She gave a small nod and then ran up the stairs, not wanting him to see the hurt which had certainly registered on her face. She had been cast off, yet again.

  ***

  The messenger did not come back the next day; at least Illianah did not hear any mention of his arrival. From her window, she had a perfect view of the gatehouse and the drawbridge never did open. The entire population of Andoradda was all too quiet for some twelve thousand souls. It was as if the entire city was collectively holding their breath.

  Late into the second day after the messenger’s departure for Luis del Sans, a cry came from one of the towers, and shortly after, the sound of a bugle. Illianah leapt to her window, her breath frozen with anticipation. The drawbridge was not lowered, but citizens as well as soldiers could be seen running through the courtyard in the direction of the north tower.

  Were they under attack? Illianah gulped and moved away from the window, looking about her room for a source of help. She was here, all alone, without even a soldier to protect her. Would anyone think to come to her aid?

  She paced in front of the window for several minutes before she decided to go to the courtyard. She simply had to know what was happening.

  It was not an attack, but a fire. “A fire?” she asked a woman in the courtyard. “Where?”

  “In the north forest of del Sans,” the woman responded. She then quickly walked away from Illianah, almost as if it was a shameful thing to be seen talking to the princess.

  Illianah looked in the direction of the north tower to where an enormous gray cloud interrupted the bright blue sky. She quickly crossed the courtyard and climbed the stairs to the wall. Several other citizens were already leaning on the edge of the battlement, discussing the meaning of the ominous smoke cloud. “It most certainly is near Luis del Sans,” one of them said. “I travel to Luis del Sans several times a year to sell my furs, and that is the direction I travel.”

  “But I keep telling you, it is too close to be Luis del Sans. It is the forest of Benito,” another man said.

  “If it is the forest of Benito, we would be choking on the smoke. Benito is only forty miles away,” the first man rebutted.

  “Have they sent a team out to explore?” Illianah interrupted.

  Both men looked surprised to have her join their conversation, but the first man did reply to her. “They are dispatching a team now, My Lady” he explained.

  The second man did not offer her the same respect. “It is your people who have done this,” he said, pointing a decrepit finger at her. “Th
ey have set fire to our forest, and likely our soldiers.”

  “You do not know that,” a voice said from behind Illianah. She turned to see the face of her defender.

  “Your Highness,” both men said, bowing to the prince.

  “Wait until the explorative team comes back with a report before you go spreading assumptions,” Donovan said. “Princess, please come with me.”

  Illianah followed him back through the courtyard and into the castle. Neither of them spoke; Illianah feared she would be scolded once they were within the privacy of the castle.

  Donovan took her to the third story of the castle and paused at a wooden door. “It is not safe for you to be in the courtyard with commoners. There is a balcony here you may use. Promise me you will not go into the courtyard again.”

  His face was etched with fatigue and another expression that looked unfamiliar on his face. She thought it was the look of a man overcome with despair. “I can handle harsh words, My Lord. I …”

  Donovan did not let her finish. “It is not harsh words I worry about. The crowd is anxious, Illianah. And when the news comes in, it will not be safe for you to be among them.”

  “The news?” she asked. “You know it is the forest of del Sans on fire then?”

  He took a deep breath. His face went pale. “I fear the worst. There was no lightning last night. What else could have caused a fire that size—other than enemy troops in the forest of del Sans?”

  Illianah felt like she had just received a blow to her stomach. She found it difficult to stand straight. “Your soldiers ….” she began to ask, but she could not form the words. If Burchess had started the fire, did that mean all of the Deltegran troops were caught within the inferno?

  “We must wait and see.” Donovan reached for the handle and pushed the heavy door open. It led to a small, north-facing balcony. “You may watch from here. I will notify your maids of your location so they may tend to you. I must go.”

  Illianah spent the evening on the balcony, watching the gray smoke cloud grow larger. It now covered most of the northern sky. She also watched the citizens of Andoradda. Work had come to a complete standstill. It seemed that every citizen of the city now lined the walls of the castle, staring anxiously into the horizon to see their fate.

  At dusk, just as Illianah was beginning to feel tempted to go back to the comfort of her bedchamber, she heard the call of a bugle. She could not see the gatehouse from here, so she ran to her bedchamber to watch from the window. Within minutes, the drawbridge was opened. A group of six riders galloped into the main street of town. They did not slow down, nor did they head to the stables. They headed straight to the castle. This had to be the explorative team, reporting back. She did not know they were expected to return so soon.

  Illianah left her chambers and ran down the stairs of the tower. She needed to be in the throne room when those men arrived to address the king. She got there just after the men were admitted. The doors were still flung open; no one noticed she had entered. She kept to the walls and carefully moved forward, making certain not to draw attention to herself. As she approached, she realized why no one looked in her direction. One of the men was injured and was being held up by two other soldiers. Just as she saw his face—which looked like it had melted just like a candle at the end of a long night—she was hit with a scent that made her cover her nose. It was the smell of burned flesh.

  “We found him coming from the forest north of Benito,” one of the soldiers explained.

  Both Donovan and his father left their thrones and approached the soldiers. “Tell us what happened,” Donovan said. His voice was urgent and almost desperate.

  “Ambushed.” The burned soldier sounded like he had suffered burns to his throat, as his voice was raspy and sounded as if he had walked across the entire continent without water. “In del Sans canyon.”

  “You are part of Montague’s regime?” Donovan asked, now sounding entirely desperate.

  The man nodded and then cried out from the pain which accompanied that small movement.

