by Casey Odell
Three days passed before the commotion started.
Claire was on her way to another practice session with Razi, adjusting the dagger at her waist. Her muscles ached throughout her body, crying out with each step. The sessions primarily consisted of weapon drills and physical maneuvers meant to tire her out and bring her to the same state, or close to anyway, that she’d been in the night her powers had surfaced. But, they’d been unsuccessful so far at awakening them again. Not so much as a hint of blue showed up on her arm. It was possible that her powers wouldn’t work at all, but what would happen to her then? She sighed. She definitely wouldn’t get that garden of hers, or a grand bath, that was for sure.
The nightmares, however, had increased. Almost every night a centaur barged in, or the roar of the Roain would cause her to jerk awake, ruining yet another good night’s sleep. That, mixed with her building anxieties and increasingly sore and tired body, took its toll on her. She could feel it, in her bones, her soul, an ever-present need for sleep, followed by the fear it would inevitably bring. The late nights tossing and turning, wondering who, or what, would come for her next. It was exhausting.
The dim hallways were quiet as usual, but something was different. A little off. There was a slight buzz of energy in the air. Not that she was going crazy, but after spending almost a week in such a lifeless castle, even the slightest of changes were noticeable.
She was nearly to the interior courtyard where she’d been practicing with Razi, when a young maid passed by her in a frenzy, almost colliding with her before rushing off into the bowels of the palace.
That was odd.
Claire turned to continue down the hall, but she’d barely taken three more steps when Lianna stepped out in front of her, grin already in place. Her voluminous gown seemed to take up most of the space in the hall. Made of deep purple silk, it was the most lavish thing she’d worn so far, and that was saying something. Her blonde hair fell freely across her bare shoulders to frame her generous bosom. Black rimmed her eyes and red stained her lips, in a look that was nothing but enticing.
“What’s the occasion?” Claire stopped, instantly feeling inferior in her simple pants outfit.
“He’s back.”
Claire’s chest tightened. Lianna didn’t need to explain who; she already knew. Was that why she was dressed like that? If she was the King’s mistress, then surely she couldn’t still have feelings for Farron, could she?
Even now Claire could feel the uncertainty growing inside of her, but why did it bother her so much? After all, if it came down to it, any red-blooded male would certainly choose Lianna. And with those kinds of curves, she could hardly blame them.
“Oh,” Claire said, her gaze dropping.
“Oh? You do not sound too excited. Do you not want to see him?”
“I really wouldn’t know what to say to him…” Not now at least, but oh, did she have questions for the elf.
“Whoever said you had to speak?” Lianna grabbed Claire’s hand and began to pull her down the hall. “Come. It will certainly be a show.”
Even though Claire had explored much of the castle the past few days, Lianna led her through a labyrinth she could never memorize, only to leave her at a small, rather inconspicuous wooden door. With a smile and a raise of her eyebrows, Lianna turned and rushed away.
Slowly, Claire opened the door and stepped through. The throne room looked different from the second-floor balcony she now stood on, less significant somehow. Red carpet ran the length of the corridor. Marble columns stretched up to the ceiling, dotting along the banister.
Claire followed the balcony around to the front of the room where a big gear was set into the wall, part of the great clock mechanism on the palace façade. It was quiet and she was just wondering why Lianna had brought her here when the sound of a door opening resonated through the cavernous space. She spun around and hid behind one of the columns.
The King’s voice drifted from the back of the room, hushed and hurried. She wasn’t able to make out any of the words, but no one replied. Claire pressed her back up against the column. She wasn’t sure what the policy was concerning eavesdropping on a king, but she knew it was most likely frowned upon, even if he was talking to himself. But before she could make a break for it, the doors underneath her slammed open, sending a deafening echo throughout the room.
“Where is she?” yelled a voice so familiar it stabbed through her.
Claire froze against the column, her heart hammering. Farron had come, just as Lianna had said he would. She wanted to look, to peek, but she couldn’t, not for fear of being caught, but for some reason, she was afraid to see him. He came after her, just like before, back to a place he’d hidden away from for so long. Did he really care for her that much that he was willing to risk whatever made him run from the palace in the first place? Or was it just a strong sense of duty, or guilt?
She could hear his footsteps as they rapidly approached the throne.
“It’s good to see you too, brother.” The King’s smooth voice held a hint of amusement. “You are looking well.”
“Tell me where she is!” Farron shouted more urgently, his words almost a growl.
With that, Claire braved a glimpse around the column. Relief washed over her. Farron did indeed look well at least, dressed all in black as usual, daggers and bow strapped to his back. He had bounded up the dais and grabbed the King by his fancy white shirt, pulling him close.
“I may be your blood, my dear brother, but I am still your King.” The king’s voice had gone cold. Any trace of amusement was gone from his face.
After a moment, Farron released the King, his arms dropping to his sides, hands balling into fists.
“And lest I forget, you took an oath to serve the kingdom above all else. As did I. Even if that means stealing away your little… toy. You’ve been holding out on us,” the King mused.
