by Kim Stokely
“You were foolish not to confide your dreams to us earlier,” my father chides. “We may have been able to foil their whole plan.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I am proud of how you fought against the spell’s influence. You showed great courage.” His fingers gently caress my bruised cheek. “I hope you will one day rule over a kingdom of peace.” He kisses the top of my head. “Try and get some rest.”
Kennis, Quinn, and Kyran remain. Tamra hesitantly approaches us. “I have your night clothes warming by the fire in your bedroom, Your Majesty. Would you like to prepare yourself for sleep?”
I’m surprised when my muscles tremble at the thought of going to bed. Kennis must see my fear.
She reaches over to rest her hand on my knee. “It will be all right. Quinn and Devnet have both examined the rooms. There are no more castings.”
“I saw a man killed today,” I whisper. “Burnt to ash like something out of a science fiction movie. How do I forget that and just go to sleep?”
“You should never forget.” Kyran’s voice is strong, but not angry. “The taking of a life, even one as vile as Donagh’s, is not something to be taken lightly.”
His gaze is distant. Like a punch to my stomach I remember that Donagh was his father, too. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been so focused on me, I didn’t even think about him being . . . .”
Kyran shakes his head. “He was never my father. Not really. Because I was never any use to him.”
“Still.” My heart is heavy with guilt.
“I grieved his loss when I was a boy. The only lesson he taught me was how not to treat a child.”
Kennis coughs softly to catch our attention. “You need to change your clothes. Get some sleep.”
My mind replays the events of the night over and over. The passion. The brutality. The betrayal. “Will you all stay here?”
Kyran stands. “I should leave you.”
My heart races with fear.
He gives me a gentle smile. “I mean only to clean myself up so I may bring Caradoc to my father’s emissary tomorrow morning. And for the tribunal . . . should they need my testimony.”
I don’t have the nerve to beg him to stay. Not after all that I’ve done to him. But I hope he reads my mind.
“Goodnight, Alystrine.” He bows. “I will be here tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” For everything. I wait until he leaves before asking Quinn and my mother, “Will you stay with me?”
“Of course,” Kennis assures me.
Tamra follows me into the bedroom and helps me out of the tattered remains of my dress. She eyes the bruises on my arms and legs, but says nothing as she slips the nightgown over my head. I shiver in the chilly air until she helps me put on my robe then I hurry back to my mother.
Kennis has moved over to the couch. “Come here and rest your head on my lap. We’ll stay until you’re ready to sleep.”
I do as she asks, reminded of the nights like this we spent in Connecticut, watching movies or just talking.
“Quinn and I are here now.” My mother brushes the hair from my face. “Close your eyes.”
“Then I see everything that happened in the tent.”
“Try and think of something else.”
“I can’t.”
“Did I ever tell you of when Kennis and I snuck away from King Aldred and had a picnic out in the hedge maze?” Quinn chuckles at the memory.
“No. Tell me.” I snuggle closer to my mother. Tamra covers me in a blanket.
“It was after I’d returned from my training with the Elders, the spring of my twentieth year. The day was beautiful. The first after a particularly long winter.”
My muscles relax as my mother strokes my hair. I picture Quinn’s words in my head, his story banishing the violence of the night. I ima-gine the budding trees and the smell of the spring air. I can even hear the birds singing. The comfort of their presence helps me drift to sleep.
I wake up some time later in my bed, not remembering how I got here, but never wanting to leave. I drift in and out of sleep, never feeling rested. I want more. I want to stay in this cocoon forever.
Someone knocks on the door.
I hide my head under the pillow, hoping they’ll leave.
“Alystrine?”
It’s my mother.
“Alystrine, the Elder Council is here.”
They’ve come to hear my confession and decide whether or not they believe I’m still worthy to be their queen. Kennis knocks again. I know I have to face them, but it will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
No. Facing Kyran was harder. This will be a close second.
