Two Queens (Seven Heavens Book 1)

by Holden, Ryan

  No one else had looked at her like Orion did. In him she found her mere presence giving pleasure without fear. Tears clouded her sight and she sat.

  Orion slumped against a hitching post at the market. He had just seen three men and two women sold and herded away. He was out of tears. He was glad Adara had avoided this. Glad that he in turn would not see whatever pompous fool would soon turn Kerry into a pet. Glad Simon was flesh-and-bone and could die with one well-placed blade. He gnashed his teeth and shook as that scum walked past him.

  Simon smiled. “You were right, and I am right. You won't be worth much? Better show everyone how strong you look when angry. Should be a nice little extra for me.”

  Orion spat. The dust of the earth was too good for this fiend. He jerked his head back in annoyance. Someone caught his eye. By the mane of the Unicorn! That figure of speech was strange to his ears before. Now it seemed the only thing his tongue could say.

  Paris was here.

  “Miss Adara?”

  Adara tried to remember where she was. She lay on a couch, hair in her mouth and drool on her lip, in the bedroom.

  The female voice spoke again. “May I come in, miss?”

  She sat up, groaning. Her back was twisted out of sorts. She pushed her hair back and, glancing at the beautiful fabric, cringed as she wiped her mouth with her right sleeve. “Coming.”

  She rose and went to the door, opening it just as the maid from before had her mouth open in surprise. “I'm so sorry miss. I didn't mean to make you rise.”

  Adara just stood.

  “May I come in?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  She entered with her tray and set it on a low table in front of the couch. “A bit of supper for you, miss, seeing as the master thought you might not desire to join him downstairs.”

  Adara looked at her intently. Her face showed no embarrassment at the implied strife between master and miss. Her manner was easy and unaffected and her eyes large and open.

  “There.” She stepped back two paces and clasped her hands.

  Adara sat. She looked at the food in front of her. It looked strange. Not one large dish, a soup or stew that had everything together, but several dishes with only one thing on each. The plates were extraordinary. She had never seen anything so pale or smooth or round before.

  Hesitantly she took some of the meat. She chewed it, the taste strange, almost as if overripe.

  “Cold duck, miss,” the maid offered.

  She nodded, swallowed, and began to eat faster. One by one she would try a new dish, enjoy it, then eat with confidence. She frowned. Her stomach clenched. She breathed slowly as her face began to perspire.

  “Some wine, miss.”

  She shook her head in pain then slowly nodded her thanks. She eased back to recline on the couch.

  “All done then? Rest well, miss.”

  Her eyes closed. “Wait,” she murmured.

  “Miss?”

  “Tell me about him.”

  “Who? The master?”

  She nodded.

  “About what, miss?” Adara gave no answer and soon the maid continued. “He's rather kind, not as stern as the one my cousin works for two streets over. There's always a little extra in our pay right before each harvest celebration, good year or bad, so we don't forget that. But that's just servant's gossip and wouldn't interest you I'm sure.

  “He's the last scion of one of Avallonë's first families. He lives mostly at this house, though I don't know why, he seems sadder here. He bought it many years ago.

  “It used to be the home of his tutor, the same one as our Queen had when she was a girl, and he took most of his lessons here. The tutor is now lives at the palace, I hear, and would be very old now.”

  The maid kept on talking. Adara found the words soothing, distracting her from her aching stomach, but didn't catch much more than scattered words after the first bit. Her breathing deepened and within the hour she fell asleep.

  The maid woke her up some hours later. “If you wouldn't mind, miss, here are some dressing gowns as may fit you. My apologies for them; it will be some days before we can have the tailor fit you up. These were my sister's.”

  By now Adara was wide awake. She smiled at Cora. “They're beautiful. I'm sorry I fell asleep earlier.”

  Cora curtsied. “Thank you miss.” She looked at Adara curiously then left the room.

  Adara rose. She walked to the window and looked out. It was not sunset yet but the yellows had begun to tinge red. She couldn't believe she'd slept the day away. She turned to the bed and picked up the dressing gowns. They felt a little rough to the touch. She chose the pale blue one. The cloth felt good on her skin: her red gown, like the food, was too rich for her taste, and felt like she imagined a cloud would feel.

  Knock. Knock. “Come in.” She gathered up the red gown and stowed it with the others in one of the drawers. She heard the door open and close but no speech. Her fingers loved the touch of the smoothly sanded drawer as she pushed it closed.

  She started when she turned to see Evandor standing in the room. She pursed her lips and looked at him. The dread, held at bay for hours, crept back.

  “I do not wish to startle you. May I join you?”

  “Of course, master.”

  He looked like she had stabbed him. “Please, call me Evandor.”

  “Yes, master.”

  His brow furrowed but he waved it off. He sat down, facing the door. She remained standing at the bed on his left. “You were right. I'm sorry. I was a fool.” He looked down at his feet.

  She waited.

  “I thought it would be different. I'm not like the others. I can't just take a slave for myself. Nor visit the house of... let us not speak of that. I thought that if I could find a young girl, of good Avallonean stock, but of no family, I might do her a favor.” He rose and paced back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. “Give her an easy life. I could provide for her. Protect her.” He spoke in starts, making Adara jump at each new phrase. “And I would have, to her death.”

