The Reign of Trees

by Folkman, Lori

  She looked at the king, who still lay perfectly still, as if he had been in a deep sleep for a hundred years. She had promised to tend to him, but Donovan needed her more at the moment.

  Illianah walked to the foot of the bed where Donovan had again put his thumb to his mouth. She kept her voice soft, so she would not disturb the king, but she wanted to sound forceful as well. “You do not need him to tell you what to do. You knew it was a trap before Montague marched out. Follow your instincts Donovan, and your kingdom will do well under your rule.”

  “My instincts?” he said, his voice too loud. “I believed they would attack Sanguine, remember?” So great was his anger that he practically spat as he spoke.

  “That was before you knew what Prince Harrington was capable of. Now you know his heart, and knowing the heart of your enemy is the greatest weapon you have. Think like he would think and you can protect your people.”

  Donovan blinked, suddenly not looking so overwhelmed. “What do you think Prince Harrington will do next?”

  Honestly, that was something that had not been on Illianah’s mind, but just like the methods she had needed to care for the king had been spoken to her subconscious, this thought came to her as well: “He will strike quickly, while you are still recoiling from the shock of losing your soldiers.”

  As she said those words, she realized it was likely she would just discourage Donovan all the more, but he seemed to take in the words with great consideration; then it was as if his heart told him what to do next. He looked lighter and more determined. He nodded and said, “Let me know if his condition changes, for better or worse.” He turned to leave, but paused at the door. “Thank you, Illianah,” he said, his voice warm with appreciation.

  She was not sure if he was referring to the advice she had just given, or referring to the fact that she was caring for his father, but she curtsied to acknowledge his gratitude. When she lifted her head, Donovan was still at the door and his countenance was entirely different. His smile was large, and although the room was not well-lit, she thought she detected color upon his cheeks.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he said. He bowed, and then left the room, making her realize what she had done. Her curtsey had proven her allegiance to Prince Henrick and the kingdom of Deltegra.

  Chapter Twelve

  She tended to the king all night and as morning began to cast shadows across the bedchamber, her mind began to feel as if it were full of shadows as well. It was becoming harder and harder to make her thoughts translate into movements.

  The king’s cheeks were flushed red and he had spiked a fever during the night. Her bowl of water was empty; she knew she needed to go to the dressing table to fetch the pitcher, but she was unable to tell her body to get up from her chair and cross the room.

  “Princess,” someone said, their hand upon her shoulder. It was the physician, coming to tend to the king again.

  “I did not hear you come in,” she said, trying to pretend as if she had not fallen asleep.

  “I have been here several minutes, Your Highness. You are tired. His chambermaid will tend to him now. You should get some sleep.”

  Illianah looked across the room to the dressing table. The maid was there, refilling the bowl with water, just as Illianah had intended to do before she fell asleep.

  “I could not get the fever to come down,” she explained.

  “You did perfectly, My Lady. His fever is not high; he is not in any danger.”

  Although Illianah did not want to leave until she saw the king open his eyes again, she knew she could no longer offer aid. Her body felt numb and as if it was not her own, as she did not have command over her movements.

  The physician helped her from the chair and asked if she would like someone to walk her to her bedchamber, but she declined. “I am all right, thank you.”

  The castle was coming to life as she walked back to her tower. Servants were scurrying about, seemingly working twice as fast as normal, as if they all understood the urgency which faced their kingdom.

  From her window, she could see how the entire sky was thick with smoke from the fire in del Sans forest. It was as if she could hear the cries of the trees as the fire spread from one to another. Those trees, which stood in such close proximity to one another, were suddenly each other’s worse enemy.

  “Donovan!” she exclaimed out loud. Did he realize that the burning of the forest was symbolic of the Deltegran war strategy?

  Her body filled with a reserve of energy; she ran down the stairs and into the throne room. It was empty. She went to the door of the privy chamber. “I must speak with the prince at once,” she said to the guards.

  “He is not here. He has left.”

  “Left? Left the castle?” she asked.

  “Yes, My Lady. Only just.”

  She raced to the courtyard and saw that the drawbridge was closing. Donovan would already be on the other side of the drawbridge; there was no way she could make it the length of the entire courtyard before it closed.

  The reserve of energy was now gone and Illianah wished to collapse, but instead, she went to the castle’s chapel and knelt at the alter and offered her heart in prayer. She prayed that Donovan would hear her thoughts and change his pattern of clustering his troops together. And she prayed, most of all, that Donovan would return. Safely.

  ***

  Illianah slept through the entire day and at nightfall, she again tended to the king, who was now having periods of awakening. Illianah almost preferred the comatose, sleeping king, as caring for him now was much more difficult since he was often combative. He would awake from dreams where he was burning or fighting in a battle, and oftentimes, he would yell so loud she was certain his cries would be heard in Burchess.

  She had just gone through one such episode with the king, where he had yelled and cursed the name of her father, her husband, and her former kingdom, and then, for the first time, he looked as if he finally noticed who was at his bedside. “Spy!” he yelled. “You do not belong here! You vixen! Help! Help! She is trying to kill me!”

