Lady of the Haven (Empire Princess Book 1)

by Graham Diamond

  “Like your Rani?”

  Shaina laughed. “Like the Rani.”

  “Who is she, Shaina? Is she Sumavand’s mistress? Or his wife?”

  The guard smiled wryly and shook her head. “Sigried is here at the behest of her father, a very powerful lord of another shala, to the west. She has no love for our prince, nor he for her, as you must have observed. The Rani’s father needs Satra and its resources, but we also have need of his. It is a shrewd political game our liege plays, my lady. I understand it not, nor do I desire to.”

  “But the Rani seems to have considerable power here.”

  Shaina’s thin mouth turned down at the corners. She thought long before answering, and Stacy realized she was weighing her words carefully.

  “The Rani has...friends in Satra. Those who would...The Rani is a powerful woman. Her name is known throughout the city.”

  “And when can I see your city?” asked Stacy eagerly.

  “Soon, my lady.”

  “And when can I see my companions? Why can’t we be allowed to speak freely among ourselves?”

  “You will,” Shaina assured her, “when the minister permits it. But for now, why not be content to hold your questions until this evening? Take a long hot bath, my lady. Let me tend to your makeup and prepare your new robe, and make you look beautiful.”

  Stacy furrowed her brows in puzzlement. “What’s all this about, Shaina? What’s going on?”

  Shaina lowered her voice and smiled coyly. “I was told the prince has requested to dine with you this evening.”

  Stacy wrinkled her nose. “Another interrogation?”

  “Oh, no! Please, my lady, believe me! He wants only to speak with you and hear more about your own land.” Stacy smiled to herself. It would be an interrogation after all, she knew, despite what Shaina believed. Yet if she were clever about it, she might just be able to use her wiles to gain some freedoms for herself and her friends. After all, Sumavand, prince or no, was a man. And an attractive one at that.

  “Will the prince come here?” she asked innocently.

  Shaina laughed. “No, my lady. You will be brought to him. The minister will send word when the time has arrived.”

  So the tiger beckons to the lamb, thought Stacy, with a feline smile. “I’ll take that bath, Shaina. But let’s hurry. It’ll take me a long time to get ready, and I’m not one to keep a prince waiting.”

  Afterward, Shaina accompanied her to the prince’s chamber and left her there to wait alone. The room was bright and airy; the soft tinkle of hidden bells filled the air. Colorful tapestries hung from the walls; the curtains were made of velvet and lace. From the ceiling hung dimly lit glowing globes. Dark cushions served as chairs, Satrian-fashion, beside them a thick pile rug. Stacy stared for a moment, then gasped. The fur was white — wolf fur! Of the white wolves!

  From an arched doorway on the opposite side of the chamber, Sumavand suddenly appeared. His face was cast in shadows, but Stacy could see his eyes clearly. They were like a cat’s eyes, she thought. Small, piercing, intelligent. A broad smile crossed the prince’s handsome face; he stepped into the light. Long dark hair, peppered with gray, fell to his shoulders. The silver clasps of his purple tunic gayly reflected the burning fires of the globes’ dancing light above.

  Instinctively Stacy lowered her head in a respectful bow. “My lord, I am honored at your invitation.”

  “It is good to see you again, Anastasia,” he said with a pleased smile, gesturing for her to sit. “I see you’ve already adapted our own dress.”

  “My...companion brought it to me. It’s quite lovely. She chose well.”

  Sumavand looked at it admiringly and nodded; he had chosen it himself. “Green suits you well. It is your color. It sets off the fire in your eyes.” He reached over to the table and filled two copper goblets with heavy sweet wine. Stacy took hers and sipped slowly, aware of his eyes keenly watching her every move.

  “Where is this place?” she asked. “Are these your personal chambers?”

  “No, this is what you might call a greeting chamber. My own rooms are far above, through many levels. Here we greet friends and visitors from other shaleen. Perhaps you would like to sit in the garden?”

  The very thought of there being a garden in Satra puzzled her. It certainly was the last thing she expected inside the middle of a mountain. “I’d love to see it,” she replied, excited. “Which way?”

