Princess Reviled

by Butler, J. M.

  Amelia laughed weakly. She pushed a strand of hair back over her ear as she glanced up at him. "I could always try reading your mind." It was only a half joke. Kepsalon likely had his reasons, but the thought of losing one of her few allies unnerved her the more she thought about it.

  Kepsalon did not smile. "I would ask you do not. Your skills are powerful though unpredictable, but you do not know how to keep specific thoughts sealed, let alone your entire mind. While you would not mean to expose our plans, you would in time. And to great disaster."

  "Oh." Amelia let Cassio go. The silver puma circled around her and then leaned against her back, continuing to purr. "Is everything all right?" She dismissed the question with a sharp shake of her head. "It probably isn't. How could it be?"

  "This is a difficult time," Kepsalon said. "I cannot tell you much. But what is happening now is something that has been in motion for quite some time. Centuries in fact. And we Machat are not infallible. Natural biases have always proved challenging when it comes to our receiving and interpreting prophecies and foresight. Particularly when we are personally involved. It takes great diligence and caution to keep oneself from getting in the way. And this time, it is even harder."

  "You still care about them," Amelia said, almost adding the word "too."

  "WroOth was like a father to me, Mara like a mother. And Sadyr…" Kepsalon drew his hand over his face. Grief tinged his words. "It was my error."

  "I don't think—"

  "It was. I spoke, and my words permitted death." A harshness entered Kepsalon's voice. Tears glinted in his eyes, but they had become hard.

  "You did the best you could. If you hadn't spoken, WroOth would have broken into the Levthro." Amelia put her hand over his. It was so strange to see him as the boy from WroOth's memories. Yet in the face of the old man were traces of the boy. "I didn't realize how much being here would hurt you. I should have realized…I'm sorry."

  Kepsalon attempted to smile. "I came here of my own will. It is not as if I didn't know the way. But some pains are simply ones we must carry to the end of our days."

  "If Neyeb can heal others, can I…" Amelia wasn't sure how to ask.

  "Sometimes such wounds can be healed through the Neyeb arts. But I would not let you into my mind, even if you could." Kepsalon sat cross-legged on the rug, his hands on his knees. "You should begin training for healing though. Truly, as the only Neyeb, you should learn all you can about the Neyeb arts."

  "I'm good at learning, at least. Is there someone who can teach me?" Amelia asked.

  "The books I gave you are all I have for you. The Neyeb are the Machat's sister race, but I fear that there are not many practical steps we can give you except our support. You may find additional texts in WroOth's library or in Naatos's bedroom. He would have been the one who brought such volumes here."

  "I'll see what I can find." Amelia glanced about. The numerous shelves of books did offer tempting sources of information beyond the Neyeb. At least these had not been harmed in the day's conflicts and battles. "Do you know for sure how long you'll be gone?"

  "No. Longer than I would like, but you can trust any of the Machat who are here. So far as politics go, we will not be much help except in giving you obvious warnings such as the elder commander's dislike of you."

  "Dislike seems a rather mild word," Amelia murmured. She rested her chin on her fist, but Cassio thrust his head against her hand again. "And I am fairly certain he won't be alone."

  "I'm afraid not. But there is more you need to know," Kepsalon said. "You are associated with Naatos's family now. Your decision to honor the marriage binds you further, and few here will believe that you did what you did for the best of Libysha. Even more importantly though, Naatos and his brothers have an enemy who will wish to destroy you through the darikov, a ritual and tradition based on humiliation. A Vawtrian family is targeted, and the spouses and children are butchered."

  "I don't suppose it makes any difference that I didn't want to marry Naatos in the first place?" Amelia asked.

  "I'm afraid not."

  "This is the essence of 'damned if I do and damned if I don't.'" Sighing, Amelia stood. "I should probably find some clean clothes."

  "I will leave you to it. Be cautious, Amelia. You are in more danger now than you were before Naatos knew who you were." Kepsalon rose as well. "The one good side in all of this is that the most powerful of Naatos's enemies will not want you to die quickly, and not before the Tue-Rah is restored. They would be content with wounding you to make him suffer."

  "Well that's comforting," Amelia said dryly.