“Don’t you even—”
The King smirked, eyebrows rising slightly. “Oh, has my shadow gone soft?”
Farron didn’t answer.
“You’d think after the last time, you would have learned not to get involved with one of them.” He stepped towards Farron. “Look at you now. So noble, coming back after nearly two years of absence. She must really mean something to you for you to show your face around here again. Too bad— it seems that she doesn’t wish to see you.” He glanced up at Claire, grinning.
Faster than she could think, she ducked behind the column again, holding her breath.
“But don’t worry my little Fare-Fare, I don’t hate you. I understand why you did it, why you ran away, why you wanted to hide her, though I can’t say the Council feels the same.”
The sound of footsteps marching back to the massive wooden doors was his only answer.
“Welcome home, Farron,” the King called after him, but was met with silence.
Claire slid to the floor, unable to move. She was bound to run into Farron at some point, and with all the secrets he’d kept from her, she just wasn’t sure whether she wanted to punch him or hug him.
Claire didn’t show up to practice. Razi would be angry, but he would just have to make do. He wouldn’t be the first person to be mad at her, and he definitely wouldn’t be the last.
After staying in the throne room for a while, she finally wandered out into the labyrinth that Lianna had so easily led her through earlier, checking around each corner to avoid any surprises. Briefly, she contemplated hiding out in her room, but she was too antsy for that. She should have been excited to see Farron, and she was, but apprehension overwhelmed those feelings. What would happen when she finally came face to face with him? There were so many questions that still needed to be answered. Feelings that needed to be sorted out. Beatings to be given.
Lianna’s voice came slithering down the corridor, only hints of her words perceptible. Claire carefully peered around the corner.
Across an open area, Lianna stood with Farron, talking to him in a hushed voice. She
reached up and brushed a hand along his cheek. He made no move to stop her, only looked down at her with an indiscernible stare.
A knot started to form in her stomach. But just when she thought he’d made his choice, Farron grabbed Lianna’s hand and turned it palm up between them. She saw a brief flash of gold and blue as he put something in her hand and closed her fingers around it. The talisman. Lianna had given it to him. Claire’s made up story about that thing at the ball was closer to the truth than she’d thought.
Claire turned, her worries easing a bit, and started to walk back down the hallway. Surely one of these halls would lead to a nice warm bath. Her body needed one, and it would be the last place he would be allowed to look for her. At least for a little while anyway.
“Isn’t there anything else to wear?” Claire sat on the tiny bench in front of the vanity. She wore one of the numerous flimsy white nightgowns left for her in the armoire. Made of silk and thin straps, it was so short it could barely be described as a dress. She’d slipped the long, white robe on over it, leaving the tie loose so it billowed out around her.
After spending the rest of the day in the baths, she felt refreshed and relaxed. She’d managed to avoid the elf, dashing from hall to hall, only to run into Marla waiting outside of her room with a rather troubled look on her face.
Upon her insistence, Marla set about the tedious task of combing the knots out of Claire’s still damp hair.
“A person’s job is a person’s worth, so please let me do mine,” she had told her, and Claire reluctantly gave in. The older woman was from Belquiel, a territory to the northeast, and by the way she had told it, got so cold in the winter it felt like her toes would fall off. She’d come to the palace as a young woman, honored to work for the previous king, and the current. Now she was stuck taking care of Claire, a task both of them were trying to adjust to.
“I apologize, Miss Sallion prepared most of your wardrobe,” Marla said.
“Who?”
“The King’s mistress, my lady.”
That could explain things. If her nightgowns were this skimpy, she couldn’t imagine what Lianna’s nightwear consisted of.
“We can search for something more suitable tomorrow if you’d like,” Marla said. “Now keep your head straight.”
Claire flinched as Marla yanked the comb through her hair.
“You really shouldn’t let your hair dry before you comb it,” the older woman scolded her.
Claire nodded and let her work. For the first time, she noticed a basket on the table by the chairs, spotting it in the mirror. “What is that on the table?”
Marla glanced over her shoulder. “Why, it looks like a gift, my lady.”
“From who?”
“I do not know.” Marla turned Claire’s head straight again.
She winced as Marla worked a tough knot from her hair. It was rather unsettling that someone had entered her room without her notice, gift or no gift. But who would it be from?
“What else would you like, my lady?” Marla asked when she was done and set the comb on the vanity.
Claire looked up at Marla’s reflection, the dim light of the oil lamp illuminating only half of her face. “I think I’ll be alright. Thank you for helping me.”
“I could set your dress out for tomorrow, if you’d like.”
“No, it’s fine, really.”
“I could—”
“No.” Claire turned on the small bench to face Marla. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude or hurt your feelings. I’m just not used to all this.” She smiled meagerly and motioned to the room around her.
“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” Marla returned her smile.
“Yes, and thank you again for all your help.” Claire stood, followed the older woman to the door and closed it quietly behind her. Perhaps she was used to more demanding charges.
Claire turned and started towards the balcony. Cool night air wafted in through the sheer curtains. The room was dark. The only light came from the small lamp on the vanity and the silver light filtering in from outside.
