Two Queens (Seven Heavens Book 1)

by Holden, Ryan

  Something didn't seem right. Their countenance didn't match their weaponry. As if they were decorated as soldiers but were not. He looked closer. That was it. They held their spears as one held a weaver's loom, gently, with precision and art. They did not hold it as Kerdae held his blacksmith's hammer.

  Orion smiled. What he wouldn't give to see that broad-shouldered friend now! He would rush through a whole passel of guards like a cat through chickens.

  Then he noticed what else was missing. Hunger. None of their faces was marked with it. He ached with hunger but not for himself. For those of Darach in the lean years. For almost everyone he had met on the long road here. He despised these men. Food should go to those who worked for it.

  His sorrow furrowed his brow. A soldier noticed and laughed, an easy laugh, one with no malice or spite in it. “He sees what's coming. Makes a man serious, doesn't it?”

  “What's coming?” Another soldier, just arriving, looked to the speaker. “Have we a guilty one? The stocks, the lanyard?”

  “What does it matter? He's got no patron.” The first soldier went back to his ennui and the second continued his errand.

  Perhaps this is why we were despised. Not that we were different but that father's kills and mother's skill kept them fed when others hungered. He looked again at the guards. He would do anything to get Adara back, but had he thought twice about any of the red bearded men? He hadn't even tried to learn their names. If your family was safe and well fed, why worry about what happened in lands as far away as legend?

  The man with the gilded knife appeared through the doorway. “Come.”

  Orion waited for the man to pull him along. But no pull came. His arm was released.

  “Come.”

  He still looked at his arm, then at the man who shrugged off his look and backed to the wall.

  “Avallonë is a free society. Anyone is free to enter as he pleases. No one shall force you in,” the gilded knife man recited as for the thousandth time.

  “So I am free to leave?”

  “Avallonë is a free society. Anyone is free to enter as he pleases. No one shall force you in. You are free to leave. If you wish to leave, you are freely giving up any rights you have as an inhabitant of Avallonë.” He spoke faster now.

  “So I'm not free?”

  “Avallonë is a...”

  Orion ducked past the man and walked through the door. I have come: may I be able to leave as freely.

  The door shut behind him.

  Adara saw a man with moving lips in front of her but heard nothing. The Astra he spoke of was the one Orion spoke of. She saw her, as in her dreams, her face still clouded but the hand there, and the stone. She felt as if she'd been tossed in the Gihon.

  But what if it were common to have rings of this sort? Perhaps there were many Astras and many rings that could deceive her eyes? She thought of Orion had said. His mother, her mother, thought it worth being taken to the Queen. Had used her sacred last words to say so.

  She wondered what sort of other rings there would be. Noticing her surroundings once more she saw Evandor, no longer speaking, just looking at her. “May I see the ring?” she asked.

  “The Ring, child? Did you hear nothing of what I just said? No, it is lost, gone. It was Greer's after his wife's death but none thought of it, not until it was too late and he had died. Then the palace searched his estate but in vain. Some say Astra took it with her; others, that Greer hid it, or worse, out of spite for the City that had rejected him.”

  “I beg your pardon, I mean your rings. Do you have rings?”

  He was surprised. “Of course, if you wish. You must forgive me. But jewelry it is! Much more interesting than an old man's stories.”

  She was hurt to see the pained look in his eye. She squelched the response rising in her breast: this was important.

  He led her to the Wood Room. “Do not worry about being trapped; what happened before will not happen to you now.”

  She nodded.

  He opened the chest and pulled out an intricately carved box. It had several drawers. These he slid out and set on the top of the chest. Each had several rings in rows of felt.

  “There is a story to these too.” He started speaking again, of names and places Adara did not know. She looked at ring after ring and none had the brilliancy of the Ring. “Try some on if you wish,” Evandor interrupted himself, and pushed new rings in front of her as his remarks continued.

  “Ah, now this set.” His fingers ran over the polished oak of the last drawer. “These are the Nine. No, do not try these on. I tried once. I will not do so again.” He tapped a ring with a green stone.

  These rings raised doubts in Adara's mind. They were elegantly crafted, immediately grabbing the eyes and showing off their perfect artistry, even to her. If Evandor could have a full set, what manner of rings could there be in all of Avallonë to fool her?

  “These are beautiful. But not like rock. Like a doe's eyes are beautiful. Or a snake's.” She shuddered at one.

  “Yes, yes, they seem to have their own personality, do they not? Perhaps that is why they are still in this room. If they are their own, who else could own them?”

  “True. Is the Ring of... what did you say? Is it as well-crafted as these?”

  “Yes, if there's one other to match this set it is the Ring of Artemis, the only ring forged from song. By Apollo himself. None other there are in Avallonë, throughout Arcadia, and even into the treasure stores of King Meladrys himself!”

  How could one grow up as she had and dream such craftsmanship as this? “How can this be? Your house must be the wealthiest in Avallonë to have accumulated this.”

  Evandor laughed. “No, no. The Nine have been for generations the greatest heirlooms, saving only the Gifts, of noble families spread across the Seven Heavens. Through happy chance my family was one. See this one with the slate inscribed in strange runes? We knew it as the Ring of Memory. It is the only one with runes on it.

