Elmetia (The Forgotten Kingdoms Book 1)

by Rachel James

  Teagen’s eyes grew wide. “Not just yet. Could you tell him to wait for me to dress?”

  The other maid helped her out of the tub and wrapped a heavy fur around for warmth.

  “You’ll need to borrow one of the queen’s nightgowns until some are made for you, although with you standing so tall here, I tell you now they’ll be a bit on the small side. Queen Cinnia is a good half-foot shorter than you.”

  “Nightgown? Why it’s the middle of the day.”

  “Aye, but your Shieldok friend has given his orders—you’re to endure complete bed rest until you’re fully healed. However long that may be.”

  She quirked an eyebrow. They’d only been here a few hours and already she was being told what to do. So much for regaining her freedom.

  Niall crept up the steps to his bedchamber with trepidation. Mayhap he could put off seeing Cinnia. The mood she was in today—he was asking for trouble.

  His hand lingered on the door handle. Nay. He had to confront things head on.

  Cinnia was still lying in bed when he entered the room, her eyes moist and her nose red. She barely shifted her glance.

  He slumped on the seat and rested his head against the stone wall. The bright weather of earlier had disappeared and was replaced now by a grey heaviness.

  “It looks like rain.”

  Cinnia stared at him and shuffled to a sitting position. “Niall? What is it?”

  Pulling his eyes away from the window, he faced his wife. “I never told you about my past.”

  “Nay, you didn’t.”

  He rolled his sleeves and rubbed his arms. “I have a sister.”

  “What? I...I thought all your family were dead.”

  “Aye, so did I.”

  “Well, where is she?”

  “In your old chamber.”

  Cinnia bolted upright. “Why did you not tell me about her?”

  “I know not. I could not.”

  “Is she still a child?”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “Nay, she’s grown into a young woman.”

  His wife turned to face him. “And why are you not happy about this?”

  He returned her gaze. “I am still in shock. Everything now will change.”

  “Well, it appears all our problems are solved,” she said flatly.

  Niall studied her face, her exterior frosty cold. “How so?”

  “You’ve found yourself an heir. You don’t need me anymore.”

  Niall frowned. “What do you mean? If we have a son, he will be next in line to the throne.”

  “And if I cannot give you a bairn?”

  “Then Teagen, naturally, takes my place.” He stroked the tendril of hair away from her eyes. “She’s your sister now, Cinnia. Not an enemy. I hope you’ll be kind to her.”

  Ryce followed the Elmetian king through the courtyard and to the smithy. He eyed the display of weaponry with a lack of enthusiasm. The Shieldoks used a far wider range of arms in combat, and he wondered if Niall would mind if he asked the smithy to alter some of the designs.

  “As you can see, we like our swords.”

  “What about the seax?”

  “Nay, we have daggers, but they’re smaller. Besides, the men are not trained to use them.”

  Ryce clenched his jaw. He hoped Niall would allow him to train his men as he saw fit. “The spear is a good choice for long range.”

  “A little savage, though, don’t you think? Our soldiers here prefer the use of the long bow, although I realize archery is not a Shieldok weapon.”

  “Nay, but I am skilled with the bow. I was trained by a Wealdman.”

  “How interesting. I’d prefer you train our soldiers in using the Wealdfolk methods to begin with.”

  “Sire, with respect, what use am I to you if I follow your techniques and methods? Your men wouldn’t be learning anything new. Let me teach them some of the Dyrahn ways using other forms of warfare, and they will become more versatile.”

  Niall patted his arm. “Not yet. They need to earn your trust. Do not forget, Wealdfolk detest the Shieldoks. To be successful in leading them, you’ll have to warrant their respect. We don’t like brutality here—we are a civilized people.”

  “Are you calling me savage?”

  “Nay, of course not. I’m trying to warn you of my people’s attitude toward you. Let them get to know you first. In time, you can try new things.” Niall looked him up and down. “We’ll start with your armour. Have you ever worn chainmail before?”

