Alara's Curse

by S. L. Perrine

  "Find Declan. He can put his fighting expertise to use once again," she pointed to the large oak and the woman she could now see crouched behind it.

  Cedric nodded and went out the back entrance to the kitchen to find the prince. He found not one, but the two of them scoping out the same hooded figure the queen walked toward.

  "Is she mad?" Declan all but growled his frustration.

  "I don't think so," Landon responded, even though he needed no response.

  The men walked around the opposite side of the house to come behind the crouched figure as Alara walked towards her head on. Cedric followed behind shortly after both Landon and Declan reached the other side of the house.

  Alara moved with an air about her that only a queen could have. Even with her torn dress and scraped knees, she looked like royalty.

  "If you're trying to hide, you're wearing the wrong shade of rouge."

  The boys stared at each other, each unfamiliar with the term.

  "Do you mean the color of my cloak or my face?" the intruder asked, her satire evident by her lack of pause.

  "No. Actually, I was considering your boots, although I am partial to red myself.”

  The girl ducked her head around the tree to take in the queen’s appearance. She must have looked like a typical street smuggler, but then her eyes widened.

  "Majesty?"

  "Oh, no. What gave it away? The apparent rips of my dress or the stains of blood covering it?" She had so hoped nobody else would recognize her, especially in her current state.

  "The hair. I've never seen or heard of anybody with such vibrant red hair." The girl stood. "I am Scarlett, Your Majesty. I've come to find you."

  "So much for the element of surprise," she said, lifting a handful of curls and tossing them to the back of her.

  It seemed going to the palace was more than a bad idea. It would have meant death for at least one of them— more than likely Alara, and if Talia felt generous, Cedric too. It was doubtful she would hurt either of the boys. One was heir to the throne, and the other was her son.

  Scarlett, as it turned out, was the daughter of Lady and Lord Ilael of Shagari; the land of the wolves. She was on a mission to find her father, whom she believed to be kidnapped by Talia fifteen years ago. Until recently, her cousin Edward ruled in his stead but was now missing as well.

  Upon arriving in Vlora, she’d found the wanted posters. Alara’s face was plastered throughout the kingdom with the word ‘Murderer’ in bold above it.

  Alara wouldn’t have believed it if the girl hadn’t produced the poster from her cloak. She was wanted for the death of the king and Prince Landon. It also stated she traveled with two men— a king’s guard and Prince Declan— and held them hostage.

  In the wake of such a tragedy, Talia held the crown as regent until the safe return of King Declan.

  “So, my father has passed away,” Declan announced.

  He sat in the grass in the middle of the clearing behind the house with the rest of them standing around him. He held his head in his hands.

  Landon moved behind him, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We don’t know that. I’m supposedly dead as well. You can see how I can have a hard time believing that one, can’t you?”

  Alara looked from the boys to the newcomer. Her hair, black as night in contrast to her fair-colored skin, as if it never saw daylight.

  The woman sat underneath her cloak and hood beneath the shade of the tree. Sunlight did seem to bother her in some sort of way, but Alara figured Scarlett wouldn’t be quick to share.

  “So, where do we go now? What can we do?” Cedric asked.

  “We need to get to the palace. My father needs help if he’s stuck there with her,” Declan said, not wanting to speak Talia’s name, and jumped to his feet.

  “No, your father has been alone with her for years. She has already won where he is concerned. He’s dying,” Alara stated.

  Cedric surmised Alara’s words to mean she had already mourned her husband. She could not do it anymore. She couldn’t have false hope that somehow, he might survive. There were too many if only scenarios to consider, and too many times they could be told no. He’s simply not going to survive it, Cedric thought to himself.

  “But you’re a healer now,” Declan pushed.

  “She’s barely a healer. Even if she could get past Mother and into the palace, there’s too much to consider. She’s had no training, no instruction, and no time to learn on her own.” Landon had only pointed out the obvious.