  “No, none would be wealthy enough to acquire the Nine: mere money could not collect this. One after another the noble houses fell and rumors spread that the Nine were cursed. There were mysterious deaths and tales whispered with short breath in the dark. What is known is that in time, all found their way to the tutor.

  “It was quite the event, almost fifty years ago, when Queen Hespera approved Hermes as guardian of the Nine. After that, those of the surviving houses, mine included, were given into his safekeeping, and so eight of the nine sat here undisturbed for many years, as I saw once as a youth.” His face clouded.

  “In fact, no one living has seen all ten, unless perhaps Hermes himself. The Ring of Artemis was brought out but rarely: I, for one, never saw it on Astra save by the painting. And I found the last, placed here by Hermes, I suppose, only after I came into ownership.”

  “I have.”

  “What? What do you mean, girl?”

  “All ten. I saw the Ring of Artemis, long ago.”

  Wave after wave of doubt, shock, surprise, and suspicion crashed over Evandor's forehead.

  “It was my mother's.” She wept, sinking to the carpet and wrapping her arms around her knees.

  Stairs rose in steep ascent immediately after the door. Orion walked up. He felt as if he had woken into a dream of a thousand stars and unimaginable wealth.

  He stood in a small enclosure. Above him, higher than he thought possible, stretched a dome overhead. Across it many bright-colored figures danced. Only the night sky's glories served to protect him from being completely undone. It was as if the glories of the stars were close enough to touch.

  But each one was no star, but men and women life-size and greater than life-size. The ceiling swarmed with their paintings in rich rainment. His words did not serve to explain what his eyes saw and his heart drank in. The only proper homage he could pay was understanding, for the first time, a bit of why his mother loved Avallonë.

  It took him several moments to realize he was not alone in the domed room
. A white-haired man with the greatest beard Orion had seen sat across from him. Orion had never seen a throne but he knew instantly this must be what a throne was.

  The bearded man spoke. “In the matter of Orion, freeborn, caught fleeing at a dark hour for reasons unknown, this Court shall determine the truth and forward the cause of the Queen's justice. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Orion gulped. “Me? What?”

  “Yes, yes, stop with your acting. All the fashion nowadays; believe me, it shall not help you. Tell me! What is your defense?”

  “Defense?”

  “Your opinion. We are free here, and everyone may share his opinion. It is the hallmark of our most beneficent justice. To reiterate, this is the matter of Orion,—that is you, correct?” Orion nodded. “—freeborn, caught fleeing at a dark hour for reasons unknown—what have you to say?”

  “I did not know it was a crime in Avallonë to leave a house after sunset.”

  “Right. And that's where ignorance leaves you. You see, slaves must always be where there masters want them, otherwise what good is a slave?”

  “I'm sorry, sir.”

  “It's is 'Your Honor,' defendant. If you meet me tomorrow it shall be 'my lord' but today, in here, you are to address me as 'Your Honor.' I always forget that, but as my fellow noble and Most Honorable Judge of yesterday says, 'Without custom we are but savages.' So?”

  “Your Honor.”

  “Very good. Go on.”

  “You spoke of Orion, freeborn, but then referred to slaves when you spoke of staying where one should.”

  “Ah, very good! Intelligent. And what cheek, most turn pale at the sight of this most auspicious brow.” He turned to his left and half a score of fine ladies dressed to make a peacock envious tittered.

  “Pray silence, my ladies; we must maintain decorum in this most royal court. Tell me, Orion, if you are a slave: I must acquit you and purchase you.”

  He looked at Orion, waiting.

  Orion didn't speak.

  “Where were we?” the Judge Honorable asked.

  Another man with a gilded knife standing to the judge's right bowed and said, “As to whether the defendant is freeborn or slave.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, does anyone know? I mean, this court requests that a witness speak to this matter. The defendant has spoken quite enough and I am tired of him. Someone else?”

  “Your Honor, the boy who stands there is freeborn.” Orion turned to face the speaker. He had not seen him behind the high feathery things the ladies were wearing. His heart sank.

  “Yes? And why in your house, pray, if you are indeed the accuser?”

  Paris, for Paris it was, glanced at Orion then spoke. “I met him in distant travels. I thought well of him and when chance and good fortune brought me to the markets the day,” he paused and swallowed, “he was almost sold to the Kyrian keeper of the mines. I could not but redeem him. I do not know what need drove him into slavery but, I protest, I could not have acted otherwise.”

  High-pitched sounds came from the well-dressed ladies. “The mines!” was repeated in fearful whispers. One lady, neck almost hidden by the gold chains interwoven about it, swooned in horror and had to be borne out by the man with the gilded knife.

  “Alas, that I did not know his character. He speaks so well, as Your Honor most assiduously remarked, with a cunning affectation to a country drawl, that one could not imagine a dark vileness hidden within. Yet not two sunrises had he been my guest when my house is overturned in turmoil and the thief flees!”

  “Quite. Ah, perhaps I did not read this, the scrawl is so small it hurts my eyes horribly, but what is the charge? What has been stolen?”