  “Nay, and I’d care not to if you don’t mind. How anyone can be comfortable in metal is beyond me.”

  “Give it a try—chainmail is not as heavy as it seems, and it protects you from a multitude of grazes with the enemy.”

  Ryce sighed. He was fighting a losing battle. “Of course, sire.”

  Niall stood and examined a wooden sword that the children used to practice with. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Teagen.”

  His ears pricked. “Aye, my king?”

  “The life of a princess is not an easy one. Not only must she possess the airs and graces expected of her station, but she should expect, and be prepared for, warfare.”

  Ryce turned and gazed at Niall. “Sire?”

  “I’m afraid that since Teagen has been missing for these eight years passed, she’s also missed out on vital combat training. You've been with her. Does she know how to defend herself?”

  “She has spirit, I’ll grant you that.”

  Niall placed a hand on his shoulder. “But skill?”

  Ryce shook his head. “Nay, sire.”

  “I want you to teach her.”

  “She can join the soldiers in our training sessions.”

  “She would not be comfortable with that. Besides, she needs particular attention.”

  “Aye, you are right in that respect. For her to succeed, however, she will need to want to learn of her own accord.”

  “Leave her to me.”

  Teagen caught her breath as another pin narrowly missed pricking her side. She’d had a decent night’s sleep and now stood on a stool in the midst of her chamber for a dress fitting. She had been at Angularem for a week and had not yet been allowed out of her quarters.

  “Your breakfast will get cold,” Lunet said.

  “I cannot move to eat when you stab me like a pin cushion.”

  Lunet gave her a lopsided grin and passed Teagen a piece of bread. “Well, then, you can chew on that while I finish here. Can’t be having you spilling your porridge and ruining your new dress.”

  Teagen accepted the food. The delightful smell had been causing her stomach to rumble. “Your brother wishes an audience with you after you’ve finished here.”

  “Well, he knows where I am.”

  “Nay, Princess. He wants you to join him in the courtyard.”

  “What? You mean I’m allowed out?”

  “Believe so. You seem good enough to me anyhow. Another day cooped in here, and you’ll be scraping at the walls.”

  Teagen broke a small piece of bread off and nibbled away thoughtfully. “I confess, I am eager to explore the place. From the limited view I can see from this chamber window, it’s breathtaking.”

  “Aye, so it is. I’ve been here a few years now, and the beauty of the island never ceases to amaze me.”

  “Where were you before Angularem?”

  “Southern Elmetia, on the border of Meigen. My village escaped the Dyrahn raids, but when we discovered King Niall was at Angularem we decided to leave.”

  “I thought his whereabouts were undisclosed.”

  “The king sent contacts out into Dyrah and Lyndisea. Ansgar came through our village and spread the word to the Elmetians. In the beginning, they frequented the mainland for supplies and such, but it became too dangerous.”

  Lunet stepped backward to examine her subject. “How’s that, Princess?”

  “Strange.” Teagen hitched her dress, jumped off the stool, and twirled around the room, spinning the
fabric of her skirt into sumptuous gathers. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such a fine tunic.”

  “Well, ’tis about time you were treated as the princess you’ve always truly been.”

  “These things are sent to test us, they do say.” Teagen continued to spin, still not used to the expensive fabric.

  “You’d best step out of that tunic now, m’lady—’tis not daytime attire you know. Save it for a special occasion.”

  Teagen obliged her, laying her new gown carefully on the bed. “Where did you attain this silk?”

  “This fabric was washed ashore. We receive a lot of goods by the Lord from shipwrecks. I do believe this magnificent material came from the Eastern Empire.”

  Lunet helped Teagen to dress in a simple blue morrow tunic and braided her hair, leaving half cascading down the small of her back.

  “There now,” her maid declared. “Fit for a king!”

  “Thank you. I confess, I cannot get used to you doing the duties that a few weeks ago I did myself.”