  Illianah was trying to calm the king down when the door flung open. She expected the king’s guards to enter the chambers and arrest her, but instead, it was Donovan. She breathed deeply, thinking never in her life had she been so glad to see him.

  “Father,” he said kindly, but firmly, “Illianah is helping you. She means you no harm.”

  The king grasped Donovan’s arm and lay back in bed. His eyes finally focused and he no longer had the look of a madman. “Goodness, what has come over me?” he asked. “I am having the … the strangest dreams.”

  “You have received a great shock,” Illianah said. “It is understandable that it is interfering with your sleep.”

  The king’s face softened, as if he was grateful to have someone clarify that he was not mad. He closed his eyes and for a moment, Illianah thought he had gone back to sleep, but then his brow creased and she saw him swallow a great sludge of emotion. “What is going to become of us?” he asked. He opened his eyes and reached out for his son—his salvation. “What will become of Deltegra?”

  “Do not worry, father. It is certainly a setback; no one can deny that. But we will still be able to protect the rest of our country from Burchess. I am repositioning the troops, and I have just returned from recruitments in the nearby villages. It was successful: every remaining man with an able body is willing to fight for our freedom. We will have them ready for battle within a fortnight.”

  Illianah stiffened. A fortnight? That was too long. Burchess would strike again within the week, she was certain.

  But Donovan gave her a look of reproach, as if he could see that his timeline troubled her. “Do not worry yourself, father. You need to recover. Then I shall bring you up to speed on our battle strategy.”

  The king nodded, as if his subconscious knew he currently did not have the capacity to think on such things. He took a deep breath and it seemed as if his body s
ank deeper into the bed, like he had completely relaxed. “You have done well, son. I thank you.”

  Donovan stroked his father’s hand affectionately—a gesture that she had never seen pass between a king and his son before. Her heart warmed as she watched Donovan tend to his father. She wondered if she would be able to give her father the same love if he had taken to his sick bed. The sentiments she held for King Gregory currently did not give her any indication that she would be able to treat him with such respect.

  Within minutes, the king was again asleep. Donovan watched his father for a time and then said, “Illianah, I think you should get some sleep. Let a chambermaid tend to him now.”

  She hesitated to leave the king—as it was the only time she ever felt useful—but she did feel as if she had been put through a wine press. Not only was she physically exhausted, she was mentally fatigued as well. “Are you certain?” she whispered.

  He nodded, released his father’s hand and rose from the bedside. “I must try and get some sleep too—before the sun comes up.”

  Illianah looked out the window: the darkness was already fading from the sky. “It looks like you will need to sleep quickly,” she said, rising as well.

  “You hum just like your mother.” Donovan’s mouth did not move, and it was not the sound of his voice. It was a weak and feeble whisper from the king.

  His eyes were still closed and he looked as if he was in a deep slumber, but he had spoken nonetheless. “I do?” Illianah asked. She was not even aware that she had been humming.

  “Yes. She hummed almost constantly. While sewing. While painting. While walking. You sound just like her.”

  There was so much Illianah did not know about her mother. Actually, the correct statement would be: there was so little that Illianah did know about her mother. Obviously, Illianah had seen her mother’s portrait and was aware that they had similar features, but Illianah had never been told she was like her mother in any other way. In fact, Illianah had frequently been told she was bullheaded, like her father. She always assumed her mother to be meek and polite—the perfect lady in every way—and therefore, Illianah would be her mother’s greatest disappointment had she lived to see Illianah grow to be so uncouth.

  “You knew her well?” Illianah asked.

  “Yes, very.” His eyes were still closed and he looked as if he was having a peaceful dream. “We courted … for a time.”

  “Really?” Illianah asked, thrilled with the thought that her mother could have become Queen of Deltegra. “Why was I never told this?”

  The king sighed and opened his eyes. “I thought your father would have told you to prove he had already beaten me once. Of course your mother could not refuse an offer from the prince who had the greater wealth—the greater kingdom. But no matter. Sophia was meant for me. For Deltegra.”

  Illianah was glad when the king closed his eyes again. His mouth closed as well, and it looked as if he was again sleeping peacefully. She was not able to respond to the king, nor was she able to look at Donovan. Her heart seemed to beat slower, as if it was being pulled down by iron chains. She was meant for Donovan. For Deltegra. But through some unfortunate turn of fate, it could never be.

  ***

  In the days that followed, Illianah no longer kept herself confined to her room. She checked on the king frequently, but mostly, she wanted to be about the castle in hopes that she would be able to run into Donovan.

  On the afternoon of the second day, she was just entering the solar as Donovan was departing. She stopped him and asked, “Might I speak with you a moment?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said, nodding to excuse his guard.

  “I have been concerned,” she said, “about your troops. I do worry about your strategy to keep them clustered in such large groups. If one falls, they all fall. Much like the forest.”

  Donovan nodded and motioned for her to follow him to the desk where the large map of the continent was positioned. “I came to the same conclusion. Two-thirds of our army was annihilated in that one cunning act.”