When she was halfway to the balcony, a soft tapping at the door stopped her in her tracks. Claire whirled around and marched back to the door before whipping it open in frustration.
“Marla, I said I don’t—” She froze instantly, her heart nearly stopping.
It was the last person she had expected to see. Instead of an older maid, there stood a silver-haired elf, looking rested and refreshed, dressed as somberly as usual in a gray button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up halfway, and black slacks and boots. He leaned casually against the door frame and crossed his arms.
“My lady,” Farron said in greeting as his eyes started to drift down her body.
“H-hello,” Claire stammered. She quickly tied her robe closed and ducked halfway behind the door, averting her gaze away, her cheeks burning madly. Once again he had succeeded in giving her a shock.
“May I come in?”
She moved aside, opening the door wider.
Farron stepped into the room, quiet, carefully sidestepping her.
Slowly, she closed the door and leaned on it for a second to gather her strength. He had found her, and there was no running away, no way to escape. She had to deal with it now— she just wasn’t sure she was ready to. After a deep breath, she turned to face the silver-haired menace now in her room.
He walked towards the balcony, his steps slow and deliberate, his body taut.
“I see they stuck you in the Ghost Tower,” he said, half turning to her.
Claire stopped and looked around her, her nerves suddenly on edge. No one had told her anything about ghosts.
Farron chuckled lightly. “Don’t worry, it is only a name. There were never that many guests, so this wing was usually empty.” He touched the sheer curtain that hung across the archway to the balcony, his back to Claire.
Well, that was a relief, at least. Her shoulders slumped slightly, some of the anxiety easing away.
“I’m glad you’re safe, Claire.” He turned to face her. A mix of relief and sadness played across his face. “They haven’t done anything to you?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“That’s good.” He seemed to relax a little. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Not able to control herself any longer, she marched over to him, drew back her fist and hit him as hard as she could on his side. She stepped back as he doubled over, his hands clutching at his stomach.
“I guess I deserved that,” he muttered, coughing. He turned back to the balcony and took a deep breath before straightening back up.
Before he could say anything else, Claire slid her arms around his waist and rested her forehead on his back. He tensed at her sudden, tight embrace. “I’m glad you’re alive.” Her voice was soft, barely a whisper. But she meant it. She didn’t want anyone else dying for her sake, least of all him. Especially after he’d saved her on numerous occasions. After a few moments, she let go and he turned to look at her. “Though I’m sure it would be hard to hurt you with those fancy powers that you’ve kept hidden all this time.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “They weren’t hidden, I just wasn’t able to use them…”
Claire crossed her arms. “Would you have told me about them?”
“Perhaps eventually.”
She sighed, exasperated already. She should have known it wasn’t going to be easy getting answers out of him. “What about Aeron?”
“I took him to see Maria at the Haven. I half suspect he is on his way back to the forest to inform his king on what has happened. I suppose I will be labeled as a traitor there as well.”
Claire took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “You need to tell me,” she demanded.
He looked back out at the night sky, his careful mask slipping onto his face.
“No,” she demanded, taking a step towards him. “You do not get to keep quiet about this one, or so help me—”
His fingers traced along the light curtains, his eyes following a little solemnly. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. You turned out to be quite the secret keeper, do you know that?”
He looked at her again, mouth open as if he were about to say something, but he stopped. A look of distress played freely across his face. “Claire, I don’t know if I’m—”
“Then leave.” She started to turn away from him. He caught her by the arm.
“That’s not fair.”
“I don’t care if it is or not, Farron. You and your secrets, I’m tired of it! Look where I am. I’m smack dab in the middle of your biggest secret of all. The truth— I need it, now more than ever. So come to me when you’re ready to tell it.”
“It’s not something that is easy. I have spent the past two years of my life running from it.”
“I have nowhere else to be. I can’t go anywhere. So enlighten me with your tales, oh wise one.”
He looked at her, clearly not amused at her jest.
She took his hand in hers. “If you want me to start trusting you, you have to start by telling me the truth.”
He studied her for a long moment, then asked, “What if I scare you away?”
Claire considered that for a moment. Just what was in his past that he didn’t want her to know? If it was that bad, could she handle it? There was only one way to find out. “Better I hear it from you then, right?”
He nodded, his face falling a little. “What do you know already?”
“That the King is your brother.”
“Half-brother. I have no legitimate claim to the throne.” He took a deep breath. “I’m the bastard son of a King. I’d hardly call that royalty. My mother was his mistress. I didn’t grow up in the palace. I didn’t even meet my father until I was eight.” His eyes sunk to her hand on his. “I mostly grew up at a training school, deep in the mountains up north in Isailo. There I learned to fight: swordplay, archery, you name it. It wasn’t until my brother found me there five years ago that I discovered my father was dead. He’d found out about my mother and me, and came to me with a proposition.” Farron smiled, though it was more sad than happy. “He’d take care of my mother, as long as I’d renounce any claim to the throne and come work for him.”