  “Excellency, most sagacious diviner of justice, I am but late returned from a journey and have not fully cataloged the poor items of my household's possession (nothing that would be but gravel to your eyes, my lord), but request that the defendant be searched so as to hasten the wings of justice.”

  A coldness sank into Orion's limbs. Why had he not cast it away? The suspicion that his late arrest had not been by chance became minute by minute more confirmed in his mind. What could he say against Paris? The women adored him and were horrified at Orion's unfeeling gratitude. The pompous noble, in charge of what would in Darach have been a heated argument sometimes ending in blows, had powers Orion did not wish to guess. Imprisonment, slavery, exile, death?

  He struggled against the guards then gave up. Any resistance eliminated whatever small favor he might have in these lawgivers. Rough hands pawed over him. The circlet of metal pressed into his flesh.

  The guard exclaimed. “A ring!” He held it up for the court to see. A collective intake of breath from the ladies accompanied this announcement.

  “Bring it here,” the Judge Honorable said. “We shall mete out punishment appropriate to its worth.”

  There was no question of who owned the ring. A rustic peasant boy? Orion hoped the punishment would not be severe. But most of all he hated the thought of being bound while Paris walked away. If he could hurt him now no punishment would seem too extreme. All these thoughts cascaded through his mind in a flash as the guard handed the ring over.

  The Judge Honorable's face paled, then the red of a heavy blush as his breathing caught. He choked. “Guards! Guards! Surround this criminal. It is treason! He has stolen the Ring of Artemis!” He stood and held the ring aloft.

  The ladies gasped. Two more swooned. The rest stood rooted in place on the marble floor. Orion shuddered. He looked at Paris. Paris bowed slightly.

  The Judge Honorable stared at the ring in his hands, turning it back and forth, awe mixed with horror on his features. Recollecting himself he looked hastily around and, snatching up a small wooden hammer, struck in front of him thrice. “The criminal is to be held, day and night, with twenty-four guards under two officers. In this matter of high treason the Court shall,” he paused, and heard the whisper of the man standing next to him, “shall reconvene with Her Majesty the Queen in presence to pass final judgment.”

  He ducked his head next to the man again. “A second guard of forty-six,” he looked at the man, “no, forty-eight guards under four officers shall escort my person as I take up the,” more conferring, “the possession of the Ring of Artemis pending final judgment.” He breathed heavily.

  The man next to him cleared his throat. “Ah, Court is dismissed. All other cases are moved to the morrow.” He struck the hammer again.

  Orion stood frozen. He had come to the city to find the Ring. He knew not why it was important—though he did know the meaning of treason—but wanted it to meet the Queen. And meet the Queen he would. This hope, like leaving Darach, like coming to Avallonë, had turned to ash. Now the very thing that his mother wished to restore him would condemn him.

  He thought of all the false hopes that had lit like birds upon him, only to fly off with no return. Where he, introduced to the Queen, could make things right. Stop Paris, find Kerry, and most of all, free Adara and share a new life with her. Even in his darkest moments he believed, deep inside, that the Queen was strong enough, if only he could get to her, to fix all things.

  But it was not be. It could not be. He was the problem. And under her great powers there would be no hope for him. He did not know her. How could he persuade her against all reason and sense and the quick-witted silver tongue of his adversary? Why would anyone believe him?

  The guards led him away to a large cell. A small army stood at arms in front, the required twenty-four and many more beside.

  He sighed.

  When evil has overpowered you, there is hope that good might come to your aid. But if you are the evil one, and face to face with the good, where can you look for hope?

  Twenty-three

  Evandor's face blanched. “Your mother's?”

  “Yes. I see her in my dreams and, recently, also waking memory. She sang me a song as she put me to sleep.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Dead. My—my brothe
r told me so.”

  Evandor's brow wrinkled into dark folds.

  Adara thought of her brother. Where would he be now? There was not a moment to lose. “Please, you have to help me. My brother was captured by the same man you,” she could not say the words, “by Simon. I think he is a slave in this city. Can you buy his freedom?”

  “You have a brother?”

  “Yes. He is older than I. It is he that confirmed my dream for he knew our mother, also our father, for many years. Unlike me.”

  “Father?” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Tell me, was your mother wed to him?”

  “What? Why would you ask such a thing?”

  His arms dropped from her as if stung. “No!” he cried out in a wail of agony. He sunk his face into his hands.

  He roused himself. “I am sorry. I lived with the dream of her, somewhere else, alive and perhaps even happy. It is cruel to have that taken away.”

  She sat in silence.

  He rocked back and forth, hands grabbing at his hair. Every few moments he looked at her with such sorrow that she could not return his gaze.

  “Right now I have only my brother. And—you, your kindness. I could never repay you, but, for me, will you find him?” She hardly dared hope. But why not? Orion would surely cost no more than one of the trinkets he had shoved aside without a thought.

  “You do not know what you ask of me, Adara, daughter of Astra.” He looked at her with empty eyes.

  Cora ran in the room. “My lord! My lord Evandor! Did you hear the news? It's found!”