  Sumavand gestured for her to follow. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised, Anastasia. Come.”

  And was she! Once past the curtains huge windows opened onto a spacious veranda. Stunned, she looked out onto a large rock garden. Fully in bloom! In random pattern there were rows of fully budded flowers, all interspersed with shrubs and bushes. The garden led upward at a slight angle onto a stone terrace twirling and twisting with thick boughs of ivy.

  “I...think I’m confused,” she murmured. “It’s winter — but I see flowers.”

  Sumavand laughed. “Our climate is controlled,” he replied, looking at her with a warm, full smile. “But tell me, Anastasia, in your own land do you not grow or plant underground?”

  Stacy sat comfortably on a stone bench; Sumavand sat beside her. “In my Empire, my lord, we grow all food above ground. Under the sun.”

  “But we also have sun here,” he protested. “The light pours down from fissures above.”

  “Then you never farm outside?” she asked inquisitively. “In summer, yes. But less and less with each year. We no longer need to. Everything can be done within the confines of the shala.”

  “Everything?”

  Sumavand grinned. “You said you wanted to see our city, Anastasia. Do you still?”

  Stacy nodded eagerly. “I’ve been dying to see it,” she confided, “if it’s anything like this.”

  He took her by the hand. “Then come!”

  It was a short walk through another glass door on the far side of the garden. At the entrance a burly guard snapped sharply to attention. Sumavand acknowledged him, then led her up another flight of stone steps, one that seemed to have no end. Higher and higher they climbed until she was exhausted. The prince smiled at her. “A bit further, but you’ll be glad you came. I promise.”

  At last the end was in sight, an oval door hinged upon a wall of smoothed limestone. A light tap of his fingers on the door released a hidden lock. The door swung open onto another balcony.

  “This way, Anastasia.” He took her firmly by the hand and led her to the edge of the balcony. And there she stood, frozen in wonder.

  “Behold Satra!” whispered Sumavand.

  Below, in a grand sweep, like nothing she could ever have imagined, was a glistening city of light. Towers, domes, steeples and spires rose high into the air. But from where she stood the tallest seemed small enough to hold in her hand. “The hollow of the mountain,” she marveled.

  Sumavand grinned. “Many mountains, Anastasia. Look!” He gestured to the massive rock walls all around. “It took our engineers centuries to construct it,” he told her proudly. “Our shala rests on the floor of Mount Satra. Below it, where you have been, are a thousand tunnels winding from the city through other mountains leading to other shaleen. One need never step out into open lands. Our fields, our vineyards, our groves all lie in the hollow of the mountain.”

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, recalling the first day she had seen Rhonnda. She focused her eyes on the burning dome of what looked like nothing less than a splendid palace. At the sides of the marble structure were winding steps, all leading to a central square. “What is that?” asked Stacy. “Another wing of your palace?”

  “The Great Temple,” replied the prince solemnly. “From there the priestesses give the blessing before Ritual begins.”

  “The Ritual? You mean the wars?”

  He avoided the question. “Look beyond the temple,” he said.

  She did and stared down on what at first glance seemed a large park but then showed itself to be a ga
rden, the most magnificent she had ever seen, bedazzling, be-jeweled, it sprang to life with vivid, splendorous color.

  “In summer it’s even more beautiful,” promised Sumavand with a glow. “Even with our controls many species will not bloom in winter. But we are working on that problem. Satra is the finest shala that exists.”

  “Are there many shaleen?”

  He frowned. “Once, there were shaleen to be found from one end of our land to the other, but now we are few, mere remnants of what once was...”

  Again Stacy thought of the wars, the strange Ritual he had mentioned previously. She decided not to press, though. “My companion, Shaina, tells me that the Rani is not Satrian, that she comes from another shala. A renowned one, to the west.”

  Sumavand nodded sourly. “The Rani comes from across the Jazeel, the Thunder Plain. Her father rules an...empire. Yes, you might call it that. One that once could have...But such talk is only dreams of our history.” He laughed again. “I had hoped to hear wondrous tales of your land, Anastasia, but instead I’ve been the one to answer questions. Shall we go back to the chamber? Our supper is being prepared. We can eat, then perhaps talk some more.”

