Both relaxed at the sound of Sariah’s voice. “I believe I can respond to your question, Lily.”
The name, although similar to hers, still made Leera want to look over her shoulder for someone else. The Protector of the Faith wore a simple, brown cloak wrapped around her matronly bulk. White hair peeked out from the bonnet tied under her chin. Sariah removed the bonnet and straightened her hair before speaking again.
“I had hoped to hear from your brother by now, but I’ve received no message from him or the queen.” She plopped down on one of the crates and looked up at Leera. “News reached the castle this morning, though. Maligon has taken Adana’s View.”
Leera’s heart plummeted in alarm. Her brother never failed at anything. Had he survived? If he had, how had he and Adana lost Moniah to Maligon?
“Quilla’s supporters slant the reports, I’m sure, but we must assume the core of the message is true. I only hope Kiffen and Adana are safe.” The woman’s voice trembled on the last part. “Those who fought for Moniah shelter within the Border Keep. I plan to depart for the keep tomorrow. If you wish to join me, Lily, I will welcome your company.”
That was different. “What?” She couldn’t hold back the sarcasm in her voice. “I have a choice?”
Ever since Helmyra and Catch had helped her escape her mother’s clutches, Leera had felt vulnerable. The need to hide from Queen Quilla made it impossible for Leera to make any decisions about her welfare. Now, Sariah offered her a choice.
“Of course. War is dangerous. I can’t tell you whether to remain in the safety of the city or leave and venture across enemy territory. You have the option, but, in this situation, you must decide.”
“And if I choose not to go? What then?”
The woman shook her head. “None of us know what tomorrow brings, my child. We have people who will try to protect you if you choose to stay.”
Dust motes floated around her head, and Leera sneezed. She laughed and wiped her nose with a muslin handkerchief, its texture rough on her nose. For the first time in her life, she really had a choice. “I suppose it will be a difficult journey?”
“We will have to travel light. No servants to tend to your needs and no special provisions.”
Leera sighed. She wanted to do it, but her fears cautioned her. Life outside the palace was harder than she had imagined. “I wish I had the Watcher’s uniform Adana had specially made for me.”
Sariah smiled. “You do. Catch found it in the refuse heap, waiting to be burned. Helmyra’s making a change of clothes for you, too. And a traveling cloak. That’s if you wish to come with us.”
The broom clattered to the floor as Leera dove toward Sariah, wrapping her arms around the woman’s soft middle. “Yes! Find me Catch. I need to apologize for that kick to his shins.”
Sariah pulled back from Leera, arching an eyebrow in surprise.
“Oh, pardon, Mother Sariah.” Leera jumped to her feet, hands twisted in her apron. “I’m so accustomed to ordering people to fetch things for me. I’ll go find the boy.”
Leera forgot the humiliation of asking forgiveness as she rushed headlong into the back of the store. She was going to see her brother and Adana. Her feet screeched to a halt.
If they were still alive.
* * * * *
Chapter 41
Shana laid her hand on Maligon’s arm, assumed a regal posture, and let him escort her before the assembly in the Great Hall. An ululating chant rose from the Watchers gathered to greet their queen. Her heart pounded, increasing the heat that radiated from every stone in the structure of Adana’s View. The royal fortress astounded her with its wide-open spaces, large fountains bubbling day and night, and the understated elegance of its furnishings. Unlike the castle in Elwar, which she had only seen a small part of, this estate did not overwhelm the senses with opulence. Even the air smelled fresh, not stale from smoldering fireplaces as in Elwar.
Except for the unbearable heat, Shana liked Moniah. When she seized the opportunity to serve the young lord and the nobleman who appeared in The Sleeping Dog, she had thought it might lead to a better life, maybe as a kept woman. She never suspected her sights would fall on people with such high connections. The connection she had hoped for would have placed her in a nice apartment or country estate in Elwar, not as a spy for the queen of Moniah. She chuckled at the thought, causing Maligon to arch a curious eyebrow at her.
Returning to the part she played as Maligon’s ally, she whispered, “I’m enjoying this.”
The delighted expression on the man’s face told her she had said the right thing. Shana’s role as imposter for Adana would only work if Maligon genuinely believed she wanted to serve him, not Queen Adana.
Maligon escorted Shana to the Seat of Authority which sat on a raised platform in the Great Hall. Watchers, Teachers of the Faith, and Soldiers of the First Sight lined their path, bowing in succession as she passed. Shana nodded her head occasionally to a few people, wondering if she should know any of them. The two people she did know stood by the throne, waiting. Their own desire for power relied on her ability to become Queen Adana and accept the crown and rulership of Moniah.
Pultarch stood to the left of the throne. He desired Adana’s hand in marriage, but Maligon had managed to convince him that Shana would suffice. Her heart pounded at his presence, but it was bittersweet. He wasn’t the man she imagined him to be. The truth of that hurt, but her body still desired him, weak as he was. Yet, he longed for Adana, not Shana.
The Watcher Samantha stood to the right of the throne. She claimed entitlement to the position her mother and grandmother once held, the queen’s most trusted advisor, the First Vision. Just from listening to these three traitors plot, Shana had discovered the depth of Samantha’s anger and feelings of betrayal when Adana’s mother, Queen Chiora, selected Montee as the next First Vision. Behind Samantha stood Kalara, the Watcher raised by Maligon. Shana suspected Kalara would make the decisions Samantha sought to make as First Vision.