  Lunet waved her off with the corner of her apron. “Give it time, Princess. You'll find your place here. Now, off you go.”

  She nodded and scuttled down the west-wing steps into the courtyard, which led out into a large, open green space. She caught her breath as she witnessed the army of soldiers training in combat.

  Ryce was at the front, dressed in chainmail, jousting with Niall. The two men were of similar build, Ryce a little taller. Their physical attributes, however, were quite a contrast. Ryce was the typical Shieldok, with shoulder-length blonde hair and grey-blue eyes. He lacked the fair skin of a Dyrahn though, with a slight golden complexion. Niall had her own distinctive ebony-coloured tresses.

  Noticing the practice session conclude, she ran toward Niall. Ryce was busy packing away the weaponry and glanced up at her. Their eyes met momentarily before he looked away again.

  “My apologies, but training went on a bit longer than planned.” Her brother slung a cloth around his neck. “Let’s take a walk. I’d like to show you the island.”

  Teagen pulled her gaze away from the ever intriguing Dyrahn warrior, and slipped her arm inside Niall’s as he escorted her from the courtyard.

  “You’ve been to the southern beach, so why don’t we venture north?” Niall said.

  Teagen lifted her dress to avoid it ripping as they climbed the steep hill taking them to the northern part of the island. Wild rabbits scampered by, one nearly knocking her over as she carefully placed her feet to avoid the rabbit droppings.

  “This mound here drops into a valley. The highest point is magnificent.”

  “Goodness,” she said as they reached the top. Niall did not exaggerate. She breathed deeply, inhaling the fresh sea air, grateful she was no longer cooped indoors. When she faced due north, she viewed the rock formation surrounding the coast. Niall turned her to face the eastern side.

  “The woodland to the east is home to a variety of game, pheasant, deer, chickens...and then down the valley, we graze sheep, cows, and wild horses.” Niall grabbed her hand and tugged her on another course. “There is little time to explore today though. I want to show you the village.”

  They went back down the hill again, cutting through meadows of long grass, which tickled her hands as she waded through it, and fields for farming crops. They soon came to the centre of a village, where several clusters of wooden huts and thatched roofs were scattered around the open space. The clearing for the community gatherings reminded her of their home in Elmetia.

  “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about your role here, Sister.”

  The shift in his voice alerted her eyes.

  “You’ve turned out into a fair, young lass, Teagen. Not the annoying little ten-year-old I knew.”

  She paused and studied him. “Niall?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated.

  “Brother, tell me and be done with it.”

  Niall placed his hands on her shoulders. He was a clear foot taller than she was. “You’re a princess, and certain responsibilities now belong to you.” Niall looked up as if to search for inspiration from the heavens.

  “You don’t think I’m worthy?”

  “Nay. It is not like that. After the raid on Elmetia, I became king, and for me, my training continued here on Angularem. I was greatly older than you and already educated in the different skills, but you were still very much a child.”

  “Believe me, I am not idle. I learned to cook, sew, make beds, wait at tables, care for the lady of the house—”

  “Does that sound like the sister of a king to you? Do you know how to use a long bow to defend yourself? Can you read and write fluently in Wealdic?”

  “What could I possibly want to do with Wealdic?”

  “For most of the locals here, they do not speak Holmorran. Wealdic is still their first language, and of course the Bible is written in Old Wealdic.”

  “You have a Bible?”

  “Aye, there is a copy in the chapel, albeit centuries old.”

  Teagen slumped herself on the grass and gazed into the sky. The midday sun was bright despite the cold November air.

  “Listen, Teagen, if anything happens to me, you’ll be the new leader, until at least I have a son. You need to be ready.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “I suggest we resume with your lessons.”

  “How on earth will I catch up on eight years of education?”

  “Oh, I’m sure we need only focus on the particulars.”