I open the door, shrinking back when my mother touches my swollen cheek. “It’s a nasty bruise, but at least it will help your cause.”
“How?” I flop down on my bed.
“You don’t look like a willing participant in the matter.” She calls over her shoulder, “Is her Majesty’s bath ready?”
Tamra’s voice drifts in softly. “Yes, my lady.”
My mother watches to make sure I’m actually up and moving before she excuses herself to attend the tribunal.
I spend the next half hour soaking in the tub and praying for discernment. If I’ve learned one thing through this ordeal, it’s that I shouldn’t try and do things without asking for guidance first. There are no lawyers in this tribunal, only judges. The Elder Council will question me, listen to my confession and decide whether they feel I still deserve the throne. If I were only a noble, with no Elder blood, they would have no power over me. But because I’ve openly acknowledged to be one of them, I must face their judgment.
My fingers have pruned by the time my thoughts are clear and I climb out of the bath. Tamra has laid out a pale blue dress, ornately embroidered with gold thread and pearls. I pause before putting it on and set myself to face my accusers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Tie That Binds
The Throne room has been emptied of everything but a circle of twenty-four chairs in which the Elder Council sit. Twenty-four men and women who will decide my fate and the fate of Ayden. Kennis, Quinn, Devnet and Simon have been allowed to witness the proceeding, but they stand along the far wall. They may watch, not participate.
No banners hang from the ceiling. The throne, my throne, sits like a sentinel on the dais. Unadorned. Like me. A shocked murmur spreads around the room as I step past the threshold, as if a sudden breeze chills the members of the Elder Council.
Instead of the beautiful regal gown that had been chosen for me, I wear a plain linen shift covered by a tunic made of a rough, burlap fabric that itches my skin like sandpaper. I resist the urge to scratch at my arms. Beneath my crown, my copper hair lies in a simple braid down my back. My bare feet whisper on the stone floor as I approach my judges.
My mother stifles a cry. She buries her head against Quinn’s shoulder. Devnet and Simon pale to a ghastly shade of white.
“Alystrine,” my father gasps. Maris places a hand on his arm to keep him from speaking again.
I step to the center of the circle. Oded and Maris both stand.
I know I am supposed to wait for them to question me, but really, what’s the point? I know what they will ask. “I have broken the trust of the Elders and the laws of Ruahk.”
Geran seems ready to jump from his chair. I kneel in front of Oded and Maris.
“Alystrine,” Maris whispers.
I ignore her. “I confess to you all that I disregarded the guidance of my family and advisors. I allowed my feelings for Tegan to overrule any other counsel or law. You’ve all been told, I’m sure, about what happened. I have no excuse except the power of the casting and my own stupidity.”
I take off my crown and lay it at their feet.
“I wasn’t ready to wear the crown before. You may feel I don’t deserve to wear it now. But know this has changed me. It has taught me more than any history lesson or religious ceremony ever could.”
I lift my h
ead. “I will no longer be ruled by my heart, but by the god of this land. By Ruahk. He has shown me his power by saving me from Braedon, yet again.” My chin trembles. I take a moment to push back my tears. “And he has shown me his mercy through Kyran. A man whose love I don’t deserve.
“The only one who speaks in my defense is Ruahk. He chose me before I knew about Ayden. I think before I was even born. He still believes in me.” I raise my hands toward Oded. Focus my thoughts. As heat emanates from my ring, I harness the energy and shift it to my palm. I bring my left hand toward the bright purple orb floating above my right hand. The light splits in two. I hold one out to either side. “I prayed to him today. I asked him for a sign. This is what he showed me.”
With a gentle push, I release the luminous spheres toward the Elders. The lights separate even more, so that a tiny globe of white light hovers in front of each member of the Council. Some reach out to touch it, smiles bursting on their face as they do. Others stare mesmerized, as if afraid of what the light will do. My fingers brush away the tear running down my cheek. “I will wait for your decision.”