  Not only was she no help to them in getting back to their father, but she would not be able to help Tomas either. By the frown on her face, Cedric figured she hadn’t considered she might be able to heal him if she could figure out how.

  Again, another if. Had she figured out how to help, she would go, and she’d go now. Tears welled in her eyes. She turned away from them and ran into the house.

  “You two should go. There is no telling what Talia would do, but she couldn’t possibly want to harm either of you,” Cedric pointed out.

  “No. Not even if there is a chance to say goodbye to him, there is no telling what Mother would do if she got her way. No. Our best bet is to find a way to get her out of the palace, away from power.” Landon said.

  Alara heard them speak through the broken windows. Landon’s refusal made her aware of what he was giving up.

  Alara and Declan just saw Tomas a few days ago. She hadn’t even considered how long it had been since the king would have been healthy enough to travel and see his son. What he could have been feeling, she didn’t know.

  A child lived in the house at one point. It was evident from the colored pictures strewn about— drawings of rainbows and dragons; small wooden sculptures painted red, blue, green and gold.

  A mold sat on a shelf— a piece of Landon’s childhood that survived the attack. Alara placed her hand against the form of a palm and fingers, comparing the size of her own to the small hand belonging to Landon as a child. In contrast, hers was twice as big. Another shelf held a small ceramic bowl. She couldn’t tell if it was damaged or just the workings of a young one’s mind. She picked it up to study the piece.

  The inscription said, “To Father, From Landon.” “Father” had one line through it, and next to it was the word, “Aunts.”

  Beside the bowl was a painting of a smaller Landon. She picked it up. Her hand rubbed at the paint dried against the canvas.

  The bottom didn’t advertise the author’s name. When she flipped it over, she found the words age eight.

  Alara turned it over again. She studied the face that could have easily been her son’s. This was what he would have looked like when he was growing up. She swallowed hard, and it stuck in her throat for a moment.

  “I won’t go. I won’t walk into an ambush. I won’t ask Alara to walk into a trap that could very well get her killed.”

  Alara turned toward the source of the commotion. Landon yelled at his brother, trying to get him to see reason.

  “My mother wouldn’t harm us,” Declan said before he thought about his words. He looked at the house.

  She wasn’t sure if he could see her or not, but she turned from the window. She wouldn’t allow herself to be hurt by words that meant nothing. He’d grown up believing the woman was his mother. She pushed her way outside, ignoring the child’s life still residing within those walls.

  “It’s time to go. We will head south to Anaphias. When we reach Edela, we will part ways. I’ll go to Ikrith. I have friends there,” she told them.

  Heading for the horses, Declan placed a hand on her shoulder. She stopped, not looking back at him, and put her hand over his. He released her, letting her go to mount Queenie.

  The mare was sulking. She’d been the same gray color since they arrived. Alara couldn’t recall how many days they’d been there, letting her heal before contemplating what to do next. When the horse saw her owner, her coat changed to resembled soft winter snow.

  Alara r
an a hand from the mare’s ear and down her large form until she reached the saddle. Pulling herself onto the animal’s back with ease, she positioned her to face the two princes, her guard that wasn’t a guard, and the girl dressed in the color of blood. “What are you waiting for?”

  THEY took their time moving around the villages, not wanting to come head to head with anyone who might turn Alara over to Talia.

  Declan would be taking Landon back through the front gates of the palace. The identical faces of the two would put to rest the claim that Alara had Landon murdered. Inevitably, the people wouldn’t believe the false account that she’d been responsible for the king’s illness and subsequent death— if he’d passed by now. Once the accusations were cleared up, Alara could return to the palace.

  Declan seemed so unwelcome to the idea that Alara— not Talia— was his mother, and it hurt her deeply. It’s not as if she knew how to be a mother to an almost fully-grown man, being slightly his elder since the curse left her as an awkward nineteen-year-old girl.

  The boys themselves were just recently sixteen.

