by Tanya Bird
‘There are plenty of men to bury the dead. Your fight is over. The risk of typhoid is too great. You cannot survive three months of fighting only to die of typhoid upon your return. You will be laughed at. Mothers will use you as an example every time their children don’t wash their hands properly. Don’t embarrass me.’
Tyron had no idea where Leksi found the energy for humour. He seemed to thrive in the conditions of war, growing stronger while the rest of them wilted. Food and sleep were optional for him. He also happened to be the most skilled knight that Tyron had ever encountered. Tyron’s men often joked that Leksi was his guardian angel. It would have been funny had it not been so close to the truth. His friend since birth had saved his life more times than he cared to admit.
The dead remained in the sun awaiting their burial. Tyron and Leksi rode their wasting horses east through the parched villages. Women lined the roads to pay their respects to the prince, but their gazes went to the empty road behind him. They were waiting for their husbands and sons. Tyron could barely raise his eyes to them.
‘I could eat an entire deer,’ Leksi said, as they exited the small village of Minbury. ‘That will be the first of many requests when we reach Archdale. Deer have the good sense to flee large groups of armed men. I did not see one the entire time we were there. Not sure where the meat came from that we were eating, but it didn’t taste familiar.’
‘Only you would complain about the quality of food during a war. And I am fairly certain it was horse we were eating.’
‘Well-bred I hope.’
Tyron’s hunger was secondary to his need for sleep. He also wanted a wash with hot water. Wash, sleep, and then some steaming soup and fresh bread in the quiet of his quarters. But he knew better. King Zenas would throw a feast to celebrate his return and their shallow victory. There would be too much food, too much wine, more guests than he could handle, and little sleep. His father would talk at him, his mother would fret, Cora would complain, and Stamitos would hound him for battle details he was not prepared to share. And then there was Pandarus, whose shame would see him drink himself into a stupor. He would make inappropriate jokes in front of guests, some of who might be mourning. They would likely quarrel over something trivial and then avoid each other for a number of weeks.
‘And real women,’ Leksi said, pulling him out of his thoughts. ‘Tonight we will be dining with Syrasan’s finest blooms.’
‘Yes, and most of them belonging to Pandarus.’
Leksi mulled that over for a moment. ‘Tradition supports his right to keep Companions.’
‘Companion. Singular. One Companion.’
‘He enjoys new things.’
‘When he is bored,’ Tyron replied, glancing at Leksi. ‘The Noble Companions are a collection of his previous impulses. When the novelty wears off, they are handed down to desperate guests like yourself.’
‘Pride has its place, and inside the walls of Archdale is not that place. I have been secretly waiting for Astra to join the Noble Companions.’
‘It’s no secret. You have always had a thing for redheads.’
‘Surely he’s done with her by now.’
Tyron smiled. ‘I wouldn’t hold my breath, though the drunker he is, the more generous he becomes with them. You will not be alone in your bed tonight.’
‘I know. I’ll be with Violeta.’
Violeta had been Pandarus’s first Companion. She was experienced. The perfect post-war treat for a man like him. A lady in all regards, but never in bed. It had been a long three months sleeping in an empty bed with only men for company.
Archdale appeared before them, and they stopped their horses to absorb the vision. Behind those walls was every comfort a man could dream of, and yet Tyron hesitated. He knew the comforts would not be enough to stop him spiralling.
‘How long do you suppose until I will have to come to your chambers and drag you from your bed?’ Leksi said, reading his thoughts.
Tyron said nothing. Last time it had taken months. Leksi had come every morning and sat by the untouched food in the darkened room, talking about horses, hunting, weather, and women. He would lay out clothes on the bed while he talked, and they would remain there until his squire arrived with his evening meal and packed them away. Then one day Leksi had arrived and found Tyron already dressed. He did not come the next day. The need had passed.