  “So I bought you. But I don't know why now. When I look at you she stares back at me.” He looked at her, blankly. “But I make no sense. Please forgive me.” He rose and marched to the door.”

  “Wait.” Adara looked at him. Her dread evaporated in the face of his pain. “Who was she?”

  He wiped his face with a handkerchief. He looked at her and his eyes grew wide. His voice grew soft. “You look so much like her. She was a friend, sometimes I feel my only friend.”

  “What happened?” Adara sat down.

  He looked at his hands. “It was many years ago that I met her. Perhaps when I was a year or so younger than you are now. I had grown up on the family estate far from the city. I was sent here, alone, to become a gentleman. I slept under the care of a relative a short walk away but I did not know him. My life, everything important, happened here. Every happy afternoon.” His voice sank to a whisper.

  Adara remembered the maid had mentioned a tutor.

  “I had a stammer then and was as stout as I am now. I wonder at myself telling you this, but—your eyes, I feel as if you already know. One girl did befriend me. She was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” He fell silent.

  Adara moved from the bed to the chair next to him. She waited.

  “And that is why I never married. 'I have a large orchard, you have much gold, your daughter should marry my son,' as the song says.” He got up quickly.

  “You need not fear me, Adara. I mean you no harm.” He nodded at her. “I bid you goodnight.”

  Nineteen

  Paris shoved Orion to the ground. Orion half choked on the straw and dirt in his mouth. He coughed and spit. “I'm not one to forget a face,” Paris's boots clomped to his right, “especially one so pretty as your own.” The boot struck him. Orion spit, this time blood.

  “I never heard of slavers braving the eastern mountains. Did your own village disown you?” Paris stomped on the small of his back,
preventing Orion from rolling up into a ball. Orion grimaced through clenched teeth.

  “No, that's not it. You came yourself. To avenge your parents.” He started laughing and stopped abruptly. “Wrong place. In fact, if I remember right, I didn't kill either of your parents. What a shame.”

  He bent down and whispered into Orion's ear. “I was so looking forward to spending more time with your mother.”

  Orion screamed and threw himself at his leg. Paris fell forward, dropping his weight into an elbow that again flattened Orion.

  Pain seared through Orion's neck. He screamed. “Just kill me!”

  Fingers started petting his hair. “Oh no, you think I bought you just to kill you? What a waste! I bought you, slave, as a trophy of my victory. With you around I will never feel a failure.”

  Paris stood up. “Someday I shall kill you. Once I bore of your loathsome presence. But not yet.”

  Orion listened to the steps fading as they left. The door shut and the bar scraped as it was slid into place. He didn't move, scared his neck would snap. His breathing became less frantic but still shallow. His right side smarted from both booted men. Of course they both kicked him on the same side.

  He searched his neck with his fingers, breathing hard as little bursts of pain reacted to his touch. He spit again. He hoped Adara had no master like this. His stomach flipped and his eyes swam.

  He cursed the short jowly man who'd taken Adara. He cursed Simon for casting her off. He hated Paris for destroying his family. If he could only kill one of those men he would feel... the pit of hard heavy darkness in his gut became cold. He lashed out at his father, blaming him for dying. His mother, who brought her curse upon them. But none of his hatred could keep the thought that was worming into his mind.

  I failed her. I had a chance and I watched it shatter before my eyes. The moment before Theo chained him in Avallonë. On Kerry with Adara protected by the river. Image after image flashed through his mind, back to the minutest detail that could have made the difference. Joining his father to guide Riley's fools. Hearing stories and not demanding the truth.

  Wasn't that what he was after? The truth? He had thought it was vengeance. But that was what other people sought, not him. Whenever Paris was out of sight the burning question, the inner flame, didn't seek his death (which a bloodless brain would find no value in) but his trinket, the key that would unlock the door to Orion's past.

  He rolled over and slowly sat up. A few stretches and his sore ribs quietly allowed his breathing to deepen.

  The flames of his anger followed those of his pain and died down. There was still a bed of red hot coals, ready at any moment to reignite, but it was a brooding quiet at present. He pondered his journey.

  Finding his past—that was why he left Darach. Actually, he spent his whole life leaving Darach, hiding from those who mocked his mother. Why he left Enda, and Kerdae, and the high green meadows on mountains under starlight. Enda may have thought he was leaving just because of Riley. That was not so.

  Orion could have given the slip to hundreds of his sort in a heartbeat. East, north, and south it would have been just as easy. The eastern mountains were not wild to him. Fear of Riley's vengeance was just a pebble, a rolling insignificant stone, but it had started something bigger. His longstanding mass of unrest and turmoil had swollen until it could not be contained.

  What had he learned? Evil things. A man like Paris was not the exception: Kerdae was. Most people in the great towns lived a worse life than the despised kardja herders. Avallonë, his boyhood dream, was a dirty prison. He sighed and dropped his head in his hands.

  But there was some good too. Kerry was wonderful as song sang of. His infant sister yet lived: he was not alone. He had succeeded, hadn't he? What did he want the Ring for but to find a new life? And, though it was very short, what could be better than the last few days with Adara and Kerry?