  *

  As the servants withdrew the dishes after dinner, the prince lay back on a large cushion and relaxed. “Who governs in your land? Who is your regent?” The questions were abrupt and unexpected.

  “We don’t have a regent, my lord. The Empire for as long as history records has been ruled by the Council. A body of men who make decisions jointly.”

  “And what if your lords are not of the same will? What happens when there is disagreement?”

  “The matter is solved by count. The elder of the Council will bend to the will of the majority.”

  Sumavand leaned forward, displaying eager curiosity “And there is no war? The warlords do not call out their troops into battle?”

  “We have no warlords among men. The decision of the Council is supreme.” Of course, she purposely did not speak of her own brush with Empire law when the Brora set sail, wisely leaving that moment for posterity.

  He pondered on this, twirling his finger rings. Then: “Our Rani still insists you come from some distant unknown shala. She would claim that a land such as yours cannot exist.”

  Stacy scowled. “The Rani is wrong.”

  “The Rani is a smart woman. Few things escape her eyes.”

  “So I’ve been led to believe,” answered the girl curtly. “Shaina tells me that she’s been listening as your minister questions us in his chambers.”

  “You need not fear in that respect. Anastasia. Siggy will not harm you — nor your companions. If she proves right, and you are indeed here to spy upon us, you will see that Satra has its own methods of dealing with treachery.”

  “My lord!” Stacy was aghast. “How can you suspect —”

  Sumavand waved his hand. “Let me finish. If you did plot against Satra, then it would be my matter, not Sigried’s. But I think no. I think you are who you claim to be. Strangers from across the sea.”

  “It can easily be proved, my lord. Send some of your men to my ship. You’ll see we spoke the truth. Or better, let me take you there.”

  “That cannot be,” he said sharply. “The weather makes it impossible. And there are other dangers.”

  Again the references to war! This time Stacy decided to ask.

  “What are these risks, my lord, that a simple trip across the hills is impossible?”

  Sumavand’s eyes darkened. “With time,” he said in a low voice, “you will come to understand all of these things. But this much I can tell you now: If Satra were a shala on open land, it would not stand today. We are beset by enemies.”

  “Like the white wolves?”

  He sneered at the thought. “Vermin. They steal from us and slaughter our sheep when they graze among the grasses. They are treacherous, yes. But wolves are not what we fear.”

  “Then what is the real threat? What is the Ritual?”

  He shot her a mistrustful glance. “You’ve been through the tunnels, have you not? Once men moved freely among them, between the shaleen, There was commerce and trade, just as you speak of it. But now such movement is impossible. Six summers ago the shala beneath Aris fell. It was wanton massacre, as in the Old Time, as in the days before the Cataclysm.”

  “I don’t know of these things,” admitted Stacy. “Although I do know of the ancient days, of the Old Time. When the world was freely sailed and men crossed every sea.”

  “Then at least we share this common knowledge, your land and mine,” he said. “But our world is not the same. Here blackness has covered everything.”

  “It was once the same in my land, my lord. Our Forest Wars lasted for almost two thousand years. But now they are past, spoken of only in books and upon the lips of balladeers. The blackness you spoke of has been lifted across the Newfoundland Sea. I was sent here to offer you the help of my Empire. We do not live in shaleen but above the soil. Under sun and stars. My Empire seeks your friendship and to share your knowledge with our own. An alliance, my lord. Not one built on soft sands like that of shaleen, which plot against each other behind their backs, but an open treaty. Built on rock as solid as the walls of Satra.”

  The prince’s face softened. “Tell me more of your Empire, Anastasia. Tell me how it was that you, a woman, was sent to us.” He seemed genuinely interested.

  “Many were sent to you, my lord. It has been my personal fortune to be here with you now. But had any of my companions been chosen for your company tonight you would see that nothing would be different.”

  “Tell me of these Forest Wars, Anastasia. And of the Haven, and your Council. And speak of the city called Rhonnda-by-the-Sea that the girl called Melinda spoke of. And tell me of the forests and the rivers and the sea.” His eyes sparkled. “Yes! Of the sea.”