  “Two-thirds?” she gasped. She knew the number to be great, but she had no idea it was so substantial. No wonder the king was taken ill by the news.

  “Yes,” Donovan said, his eyes looking forlorn. “I was able to get about one thousand new recruits, however, they are not ready for battle. We do not even have armor for them. But they will stay here,” he said, pointing to the map, “at the capitol. They will be our last line of defense.

  “I have sent troops here, to Peroso, and here to Tabo; two key cities. Both have our largest mills and will be obvious targets for Burchess. However, Prince Harrington is marching here, to Cordana.”

  “And you have sufficient troops to protect the village?”

  “No, not nearly enough. He is still five-thousand strong, plus we are sure he has more waiting in Kerrik to cross the border when Cordana falls. We have only five hundred at Cordana.”

  “You are not sending more?”

  “No. I think it would be futile. I would have to take troops from Laencia. Laencia needs to remain strong, for if it falls, Burchess will have conquered the entire northern half of our kingdom. They will then have direct access to the mills. We can afford to lose Cordana, but Peroso and Tabo, we cannot.”

  “Then Cordana is a red herring?”

  “Yes. Sadly, it is.” Donovan looked up from the map and met her eyes. He looked as if his soul was being tortured by the ghosts of thousands of dead Deltegrans. “They should be able to hold Prince Harrington off for a week or more, giving us adequate time to reinforce the mills, as well as train the new troops.”

  “How many … citizens in Cordana?”

  “Three thousand.” He blinked, as if he did not want her to see the guilt in his eyes. But it was too late: she had seen the guilt not only in his eyes, but in his soul as well.

  Another large drove of Deltegrans would fall to Burchess.

  “I am hopeful that once my soldiers lose their footing at Cordana, Prince Harrington will accept their surrender.”

  “Hopeful,” she repeated. There was no reflection of hope in Donovan’s voice. “But you do not expect he will.”

  “Correct,” he said somberly.

  Illianah’s knees buckled involuntarily. That seemed to be her body’s response to anxiety lately. It was as if her soul wanted her constantly on her knees, praying for the safety of Deltegra. She knew she was not alone in her prayers, as the chapel was continually flowing with the castle’s patrons, offering their hearts to God.

  “And the fire?” she asked.

  “The nights are getting cooler, thankfully, so the fire is not spreading as rapidly. Everyone in the kingdom is praying for rainfall. I trust God will see fit to answer accordingly.”

  “I am praying for it as well.”

  “Thank you. That means much to me, and to our country.” Donovan said earnestly. His eyes captured hers, making her feel like she was lost in a night of blissful dreams.

  He stood taller and turned to leave, as it was likely she had detained him from his duties for too long, but then he turned back. “And Illianah, thank you for completing my mother’s tapestry. I saw it as your lady’s maid was returning it to my mother’s bedchamber. It is lovely. I shall make certain it is hung in a place worthy of its splendor. Queen Sofia would be pleased.”

  Donovan smiled faintly and left the solar. While his words were complimentary and seemed sincere, the flicker of sadness within his eyes indicated otherwise. Illianah’s heart felt hollow as she understood his implications. Her silent retribution had once brought her satisfaction, but now she was awash with shame. Her stitches were intentional. She had taken away Donovan’s future. Was she really any different than her father and Prince Harrington?

  She silently cursed the blood that ran through her veins and offered another prayer on behalf of the house of the Da Vias. This time, she prayed that her stitches would be allowed to unravel. She would not be Donovan’s end.

  *** />
  A week after the Battle of del Sans and the start of the great fire, the Lord did bless Deltegra with rain. It rained nonstop for two days. The citizens of Andoradda did not hide within their homes and shops during this storm as they typically did—they danced in the streets. From the window of her bedchamber, Illianah watched their merrymaking. She would frequently drop to her knees as they did, offering prayers of thanksgiving.

  The kingdom still mourned the loss of their soldiers, but they no longer felt despair while the army of Burchess invaded the northern forests. The faith of the citizens of Deltegra had been renewed, and Illianah frequently heard people saying, “God is with us. He will protect us.”

  Illianah could not help but smiling. It did feel as if the hands of fate had been turned. She could not go so far as to say that Burchess would be punished for their wickedness like other Deltegrans said, but she did finally have hope that Deltegra would triumph and retain their freedom.

  The day the rain stopped, it was as if a heavy curtain lifted from the sky, revealing sunshine and a clear sky. To the north, it still looked hazy, but the enormous plume of smoke was gone. However, the triumph over the diminishing fire was momentary, as the clear skies also brought visitors to the capital.

  A group of five horsemen, one of whom carried a white flag, approached the castle. They were soldiers from Prince Harrington’s army.

  Illianah knew they would be taken to the throne room to see the prince, so that is where she went as well. Her stomach felt as if she was leaping from the top of a cliff; her hands began to shake like aspen leaves in the wind. She did not know if she could face soldiers from her former land. Could she restrain herself from spitting upon them?