  He wept bitterly. No, the truth hurt. The world was bigger and darker than he thought. His bones ached. A chill wind seeped through the thin walls and he shuddered. He sensed the shadow of the next truth and stopped thinking before it took root in him, inescapable.

  Adara saw no more of Evandor the following day, or the day after. She was glad her room overlooked the street. She saw people coming and going about their business until the stream dried down to a trickle as night fell. Several carriages stopped by and bright-colored ladies dismounted to disappear into the houses across the street.

  She quivered when the thought struck that one of these might visit. Evandor might want her to do something. Help Cora, perhaps.

  Her discomfort lessened and curiosity increased when this did not happen. No one stopped in front of Evandor's house.

  She felt trapped, a bird in a gilded cage. She felt she could trust Evandor, had nothing to fear from him, but that was itself a type of horror. She thought of Orion, wondered who was his master now. She should have asked Evandor, seen if she could leave. But it felt so awkward. What could she in good conscience offer that he would accept? Whoever heard of masters giving their servants a holiday?

  Cora told her on the first day Evandor had left for the family estate, an hour's ride by horse. Adara soon found Cora was not maid but housekeeper. When the master was gone she had the run of the place and, apart from the occasional help from her cousin down the street, managed very well. Well, there was the coachman too, but he didn't seem to count. Adara never even heard his name.

  “Yes, Miss Cora,” she said once in answer to one of her questions.

  “Mercy, what did you call me?” Adara tried to answer but Cora continued. “I'm just Cora, plain and simple, all-by-herself Cora.”

  “But you call me Miss Adara, isn't that how I should address you?”

  “Sit down, child. I'm the housekeeper. You're... guest, friend, cousin, I don't know...”

  “Sister,” she said, her face aglow. She used to be Simon's Desdemona which really meant all-by-herself Desdemona but that was no more.

  Cora looked at her strangely. “Well, I'll be. I never heard he had a sister. Leastways, I call you miss, and you call me Cora?”

  Adara wondered how she'd heard of Orion and was slow to answer. “I will.”

  “Besides, if you were a maid or someone of no account you'd call me Mrs. Cora.” She looked at Adara with another strange look.

  “What?”

  “You don't believe me? I was married, once. Well, officially so, but seeing as he didn't show up, it's neither here nor there. Mrs. Cora is a sort of joke my married gossips throw at me. But never mind me, Miss Adara, let's see to your wardrobe.”

  “Please, if you wouldn't mind, I prefer just Adara.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” She hesitated. “Consider it a private joke of my own.”

  Cora smiled broadly. “Well, I'll be. Master won't like it: it's not proper.”

  “You may call me miss when he is here, then.”

  Cora dropped the miss, except for a few oversights, but didn't use her name. They were to go to the dressmakers that morning. Cora kept asking her what she liked. Adara found too much to decide. Finally the dressmaker stepped in and recommended some likely pieces of recent fashion and, after some hesitation that led to simpler styles being selected, Adara finally agreed. When she overheard Cora agreeing to the price she was shocked. She spoke no more until they were several storefronts away.

  “For shame, Cora, why didn't you tell me the price?”

  “Whatever for, miss?”

  “It's repugnant. What use can I have for a third or fourth item to wear, much less eight or nine?”

  Cora smiled. “No lady asks that in a great house. I hear that at court one must not wear the same thing twice.”

  “Court? You mean the queen?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Have you seen her?”

  “Yes, a time or two.”

  “Really? How is court?”

  “Bless you, miss, but I haven't seen her there! I've seen her
carriage pass often enough and once was on the street when she lighted from it and got a good look. Though I'm not one to value looks, I do admit it made me proud to be of Avallonë to see her beauty. There's not many that could compare with her.”

  “Cora, who am I here?”

  She didn't answer.

  “You speak of a great house and court and the queen but what does that mean? Who am I to be?”

  “What? I thought you were a long lost sister.”

  “Oh no!”

  “Then what did you mean by saying so?”

  Adara wondered why she had said it, what she had said. It was too jumbled. “I was talking of another.” She fell silent for a time. “Who am I, Cora?”

  Cora put down the dress she had been holding. “A guest, a new friend of the master's, I guess.”

  “Is it custom in Avallonë to bring guests in handcuffs, silver though they be?”

  Cora's face whitened. “Stormclouds and furies! Is that so? I quit, I do. To think he should stoop to such a thing with an honest woman like myself in service!” She flashed a glance at Adara and stepped away. “Not another word, girl, or I shall... I shall...”

  Adara blushed and fire entered her voice. “You take me for a loose woman.” She stared the maid down.

  “You poor thing, of course! It makes sense now. No manners, no clothes, well, no need to speak on that anymore. Of course that's not the case. Let's get you home, Adara, and fix you up and you and I, we shall have a real chat.”

  Adara wondered what it was they were already having. She soon found out. A few questions served to answer Cora's curiosity on her past at which point she handily took on full responsibility for the chat. If Adara had had an aunt or an overly attentive neighbor whose own daughters were grown and out of reach of her input she would have been better prepared for the grueling afternoon.