  She couldn’t be anyone’s mother. Maybe she would find a life for herself away from court; away from the throne, something she had dreamed of doing her entire life. That is until she fell in love with her intended.

  Tomas had been a hot-tempered teen and an even angrier man as his father continued to reign over his every decision.

  Being in his presence made Alara nervous at first. As time went on, she witnessed the gentle side of him as well. That’s the side she had loved, the side she still loved; the man she would forever mourn.

  As they descended the rock hill Alara had been injured on, she was thankful her thighs were firmly pressed against the sides of the mare. Feeling more secure than before, she pushed the animal to move swiftly down the embankment.

  She’d finally remembered how the two of them used to move together, both fearless and brave.

  The protests from behind told her they only thought she was reckless or fragile, just as Tomas first felt when they rode together.

  When she reached the bottom, she let Queenie prance in circles before looking uphill. Landon had descended from his horse and led it on foot. Scarlett rode with Cedric, having arrived without her own transportation. Her eyes squeezed so tightly shut, it looked like she was in pain.

  “Fear of heights, Lady Ilael?” Alara called up to her.

  “No, Majesty. A fear of falling on rocks,” she yelled back, her eyes still closed in a manner that kept the rest of her face scrunched.

  “Oh, been there.” Alara had to laugh despite herself.

  The memory of the journey up the rocks made her wince, and she thought better of the smile she still harbored. She calmed the mare and continued forward only a few feet.

  A racket in the distance made her stop in her tracks. Queenie bucked backward, and Alara did quick work of calming the animal. She leaned forward and rubbed a hand from the top of the animal’s head down her mane. “Shh, now, girl. We don’t want trouble with them.”

  “Well, then you’d be too late.” A grim-looking man appeared from behind a tree.

  It seemed as if he’d been rolling around in a pig pen for much of his life. The skin on his face looked as if it were falling off. Dirt caked in the folds and fell out a little when he spoke. “What do we have here? A pretty little girl and her horse. Did you wander too far from home, little one?”

  “No, I am heading back home.” She made sure she sounded docile and tepid; nothing like a queen. Hoping above all odds he wouldn’t notice the men riding down the hill, she tapped her horse with her heel, making a show to take off.

  The man lunged at her and grabbed the reigns from her hand. “Oh, no. I don’t think you’ll be getting very far. You seem to be bloodied all over.”

  She looked down at her dress, then to her leg where he placed the tip of his finger.

  “Seems this isn’t the first trouble you’ve found today.” His finger trailed from her knee and went north, to the shortened hem of her dress.

  A hand grabbed the man by the throat and pulled him backward. Thrown from his feet, he landed on his backside, next to the tree he’d hidden behind.

  “It seems you’ve found some trouble of your own, I reckon,” Cedric spoke low, so as not to take on the attention of the people in the distance.

  “So, you are good for something.” Declan moved next to Cedric.

  Scarlett looked pale but adjusted to being on foot again.

  Landon stood beside Alara, watching as his brother tried to take charge of the situation.

  When Declan moved toward the man, Cedric put up his hand to stop him. “No need to do anything. We should just go. We don’t need to attract any more attention,” he said before adding, “Highness.”

  “Right,” Declan agreed with the guard. Then looking towards the man on the ground, he said, “You’re lucky we’re in a bit of a hurry, or you may have very well lost your head this day.”

  The man didn’t move; didn’t avert his eyes. He lay there, looking at the prince and Cedric wide-eyed. Then without prompt, he laughed at the two.

  “What is so funny?” Cedric asked, placing the point of his sword at the man’s neck, just under his chin. He’d moved so fast, Alara hadn’t even known he possessed skill enough to accomplish it. She hadn’t even seen him remove the weapon from its scabbard.

  When the man next spoke, the air around him filled with a noxious smell. The words slithered off his tongue as though from a snake. “You better run, princey.” He glanced back at Alara, who hadn’t dismounted. “They’re looking for that one. No price for a livin’ queen traitor either. They want her head on a spike ‘n delivered to the palace.”