Leksi kicked his horse into a trot and led them up the wide dirt road to the already opening portcullis. It was Tyron’s horse that decided to follow. Soon the previous three months would become just another story told to young aspiring knights. Another great defeat of Corneo.
Tyron was greeted outside of his quarters by Pero, his relieved and eager squire whom he had sent back to Archdale at the first confirmation of typhoid.
‘Welcome home, my lord. Shall I send for some food?’
Pero understood that his master was not one for pointless conversation. Tyron patted his arm as he passed. ‘Hot water first. Good to see you well.’
Once inside his chambers, he leant against the heavy wooden door, willing away the threat of visitors. The room looked unfamiliar. Someone had redecorated in his absence, no doubt his well-meaning mother, who always insisted that a change of scenery was the best thing for his mind. An oil painting hung above his bed. It was of a place he had never seen. The bed curtains tied to the posts were red velvet. What he actually needed was something familiar to take hold of. How was he meant to sleep surrounded by the colour of blood? He walked over to the curtains and pulled at them until they came down. He kicked them to the corner of the room and looked back at the bed, which was dressed in white linen. The air returned to his lungs.
It was his mother who reached him first. He had just finished washing when she burst through the door, unannounced. Pero rushed in after her and a gestured apologetically to him. Tyron dismissed him with a shake of his head. There was no point fighting it. Pero left, closing the door behind him.
‘My dear son,’ Eldoris said, her eyes shiny. She stepped up to him and held him. But not too long because she knew better.
Tyron watched his mother harness her emotions. Those moments reminded him she was a queen as well as his mother.
‘We have prayed every day for you. The priest is sick of the sight of me. Here you are at last. And a hero.’
‘Not a hero,’ he said, stepping back from her.
‘This was your victory.’
‘A generous term for what it was.’
She took a breath before speaking. ‘Our borders are safe for now.’
He looked at her. ‘At what cost?’
She nodded and walked over to the small window, taking a seat on the cushioned armchair, an armchair that had also been introduced in his absence.
Tyron leant against the wall on the other side of the room, resisting the urge to lie on the bed. ‘What is news here? Make it good news.’
Her gaze went to the window so he would not see the worry on her face. ‘Stamitos is suddenly a man. He has so much to give the Syrasan people when he comes of age next season. However…his…enthusiasm concerns me.’
She was a queen, but she was a mother first, fiercely protective of her children. A Galen trait. Family was everything to the Galens. Eldoris and her two sisters had been raised by their mother, Queen Kaiya of Galen. The role of governesses was purely educational. Lessons of life and love were taught by family. One year after her marriage to King Zenas, the new queen of Syrasan had given birth to Pandarus. She had caused great confusion in the castle when she insisted on nursing him herself for the first two years of his life. She attended to him throughout the night and allowed him to sleep in her arms during the day. When Tyron was born two years later, Zenas let her do as she pleased, making no comment on the nursing. And when he took his first Companion, shortly after Tyron’s birth, despite promising before God to be faithful to her, she did not say a word. Two more children came along. And other Companions.
‘Perhaps Pandarus will lear
n something from his youngest sibling,’ Tyron said, rubbing at his eyes to fight off sleep.
Eldoris looked at him, disapproval etched on her face. ‘I was hoping you would leave the fight at the border. Pandarus has been of great help to your father in your absence. He has been liaising with King Jayr. A challenging man,’ she added.
‘God help the Zoelin people with him on the throne. He was unbearable as a prince. Now he is gagged by no one.’
‘There has been talk of an alliance.’
‘God help us all then.’
Eldoris waited for him to look at her, but his eyes were heavy and closing. ‘Someone needs to ensure we have allies while you take care of our enemies. We are not all born great soldiers, my love.’
The door swung open and Cora appeared in the doorway. She stepped into the room, uninvited, and took in the sight of her brother. ‘Thank goodness you are alive,’ she said, her tone filled with drama. ‘Now everyone can stop mourning you as if you are dead.’ She made herself comfortable on the edge of the bed.