  Stacy told of the building of the Haven; of the expansion of the Empire; recounted for him the many tales of heroism against the ancient enemies of the forests. She spoke of men long since dead, and of others yet alive. And none more proudly than that of her father’s own contributions to Empire peace.

  When she had finished, the prince sat back thoughtfully and said, “I am truly impressed, Anastasia. But my heart is sad. I fear that Satra can never attain what you have. You say your Empire would help us in any way it can. I would gladly accept such help — but have you ten thousand soldiers to send to my banner?” He shook his head. “I think not. Have you swift fleets of fighting ships that I might command for but a single year? I think not. No, come spring, again we shall be under siege. The tunnels will reek with the corpses of things, the mountains will groan beneath the weight of barbaric Nomads, come to plunder and loot, murder and maim. For so long have we suffered these barbarities that now even shaleen mistrust and plot against one another. Even in Kuba! Fates in the heavens! Kuba, the city of the Rani! Even they plot against the Satrian throne!”

  “But surely you are safe behind your walls? Your enemies cannot hope to gain entry.”

  Sumavand held up his hand. “Satra is large and powerful, the greatest shala, but even our resources are taxed to the limit. Believe it, Anastasia. The Nomads and things would tear Satra apart. Nomads call themselves men, but they are not. They are savages — and cruel. Had they found you instead of us, when they were done with you it would be a kindness if they slit your throat. Sometimes they give their unwanted captives to wandering things. I know what has been done in the past to foolish Satrian girls who left the shala on their own. Shall I tell you how the Nomads use them?”

  Stacy swallowed hard. At least now she understood Satra’s mistrust and why Sumavand had called this land Hel. It was strange and sad, she thought, to see how differently their two disparate lands had developed over the same years, with but a sea between them.

  Concerned, the prince asked, “Have I upset you?” She looked up and shook her head. “No, my liege. It’s all right...”

  “Now you are not telling me
the truth,” he replied, knowingly. “I see I have upset you. Forgive me, Anastasia. But I do not want you to harbor false illusions. These matters are not pleasant, I know, but I felt you should be told. But, look! We must have spoken all night!” said Sumavand suddenly, seeing that a morning member of his palace guard had slipped into the room to speak with him. “Tell me, Anastasia. Is there anything I can do for you to make you and your companions more comfortable here?”

  “As a matter of fact,” said Stacy, realizing that the “interrogation” was over, “there are a few things. I meant to bring them up myself. For one thing, you could unlock your doors. It’s most disconcerting —”

  He laughed loudly. “Done! What else?”

  “I would like for my companions and myself to be allowed to mix freely with one another and not have your guards follow behind. Also, I’d like your permission to allow us to see your city. To walk among the people, speak with them — learn about Satra first-hand.”

  “Again done. I shall instruct the minister. I no longer think you need to be watched like prisoners. Now, is there anything else?” he asked, feigning exasperation.

  Stacy smiled at him fully. “I, er, I would like to have my dagger back.”

  The prince grinned and shook his head bemusedly. “I have your word that you won’t plunge it into anyone’s back?” he asked, arching over the table that separated them.

  She laughed as loudly as he. “You have it, my lord. Not even the Rani’s.” And she winked with her mirth.

  “Siggy will be pleased to hear it, I’m sure,” he remarked wryly. “Very well. But now you must go. Leave me here to sulk over matters of state. And go quickly, before I wind up turning over my throne to you!” They both laughed heartily.

  With a full Satrian bow, arms spread across her breasts, Stacy stood, stepped backward a few paces and slipped out of sight behind the curtains, buoyant at this pleasant first confrontation.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Stacy tenderly put her fingertips to Trevor’s lips. Trevor stirred slightly and flexed his jaw. Opening his eyes, he stared dumbly for a moment, then broke into a broad grin. Standing over him was Alryc, dressed in a blue toga and Satrian sandals; beside him, a smiling Melinda; but best of all, her fingers still on his lips, Stacy.