No one stops me as I leave the crown on the floor and make my way out of the throne room.
Tamra waits outside the door with a plain cloak. I slip it over my shoulders then send her away. I’m done talking to people for the day but feel at a loss, wondering where to go next. I scratch at my arms and think about my options. I don’t want to return to my chambers. It’s too cold to wait in the hedge maze, especially since I’m barefoot. Out of habit, I make my way to the little sitting room but am surprised to see the chair by the fire is occupied. He’s turned the chair away from the door, but I can tell it’s Kyran. I hesitate in the doorway, unsure if he would want to see me yet.
“Mistress.” Kyran stares into the fireplace, transfixed by the flames. “Have you heard any news from the Council?”
I keep my head bowed and in the shadows, so he won’t see my face if he looks toward the threshold. “My lord?”
“Do you know if . . . has the queen been in to the Council?”
“Aye.”
He stares into the flames. “Was she with them long?”
“No.”
He exhales, a kind of long, deep sigh.
Something stirs within me, a jittering nervousness. It centers around one idea. Serve him. I balk at the thought. Not that I like having everyone wait on me all the time, but still . . . .
Serve him.
“M-my Lord,” I stutter, “can I bring you some refreshment? Some wine, perhaps?”
He remains silent. I’m about to ask again when he says softly, “It would do me well to have a mug of ale. Do you know if they have any?”
“I will check the pantry, my lord.”
“Thank you.”
I hurry into the hallway before he can see my face. The cook starts to throw me out of the kitchen until I convince him who I am. Flustered, he gives me a mug of ale from a keg usually kept for banquets. Before I leave, I take a trencher of bread and layer it with meat and cheese.
Kyran doesn’t stir when I enter the sitting room again. The light is dim, he’s lit no torches and the fire has diminished. I place the drink and sandwich on a small table, pull the hood of my cloak over my head, then carry the food over to him. His eyes are closed. His brows furrow, as if his dreams worry him. I want to reach out and trace my finger along his forehead to ease his tension, but I don’t.
His hands rest on the arms of the chair. They are calloused and strong, I shiver as I remember being held by them. The skin on his face is smooth, except for a small faded scar by his right eye that I’ve never noticed before. A day’s worth of stubble shadows his chin. His lips, set in a slight frown, are full and pink. Another shudder runs through me as I recall the times he’s kissed me. Will he ever kiss me again? Or will our marriage be a mere formality, like it would have been with Noam? A wave of sadness fills me as I think of how much I may have lost by my stupidity.
Kyran moans in his sleep. He shifts in the chair. Turning my back to him, I spin my ring so the stone is hidden against my palm, then hold my hands out toward the fireplace, hoping some of the warmth will heat my fingers.
“You have returned, I see.” Kyran’s voice is husky with sleep.
“Yes, my lord.” I nod toward the food. “I brought ale, and somethin’ to eat. I thought ye may be hungry.” I keep my face covered by my hood and try to mimic the accents I’ve heard. “I hope yer not mindin’ me warmin’ myself by the fire.”
He reaches for the ale. “Not at all. It is pleasant to have company while I wait.”
I lower my chin, making it even more difficult to see my features. “What is it ye hope to happen?”
“I could not tell you. I sat here, trying to think of the best outcome.” He takes a long sip of ale, then stands. He strides around to the back of the chair. “And I cannot think of what it may be. If she stays queen, we will marry, but is that what she wants?” He paces to the far side of the room. “If they take the crown from her, will she stay in Ayden?”
My heart beats rapidly. “What do ye mean, sir?”
He takes another sip of ale. “This is not her first home. There are things she misses from the Other World. Things that can never be replaced here. Will she return to what she knows, what she longs for, if she were no longer queen?”
Why hadn’t I thought of that myself? What would be the point of my staying, if they didn’t want me to rule?
“Would she . . . I wonder if she . . . .”
“Would she what?”
“I should not be talking like this to a servant. Forgive me.”