‘Where is my squire?’ asked Tyron, glancing at the door. If there was one person he needed announced, it was his sister.
‘Probably still pressed up against the wall, shaking,’ she replied.
Tyron exhaled. ‘What did you do to him? He is terrified of you.’
Cora pretended to be offended by the accusation. ‘Nothing. Shall we have him beheaded for his incompetence?’
‘Careful, you sound just like Pandarus.’
She looked around the room. ‘Did you bring me anything?’
Tyron shook his head and glanced at his mother. ‘I have been fighting a war, not taking a pleasure journey.’
‘Why on earth were you gone so long? I hope you at least won.’
Eldoris rose from her chair and walked towards the door. ‘Honestly, Cora, let your brother be. He fights so that you can continue to enjoy your privileged life here.’
Cora turned her pouty face up to the ceiling. ‘Is that what I am doing here? I thought I was waiting to be married off.’
Eldoris ignored her, eyes on Tyron. ‘Please get some rest, my love.’
‘That was my plan.’
Once Eldoris had left the room, Cora looked at Tyron. ‘Have you seen Pandarus yet?’
Tyron noted the flicker of mischief in her tone. He never played Cora’s games. She loved to make trouble and had spent most of her youth developing her abilities. Her siblings had learned their own unique defence skills in the process. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I heard he bought you a whore,’ she said, with exaggerated delight. ‘One of your very own. Though no doubt you will share her with Leksi, like you do most things.’
For as long as he could remember, Cora had wanted Leksi. And for as long as he could remember, Leksi had shown little interest in her beyond the usual impulses of a young boy. Leksi was aware of her feelings, however, and he enjoyed the small amount of power that gave him. It was never a question of beauty. She was without question the most beautiful princess Syrasan had ever produced. It was her appalling manners and blatant self-interest that had noblemen fleeing. Tyron had suggested to her once that if she did not open her mouth, men might actually want to marry her instead of just admire her.
Her eyes had burned through him.
‘You think I should shut my mouth and be beautiful? You are just like all the other men,’ she had said before walking away.
It was the first time Tyron could remember seeing something different in her face. Something painful. Something human. While he acknowledged that there were aspects of her life over which she had no control, in all other aspects, she was highly manipulative in getting the things she wanted. Leksi presented a unique challenge for her.
‘Is that your way of checking if Leksi returned with me?’ he said.
Cora rose from the bed and placed a delicate hand on her hip as she walked towards the door. ‘I look forward to this evening. We can all celebrate your return and raise our cups to Syrasan’s heroes.’
‘I will be impressed if you make it to the toast. Usually your ladies have to carry you to your quarters before then.’
She stopped and looked at him. ‘The attention is exhausting.’
‘I think we can safely credit the wine.’
She glanced at the pile of velvet in the corner of the room. ‘I see our redecorating efforts were much appreciated. Honestly, brother, where is your gratitude?’ She left the room before he could respond.
Tyron shut the door behind her and leant against it once again. He used his remaining energy to walk to his bed, which he was asleep on within moments. All too soon he would have to wake and pretend to celebrate their controversial victory. While the guests stood with smiles on their faces, he would see only the faces of the dead who remained at the Corneon border, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, falcons hovering in the skies above them. He would not forget their faces. They would appear whenever he closed his eyes and still be vivid when he woke drenched in sweat. Eventually he would find a place in his mind for them, along with all the others. If only he could sleep for longer.
Chapter 5
Aldara was just about finished with Hali’s hair when Hali leapt from her stool and vomited into a nearby jug. Aldara filled a cup of water from one of the clean jugs and sank down onto the floor next to her. They looked at each other in the mirror.
‘What if he is utterly disappointed?’ Hali asked, face pale.
Aldara turned towards her and pinned loose threads of hair. ‘He won’t be,’ she whispered.
‘I have nothing else to offer him. You heard Fedora, she actually said that.’