  Kepsalon pressed his hand to her shoulder. "One day I will have better news for you."

  Cassio's throaty purrs were the only sound stirring the stillness after Kepsalon left. Amelia remained standing, motionless, taking in what had happened. She wasn't a Machat, but she felt as deeply as if there was a blade in her chest that the path before her was going to be harder than any she had traveled.

  3

  From the Brink

  Shon remained motionless in the bed, his chest so tight he could draw only the slimmest of breaths. The heaviness in his limbs made any movement, whether waking or dreaming, difficult. He couldn't fight. Couldn't save Amelia. Couldn't even lift his voice to call out her name. And all the while the horrors of the Levthro and his confrontation with Naatos played out again and again and again.

  The air had changed though. It was lighter, no longer burdened with death, blood, pain, and sorrow. His eyelids didn't seem quite so heavy, and slowly he opened his eyes. The world around him blurred before pale blue surroundings absorbed the darkness.

  Matthu's voice sounded near his head. A damp cloth pressed over Shon's forehead. "Are you feeling any better?"

  "I'm breathing." Shon's voice rasped, breaking at the end. His mouth was dry, and the dull pain in his chest did not relent. But it was good to see his younger brother, even though he was little more than a blur of blue topped with wild light-brown hair. An odd sweaty and citric scent now filled his nostrils. Bird song and the clanking and falling of planks and stone mixed with the faint call of workers reached him. "Where's Amelia?"

  "She stayed at the temple." Matthu continued to wipe Shon's brow. Liquid sloshed in a bowl. "We're back in our old house. Figured even the officer barracks weren't the best place after all that happened. How much do you remember?"

  "Is Amelia all right?" Shon lifted his hand to his chest, resting his palm over his heart. The consistent thud thud was reassuring. "She's safe?"

  "Yes…" Matthu dipped the rag in the bowl again. Water trickled away. Droplets spattered on Shon's hand.

  Shon squinted, struggling to focus his mind. "What? Why are you pausing?"

  "Amelia's fine. But you know, I've never had to do this before…" Matthu cleared his throat. "Um, Naatos killed you."

  Shon laughed weakly. "I think I'd remember that."

  "Yeah, well, maybe you wouldn't because of how bad it was. Drink this." Matthu placed a wooden cup to Shon's mouth. "It's some herbal infusion the doctor left. Can't remember what it's called."

  The cool liquid soothed Shon's dry lips and mouth, but he could only manage slow sips. The tightness in his throat eased. "Naatos knocked me unconscious. I'm lucky to be alive."

  "How much do you remember?" Matthu asked again. He sat beside the bed, his forearms resting on his knees.

  "I remember…" Shon swallowed hard, a wave of panic sweeping over him. He steadied his voice. "I wasn't doing so well against Naatos. And I thought I was going to die. But I told Amelia about the powder. And…" He paused, struggling to bring the remaining fogged memories back into conscious memory.

  The pain was the clearest memory. The sense of hopelessness and terror. The one thing Shon was certain of was that he had not died. Even if that was somehow possible, it could not have been for long because he had no memory of Elonumato's land or of the messengers escorting him from death. And surely it would take a long time to bring someone back from
the dead. Assuming it was possible. But it wasn't. Matthu had to have misunderstood.

  Shon blinked, his vision clearing. The familiar gold and silver sun weaving hung on the wall across from him. Everything in the room was as it should be, except Matthu. He appeared heavily burdened, his posture stooped in the chair and his expression a mixture of sadness and unease.

  "She figured it out," Matthu said. "She used that gun to bring Naatos down. Didn't kill him though. Which is good, I guess, since he needs to be alive to restore the Tue-Rah, and apparently she'll die if she kills any person."

  "Naatos will pay one of these days," Shon said. "Why is Amelia still at the temple? Is she coming?"

  "Probably." Matthu scratched his head, avoiding eye contact. "I know I have to tell you this, but I don't know how to put it, all right? And I don't know if I'm doing this right. But Amelia—"

  "Perhaps that is enough conversation for now." His father's voice sounded from the door. Dressed in simpler garments than his usual cerulean and gold robes, Linufe entered the room.