  “Who?” Declan stepped forward.

  “Oh, you know. Just your mother. She says that little redhead killed the king and her own child,” he hissed.

  Lying in the ground, it looked as if he’d been derived from it. His clothes and skin were the same color green as a rotting sewer. Dirt and mud stained the cracks in his hands. His nails were brown, and the few teeth he did have were cracked and broken.

  “We need to go.” Cedric pulled on Declan’s cloak, but he didn’t budge. Instead, Declan placed his sword to the man’s chest.

  Alara wished she could see his face. She wondered what had changed in him to spark such behavior.

  He lifted the man’s chin with his blade, making him look at his face. At the moment, Alara swore she stared at Tomas.

  “Talia is not my mother.” He turned to point at Alara with his sword. The motion made her swallow hard. Her eyes turned frightful for just a moment.

  “She is my mother,” he stated, not taking his eyes off the man. “And that is my brother.” The sword moved to point at Landon, then went back down to the man’s chest. “So, you're wrong.” He growled under his breath and turned abruptly, sliding his sword back into its casing.

  Cedric copied the prince and mounted his horse. “My lady?” He held out his hand and pulled Scarlett on the mount to sit behind him.

  Landon mounted the horse behind his brother. They needed to move quickly before the large group of men laughing in revelry noticed them. He looked as unnerved as Scarlett did riding down the hill. Alara realized he probably never even rode a horse before.

  Alara tried not to think of all the firsts Landon was having now that he was no longer secluded at the small cottage. She wanted to keep her breathing even and her horse slow and steady as they got closer to the horde.

  Further inspection told her they were all the same kind of men like the one who stopped her, which meant leaving him alive gave him the ability to announce their presence. She quickly glanced behind her to Cedric and Scarlett. Then rubbed her heels on the mare and flicked the reigns, making the animal catch up to her son.

  Declan scrutinized her with a scowl, and she pointed at the group, hoping he would see what she had. To her amazement, he moved his hand high above his head— so Cedric could see him— a
nd nodded to her. They moved in unison, urging their animals to a slow run and keeping them from making as much noise as possible.

  Had the ground been covered with dried leaves, they might not have accomplished such a feat. However, just as they thought they would get by without drawing attention, the man they’d left to his own devices must have gotten to his friends.

  Hollering came from behind them, and they threw caution to the wind and pushed the animals to the point of breaking.

  The men closed in all around them, throwing spears and narrowly missing them. They waved swords overhead as they gained on them.

  Alara took a chance, glancing behind her to make sure Cedric was close by. She almost missed the spear meant for her horse’s chest. She pulled back on the reigns and kneed her boots into Queenie, who jumped up and over the spear as it plunged into the soft ground beneath them.

  “Pay attention,” Declan yelled at her.

  Scarlett had one arm squeezed around Cedric, and the other plucked a spear from the air. She slashed at the men as they got too close. She managed to take one down with a jab to the throat but lost the weapon.

  Alara was tempted to pull the sword she carried free of its scabbard but knew she wouldn’t be able to hold it with one hand since her muscles were still strengthening. Instead, she let the rest defend her while she focused on riding.

  “Alara, look out!” Cedric called from behind her.

  A man on a beast she’d never seen before reached out and grabbed her by the hair. Her arms flew back, freeing her hold on her mount, and the grip on her let go.

  Alara fell from her horse to the ground.

  Declan, having heard the scream as he rounded his horse, pulled his sword from his belt.

  Scarlett jumped backward, off the animal she rode with Cedric, producing a blade from inside her red cloak. Twirling it like a baton, she worked the large metal blade as if it were an extension of herself.

  Declan dropped to the ground and ran to Alara. Crouching down to draw her up by her arm, he held his sword up. Metal hit metal, and he tried to push back with the weight of his body. He had no choice but to let go of Alara and fight his attacker.