  The hall was filled with festive celebration. It was Teagen’s first meal in the grand room, and her brother had gone to colossal lengths to welcome her home. The cheery music played by the minstrels did not drown out people’s conversations, but brightened the air. Teagen was seated on the right side of Niall at the head table, a tremendous honour, although not such an ideal position for talking to people.

  She glanced at the elegant woman positioned left to Niall. It seemed strange to think of Niall as married. She hadn’t had much of an opportunity to speak to Cinnia since her arrival at Angularem, and Cinnia had not as yet sought Teagen out. Well, she wouldn’t get a chance to converse with her until after the meal now.

  Niall banged his goblet and brought the room to silence.

  “Friends, may I please have your attention.” His gaze spanned the breadth of the hall. “Eight years ago, when I came to this island, you accepted me as your king. I found a home here, a place of refuge. But for all this time I have held an empty heart—that is, until this last week, when my dear, little sister became alive again to me.”

  Self-conscious, she cast her eyes on her plate. The people stood and cheered, hitting the tables and stamping their feet. Niall held up his hand, and the people grew silent once more.

  “I am sure you would agree with me, especially those who knew Teagen when she was but a girl, that she has blossomed into an enchanting young lass. Good men and women, please raise your goblets. I give you our princess.”

  “Our princess!” the crowd chanted in unison.

  Teagen nodded in appreciation. She sent her brother a smile but noted the straight-set face of his wife. Cinnia would not return Teagen’s gaze.

  The room soon calmed, and the meal was served. It was a feast indeed—hog, venison, beef, chicken—the list was endless. She accepted a plate from one of the serving girls and tried to eat, but she had lost her appetite. She glanced again in Cinnia’s direction, only to witness her sister in-law excuse herself from the table. Niall gave Cinnia leave to go and turned to face her.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about tomorrow,” Niall said.

  Teagen glanced up. “Aye?”

  “Now that you are recovered, I thought it time you started with your lessons.” Niall paused and sent a fleeting look at Ryce, who was seated nearby. “Ryce has agreed to train you in combat. I suggested you practice at first light each morrow, before breakfast. He has a busy schedule with the men the rest of the day, so�
��”

  “Aye, so be it, Brother.”

  Niall raised an eyebrow. “You are certain?”

  “Aye, that’s fine.”

  Niall’s mouth fell into a lopsided grin. “I had imagined I’d have to convince you otherwise. Good. Then mayhap by week’s end you can commence with your studies.”

  Teagen gulped. “Studies?”

  “Oh, aye. Cinnia will teach you Wealdic and such.”

  “And such?”

  “You know, etiquette and other things. I’m not too sure of the particulars, but it’s all in hand.” He gave her a quick glance.

  And here she was fretful that she would be bored.

  Chapter Eight

  The first morrow of training did not get off to a good start. The gradual rain soon began to pelt hard. Ryce gazed at her profile, unable to read her expression. Her hair, which she had braided away from her face, now drooped, her lips blue with the cold, and the bottom of her long skirt caked thick in wet sand.

  “Shall we conclude this session?”

  “Why? If you were training your men, would you stop because of a bit of rain?”

  “Nay, of course not, but—”

  “Well then. Best we carry on.”

  She narrowed her eyes in concentration and threw her wooden sword toward him, which he blocked with his own. She was quick, for a woman, though she had sloppy technique and lacked core strength.

  “Who taught you to sword-fight?”

  “Niall and I used to play as children, but as he was six years older, he always beat me.”

  “Had naught to do with him being a boy?”

  Teagen raised an eyebrow. She paused for a breath, then stood with her legs wide apart as if waiting to catch a ball.

  “Your stance is all wrong. Stand straight.”

  Teagen narrowed her eyes but obliged him.

  “Now, put one foot a little in front of the other.” He pressed his lips together to prevent the rising laughter from escaping. She did not appear impressed. He had to give her credit though, she was trying.

  “Keep your head up, look at my face—nay, my face, not my sword.”