  Shon fell silent. He and his father had not parted on the best of terms. No harsh words had been spoken, but what needed to be said remained unspoken.

  Shame spread within Shon as he realized how lacking his final words to his father would have been if he had actually died.

  His jaw tight, Linufe picked up another chair and brought it beside the bed. He then sat beside his sons. Clasping his hands together, he bowed his head.

  They did not speak for several minutes, all still aside from the hum of the bees outside the windows and the occasional warble of the brown-capped morning wrens and the steady rhythm and call of the workers.

  Matthu disturbed the silence to get a bowl. He fed Shon carefully, but the usually mild flavors—chicken, celery, and onion broth—were almost too strong for Shon. He swallowed each bite, wincing.

  "How are you feeling?" Linufe asked.

  "Like someone tried to drain all the life out of me." Shon hesitated, uneasy. "It's…strange." He glanced at Matthu. Matthu's insistence that he had been dead was odd, but not as bizarre as his brother refusing to look at him long.

  "I am told you will make significant improvements within these next twelve hours and recover almost entirely within the next couple days," Linufe said. He folded his hands before himself. He too refused to look at Shon. "But you have to remember where you started from in this healing journey. It will take a few weeks for you to regain your full strength and prowess."

  "What did happen exactly?" Shon frowned. "When can I talk with Amelia? Matthu says I died, but I didn't. I couldn't have."

  Matthu's gaze darted to Linufe. Linufe stood. "Amelia will not be here for a day or so. She has chosen to remain within the temple until the former Paras are brought to the dungeons here."

  "They're bringing the Paras here?" Shon started to sit up, his muscles trembling even with this slight movement. Then, with a burst of prickling through his shoulders and palms, the strength in his arms and core failed. He fell back on the pillows, groaning. A haze of weariness gulped at the edges of his mind. "That's a terrible plan."

  "Unfortunately, no plan is particularly good when it comes to dealing with the Paras," Linufe said. His posture remained rigid. "The princess has been tasked with overseeing their care. She will likely make the final decision as to their ultimate resting place. But for now, King Theol has decreed that they are to be brought here."

  Shon flexed his fingers. Though the movement was stiff, it did not hurt. Still, that stiffness concerned him. He could not wield a blade or draw a bow with hands like this.

  "You'll be in fighting shape soon enough," Linufe said, his tone still reserved. "For now, there is no need for fighting. The Paras are contained."

  "Amelia shouldn't be with them," Shon said abruptly. "That's exactly what Naatos wants. Even if he is imprisoned, he'll find some way to use it against her."

  "I'm sure he will try, but he and his brothers are in her power now." Linufe smiled a little. "You remember what she did to that crudon on the mountainside. Given her affection for you, it's not likely she'll have much mercy for the Paras. Particularly given what has happened to her, and her status as Naatos's wife."

  Shon's eyelids were already sliding shut as sleep threatened once again to take him to nightmares and darkness. "She's not like that though. She shouldn't be there at all."

  "Political necessity changes us all," Linufe said.

  "She needs to be somewhere safe," Shon countered, his voice weaker this time.

  "She is safe, Shon." Linufe strode to the door. "As safe as she will ever be. Now rest. No more talk of Amelia or the Paras."

  Shon cast his gaze back to his brother. Matthu remained seated on the seven-spindled chair, his expression conflicted, his shoulders tight. "What really happened?" The words slurred from his lips. "What did Amelia do?"

  Matthu fixed the blanket and cleared his throat. "Just sleep, Shon. It's…everything is going to be all right."

  4

  Medicine and Politics

  Amelia retreated to the bath chambers to quickly bathe and change her clothes. The bath oils, soaps, and towels were all as they had been when she left before the Ceremony of the Viskaro on Ecekom. The steam and fragrant floral scents provided some comfort, and it felt good to shed her dark emerald-green gown, which was stiff with dried blood.

  When she was done, she fed Cassio and armed herself. She then searched the bookshelves for any titles related to the Neyeb and their skills. As Kepsalon had suggested, Naatos had several books containing relevant information. Amelia dug out another large bag to store the other books. Afterward, she gathered additional supplies for Naatos and his brothers: clothing, boots, blankets, and pillows.