Aldara kept her eyes on the hair. ‘He does not need anything else from you. He has Astra for those things and did not buy you for your musical talents.’
Hali’s shoulders dropped a little. In the two months they had been at Archdale, they had discovered only that she spoke too much. She had no other talents. Pandarus had grown impatient with Fedora’s insistence she was not ready to socialise and had eventually demanded she be present at the feast to celebrate the return of his brother. He wanted both new purchases on display.
‘Aldara’s age is too evident,’ Fedora had said to him.
‘She is a gift for Tyron. What is the point of her if she is not available to give?’
Fedora had been dealing with Pandarus since his coming of age nine years ago. She was not unnerved by his tantrums.
‘I assure you she will be an absolute prize when the time is right.’
He did not care for waiting, and he left her without pleasantries.
Fedora had worked tirelessly with the new arrivals, teaching etiquette, languages, history, and politics. Outside of books, they were average singers, poor dancers, and useless with musical instruments of all kinds. She focused on languages, which they were picking up rather quickly. She provided them with charcoal, ink, and coloured paints, hoping to find alternative talents to offer the princes. Neither could draw, and their colour mixing almost always resulted in murky shades of brown.
When Fedora walked into the dressing room, she paused as the smell hit her. ‘Dear God, who is ill?’ She spotted Hali on the floor clutching the jug and forced herself forward. ‘You do not get to be sick this evening. You have been requested, the invitation already accepted. Now you must attend. Please go do something about your breath and find a smile. It is a feast, not a wake.’
Hali scurried away. Fedora met Aldara’s eyes in the mirror.
‘She is as ready as she will ever be, so there is no point indulging her. I will ensure she receives some wine with dinner to relax her for the evening.’
Aldara nodded. ‘Yes, my lady.’ She stood, picking up the dirty jug that remained next to her on the floor. ‘What would you like me to do this evening?’
‘Stay here. And pray Hali does not return until the morning.’
Aldara was the only Companion that did not socialise. She knew Tyron had returned, but because she was not ready to meet
him, no one spoke of it. She felt like a child tucked up in her bed while the adults played. Time alone also meant time to think, something she tried to avoid. Her mind always wondered to Kadmus, his resigned face as the portcullis had lowered between them. She saw it over and over. Then she would remember her broken father amid the shadows of the farmhouse and the indifferent face of her mother. These visions consumed her. She tried to focus instead on the feel of the linen against her bare feet. The clean smell of her nightgown. But the dark room and silence permitted her mind to run freely. It was the early hours of morning when she fell into a reluctant sleep. When she opened her eyes, she looked over to the empty bed next to hers and smiled.
Only Astra and Rhea joined Aldara for the morning meal. They stared into their bowls, pushing vegetables around with their spoons. No one mentioned Hali’s absence or asked Rhea why she had returned early. Aldara had learned that everything that needed to be said was said to Fedora. While the women were happy to share shoes, clothing, soap and jewellery, intricate details of their social lives remained theirs.
That morning Fedora kept to her usual lesson plan, focusing on conversation etiquette. One hour into the lesson, Aldara realised the social rules being taught applied only to the Companions. They were expected to remain neutral on most topics, a strategy which minimised the chance of offending anyone at all.
‘Rhea, what if a Zoelin guest asked your opinion on the recent Corneo war?’ Fedora said, pacing in front of the empty fireplace.
‘I would say what a great Syrasan victory it was. I would use the opportunity to discuss the strength of the Syrasan army and remark on how reassuring that must be to our allies.’
Fedora nodded her approval. ‘Do you have anything to add, Aldara?’
Aldara glanced at Rhea, already sensing her hostility. ‘I would refer to previous victories to highlight our enduring strength, despite being a relatively new kingdom.’ Fedora nodded her approval, but she was not done. ‘Of course if I were having an honest conversation, with unrehearsed answers, I might comment on the high number lives lost of both sides. I might mention the devastation Corneo faces with its ongoing food shortages.’