  “Can you tell us, please, what happened?” King Henrick asked. He sounded desperate as well, but his voice almost sounded winded, as if he barely had the strength to speak.

  “We marched into the canyon of del Sans,” the injured soldier said. “And we were attacked. They were hiding in the trees. Surrounded us. More soldiers than we could count. We fought, bravely, until our loss became so great that Montague called for us to retreat. But the road back to Luis del Sans was engulfed in flames. We had no choice but to continue to fight. Continue to die.”

  “How many souls?” the king asked.

  “I do not know, My Lord,” the man replied. “I am ashamed; I ran from the battle. I …” the man’s body shook with a sob, “I abandoned my position. But my will to live was for you, Your Majesty. You needed to know the fate of your troops.”

  “You were right to leave,” Donovan said. “We do need to know: what is their fate?”

  The man hung his head, and again groaned with pain. “I do not know what happened after I left. But it cannot be good. Just a handful of soldiers were still fighting the Burchessian army. I …” the man sobbed once more, “I believe them all to be dead. Or captured.”

  “Holy Deity!” King Henrick yelled, his voice echoing across the throne room. Then he stumbled backwards, as if he needed to get away from this horrific news. But as he moved backwards, it became clear to Illianah that the king was not doing so intentionally. His face was white and his eyes looked like stones. His body went limp and he fell to the floor. Donovan cried, “Father!” as he ran to lift the king’s head from off the marble floor. Within an instant, several of the king’s captains and guards were at the king’s side, administering aid. Illianah hesitated for just a moment and then she rushed forward as well.

  The men were hovering over the king, so much that she could not see even an inch of the king’s body. “Give him room,” she ordered. A few of the king’s men looked at her incredulously, but some of the men did move. “He cannot breathe,” she said. “You must give him room!”

  The other men moved back, leaving her on the king’s right; Donovan was on the king’s left, still cradling his head. “Loosen his belt,” she ordered Donovan, and then she began to remove the king’s heavy overgown. The king’s face looked pallid and vacant, but she knew he was not dead. She had seen death visit her Aunt Melodia, and the loss of her soul was as obvious as the loss of candlelight in an otherwise dark room. “Get water,” she said to one of the guards. “And a cloth.”

  Illianah did not know where the knowledge of how to care for the infirm was coming from, but she did not question the commands that came freely to her mind. She dabbed the damp cloth to his forehead and temples and then dipped the cloth back into the cold water. This time, she did not wring the cloth. “Lift his head just a bit,” she said. She then placed the soggy cloth at the nape of the king’s neck. He took a noticeable breath and his face began to fill with color, but his eyes did not open.

  “What now, Illianah?” Donovan asked.

  “Just give him time. He will awaken when he is ready. Perhaps we should move him to his chambers and call for the physician.”

  Donovan nodded and gave the orders to the other men. The king was carried to his room, where Illianah intended to continue caring for him until the physician arrived. But when she tried to enter his chamber, one of the soldiers standing watch at the doorway held his spear across the doorway to block her entrance. “Stand aside,” she said. “I am tending to the king.”

  “He would not want your presence,” the soldier—a haughty lieutenant—said.

  “He is unconscious, you dullard. He will not be bothered by my presence.”

  “But I will know of it. You are not to enter.”

  “Hadlock!” a voice from within the chamber yelled. “She only means to help. Stand aside and let her in.”

  “Thank you, Prince Henrick,” she said as she entered. She wished to say s
omething derogatory toward the lieutenant, but given the king’s condition, she thought it would be inappropriate.

  The king’s clothing had been removed and Illianah immediately resumed applying cold compresses to his skin. The physician was quickly summoned; his assessment was just as Illianah had suspected. “’Tis exhaustion and shock. He needs rest.”

  The physician ordered that the bedchambers be kept quiet so the king could sleep peacefully; Illianah asked whether or not she should continue with her cold compresses.

  “Yes, he does feel warm. But watch carefully: if his temperature drops, you must stop at once.”

  “He will be all right then?” Donovan asked. His face was still deeply etched with concern.

  “Yes, I have every reason to believe he will be fine within a day or two. I will be back to check on him in a few hours. I would like to see what I can do for the soldier with the burns,” the physician said.

  “But of course,” Donovan said. “I am certain the king would want you attend to the soldier as well.”

  The physician bowed to the unconscious king and then bowed to the prince. The heavy door closed once the physician left. Donovan paced through the room, his hand to his mouth the entire time. When he came near the bed, Illianah could see that he was chewing upon the fingernail of his thumb. She had not seen him do that since he was a boy. She could not imagine the thoughts that must be raging within his head. A large portion of his army had just been annihilated and his king had taken to his sick bed. It fell upon Donovan to lead his kingdom at their most desperate hour.

  “I will stay with him, Donovan,” she whispered. “I am sure you are needed elsewhere.”

  “I do not …” he began, but then he shook his head and resumed pacing. He walked away from her and to the end of the room. She wondered if he was going to leave without even saying another word, but he stopped pacing and stood still for a time. It seemed as if the weight of the kingdom had just pushed down with even greater force upon his shoulders; he slumped like he was carrying the weight of a thousand tons of stone. He turned back and came to the foot of the bed. He looked as if he was aging, right before her eyes. And not only did he look older: he also looked as if he was going to be ill. “I do not know what to do, Illianah. I need him …” his voice cracked and she saw his shoulders shake with a sob. “I need him to tell me what to do.”