  At last, she smoothed her damp hair back in a ponytail and left the family quarters to assess where she was most needed.

  It was strange to see the temple now. None of the Talbokians remained. All had vanished. Amelia smiled, imagining how much this had annoyed Vorec. Two of the Machat she passed confirmed that the Talbokians had been "moved," but what that entailed, none would say. And Amelia felt no need to inquire further. The Machat would not have killed them all. If anyone had some plan for restoring a broken and troubled people, it was the Machat.

  The damage to the temple, however, was quite extensive. The Hall of Creation had survived hundreds of years before this in almost pristine condition, the tapestries and sculptures intact and beautiful. Not even looters dared disturb it. But the hall with all its beauty was now charred in flames, many statues smashed, and even more tapestries shredded. Mud and rubble streaked the floor, and despite the fresh air flowing through, the scent of the fallen remained. A tenth troop of Ayamin were stationed at the doors leading into the Tue-Rah.

  The damage to the structure grew less as Amelia passed into the smaller halls on the east of the Hall of Creation where a massive meeting chamber and other similar rooms had been newly converted into a makeshift hospital to accommodate the numerous wounded.

  Dozens and dozens of Ayamin and Machat soldiers, men and women alike, were laid up on makeshift beds, some resting and others staring blankly ahead. What had once been a consultation room with a thirty-foot oil map on the north wall now served as a room for surgery and treatment. Slender Machat attendants with striped hands rushed about with boiling pots of water, while the somber-faced Ayamin physicians and honey-eyed Machat doctors sewed, bound, and tended to the more severe injuries. Large bins filled with rags and buckets of fluid sat beside the tables or against the walls.

  Amelia stood there, watching. All the cries for help and moans of pain, whether spoken or silent, crashed upon her, locking her in place. Amelia gripped her forearm. The thoughts bled in like raindrops into an old canvas roof, threatening to rupture and overwhelm her any minute. Tears choked her.

  Will I see Sacha again? What will she think when she sees this? Will more be taken?

  What's going to happen now that the Vawtrians are captured? Will there be
more?

  Will anything stop the pain?

  Why did you let this happen to us, Elonumato?

  Stop crying!

  The last thing I said to him was "I don't care."

  Why am I alive when she isn't? It should have been me.

  "Amelia." A hand settled on Amelia's shoulder.

  Amelia jumped, blinking as she focused on the Machat. The intensity of the emotions fell away though the presence of the many wounded lingered. Oddly other bits of information such as the fact that the Machat's name was Zempar and he missed being in the mountain forests slipped through. Blinking, she wiped her hands over her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

  "It's all right. Your elmis are open and your barriers are down. Most of those here are experiencing strong emotions and thoughts so they are especially easy to read. Even less gifted mindreaders would struggle not to hear what is happening here without appropriate focus." The Machat's hazel eyes were gentle and reassuring. He offered Amelia a set of thin fingerless gloves and a headband. "This will help until you learn how to put the barriers up yourself."

  "Will it cause problems?" Amelia asked, glancing at her wrist elmis. The dark spots mocked her. "AaQar said that it will damage my elmis if I keep them covered or bound. Or was that a lie?"

  "Well…" Zempar wobbled his hand back and forth. "You shouldn't wear such coverings all the time, and it did do damage when you were young unfortunately. You never learned to build up your natural defenses, so times like this when you are tired and worn, then you are limited in protection. And given the strength of the cries and mourning of the wounded and dying, those limited defenses become none. So the solution is either to avoid situations where you will be pressed this way or to briefly cover your elmis until you can regain your strength and focus. Since it seems unlikely you will give up your wish to assist these people, the band and gloves seem like the best solution for now."

  Amelia smiled faintly. "Thank you." She accepted the gifts and immediately slipped the gloves on. They fit her wrists perfectly, providing a comforting pressure and a soothing darkness. The headband over her forehead elmis brought even more relief as it shuttered out the rolling emotions from the hospital. She sagged briefly against the wall, startled at the intense transformation. "That actually is a lot better. Now." She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. "Do you know where I'm most needed here? I have medical training, and—"