“In yer heart, I know ye are a Commoner, my lord. Why should ye not seek the solace of one like yourself?” I turn my back to him, pretending to need more warmth from the fire, even as I watch him from the corner of my eye.
He returns to the chair. “Perhaps you are right. If the crown is taken from her, Geran will cast me out, as fast as he can, back to the Fey.” He finishes the ale and places the mug on the table. “You are of an age, are you not?”
I shake my head. “I do not understand yer meanin’.”
“The age to marry. Would you think that Alystrine . . . the queen . . . do you think she would stay . . . do you think she would consider wedding a man like me, if it were not being forced on her?”
I answer without thinking, “Would ye still want her, tainted as she is?”
“She is not tainted!” His fists strike the arms of the chair. “Who is spreading such lies?”
I prostrate myself on the hearth. “Forgive me, my lord. I heard only a rumor of how she left to find the boy. I meant no disrespect.”
“She was seduced by the charms woven in her bed clothes. Have you not heard that as well?”
“Ye believe her story, then?”
“Yes.” Kyran rises to pace again. “I believe her.”
My heart lightens. I watch him from behind my hood as I lie in front of the fire. It’s then I know, Ruahk must have stirred my thoughts, made me pretend to be a servant, probably blinding Kyran to my identity as well, so that he and I could talk to each other as equals. In honesty, not formality. As I study him, I know something else, too. The truth comes into my mind as a clear thought from somewhere outside myself. “Then she would be a fool to leave for the Other World.”
He stops walking, but doesn’t face me. “What has Ayden to offer her, if she isn’t queen?”
I rise to my feet.
“You cannot think of an answer either?” Kyran whispers as he watches at the flames dancing in the fireplace.
“She will never find a purer love than yours in the Other World.”
He lets out a sound. A dismissive grunt. “She will always find men to love her. It is the way of beautiful women.”
“But I’ll never find anyone to love me like you do.”
He spins around. “Alystrine?”
I’m drawn to him, as if by an invisible thread. Only, it’s not invisible. I see it
as I take a step, a shimmering gold and silver cord that binds me to this man. As thick as my thumb, I try to grasp the glimmering strand in front of me. My palms tingle, but it has no weight.
Kyran’s brows furrow as he watches me. “What is wrong?”
“You don’t see it?”
“See what?”
“What binds us together?” I move my hand away. The strand still hover between us.
The huskiness returns to his voice. “Describe it to me.”
“There is a thin, shimmering silver thread. Bright and untarnished.” I lift my eyes to his. “I think that’s my love for you. It’s new, still forming.” I swallow the lump in my throat as I look back at the cord. “There’s a second silver thread, duller and ragged in places.” It reminds me frayed yarn on a sweater. “I think that’s your love for me. It isn’t broken yet, but thin and worn.”
He sighs.
“The two silver threads are wrapped around a third . . . more of a rope than a thread. It’s very thick and made of gold.” I pause. “That’s fate, or Ruahk, I guess.” The cord winds itself around us, tightening as I move toward him. “You were right.”
Kyran shakes his head. “About?”
“When you said we were meant to be together.” I stop in front of him, so close I could touch him, but I don’t. I wait to see what he will do.
He cups my face and lifts it to his, then stares into my eyes, as if willing me to bare my soul. His thumb brushes against the bruise on my cheek and I wince at the reminder of yesterday’s brutality. The consequences of my choices. My shame. I try to step away.
“No.”
Kyran’s voice stops me, but I turn my head from his gaze. If I hadn’t been so stupid. If I hadn’t tried to warn Tegan. If I had figured out Braedon’s plans sooner . . . .
“You did not deserve what they did to you.”
The memories flood over me, no matter how hard I try to push them away, knowing Kyran sees them, too. How he can watch Braedon’s hand slip down my dress . . Tegan climb on top of me . . . my stomach roils with my humiliation and I feel as if I’ll be sick.