Today, Maligon would announce Queen Adana’s safe return and betrothal to Pultarch. To add to his vices, he would raise Samantha to the post of First Vision. With Adana and Kiffen exiled, Montee along with them, Maligon could do whatever he liked. Shana breathed a prayer to the Creator for protection as she played yet another role.
Maligon’s sleek voice rang out over the crowd, and the cheers quieted as he raised his good hand before him. “Loyal subjects of Moniah, your queen attends you. Welcome Queen Adana of Moniah to the Seat of Authority and to her right as heir.”
The crowd shouted their approval, unbridled enthusiasm on their faces.
Shana stood beside Maligon, amazed at the adulation. She scanned the crowd, looking for any signs of discontent but saw none. She was not a Watcher. How would she recognize the signs without the proper skills or training?
She strained to use her Listener’s ability, but the crowd’s noise drowned out any possibility of recognizing concern in someone’s voice. She had hoped her gift might help her uncover those in the fortress who remained loyal to the real Queen Adana. They had to be here. She felt sure not everyone loyal to Adana managed to flee when Maligon stormed the gates.
Shana took the Seat, flinching from the heat absorbed by the wooden chair as it sat exposed to the morning sun. In the sky above, a bird flew over. The crowd’s noise drowned out the whistle of the wind through the bird’s feathers, a sound that would have given Shana a moment of peace.
The crowd hushed as Samantha came forward and took a knee before her. Shana tensed, aware her behavior must fool the remaining Watchers.
“Queen Adana,” Samantha said, “I offer my sight and bow and sword to you as protector of Moniah and the crown. Do you wish it?”
Acceptance of Samantha’s statement would place the woman in the second highest position in the land. Aware that she had no choice and that her words held no true authority, Shana said, “We do wish it, Watcher Samantha. Arise and be known as First Vision of Moniah from this d
ay forth.”
Samantha unleashed a ferocious grin of triumph before she masked it in appropriate humility and turned to accept the crowd’s praise. Ululating chants rang through the air, and the people bowed to Samantha.
Samantha accepted a ceremonial knife from Maligon, a makeshift symbol of her office, since Montee held the true symbols of bow, knife, and sling. A flash of irritation crossed the umber-skinned woman’s face before she strapped the knife to her belt and saluted the crowd. Cheers echoed off the sandstone walls, deafening to Shana’s acute hearing. She shifted on her throne, seeking relief from the scorched wood, as heat soaked through the leather leggings of her Watcher uniform. She’d worn the uniform for some time now, even though she held no Watcher powers, but at times like this, she missed the many layers of cloth in a proper Elwarian dress.
If Pultarch would hurry up and play his part in this charade, she could return to the quiet and solace of the royal chambers.
The young lord wavered a moment before coming forward. He stood tall and strong before her, his brown hair flowing to his shoulders, his full mouth trembling in hesitation. She longed to pull him to her as she had done in the tavern when, in a drunken stupor, he mistook her for Adana. He loved Adana, not Shana. She didn’t understand why his presence still drew her, but it did. Pultarch was a boy in many ways, easily manipulated. His behavior over the last few days made her question the wisdom of her attraction to him as he closed eyes in response to her stare. The attraction, real or imagined, did not matter in Maligon’s plans, though.
Maligon cleared his throat and darted a menacing glare at Pultarch.
Pultarch dropped his head, a tumble of hair falling across his forehead as he stepped closer.
Fingers itching to brush the cowlick aside, Shana sat up straight and delivered the appropriate prompt drilled into her by Samantha earlier in the day. “Sir Pultarch, do you pledge to the Seat of Authority?”
Pultarch dropped to both knees and choked out in a loud anguished voice, “Queen Adana, I will not go forward unless by your side, as helper and mate. I will serve you and thus serve Moniah.”
The passion in his voice surprised her. Pultarch wore his feelings on the outside unlike most of the nobility Shana had met, but she knew he spoke the words to Adana, not her. They might be playing this game of imposters, but Pultarch still hoped to win Adana back.
How would Pultarch react if he knew Adana had sent Shana to play this ruse, to infiltrate Maligon’s followers? Would he betray her by his face and body, or would he thank her for supporting the woman he loved?
People muttered and fidgeted when she didn’t respond, the ripple of murmurs warning Shana of her lapse. Maligon drew in several short breaths, a signal she had already learned to interpret as building anger.
“Arise, Sir Pultarch,” she said. “Moniah accepts your allegiance and hand as helper. We will marry in one year and produce an heir to this throne and kingdom as the Creator wishes and blesses us to do so.” Shana felt her face flush at the statement. Pultarch’s soft brown eyes widened at the pointed phrasing in the response, but she kept her gaze steady on his, not giving into the embarrassment any further. Maligon and Samantha insisted this was the proper statement to make at the time, and she complied.
The expected roar of approval did not come, and Shana looked up at the crowd in surprise. A discussion near the rear entrance to the hall had drawn attention away from their act.
Three distinct voices shouted in protest, one startling in its familiarity.
“Let me through,” the familiar voice said. “These vows must be witnessed by a Teacher of the Faith who holds close confidence with the queen.”
Shana stood and strained to see over the heads of those blocking the man. “Let him through. Give the teacher access.”
The crowd parted, glancing between Shana and the man in curiosity. Shana didn’t miss the look of surprise on Maligon’s and Samantha’s faces. If they expected her to play queen, they had better get used to her using the authority that came with it.
Happiness spread through Shana’s being when her sight confirmed what she had heard. Brother Honest’s light brown hair stood out in the sea of dark-haired Monians. She never thought to ask him why a Monian might have light hair; after all, Queen Adana’s hair was a lighter shade, just like her own. Adana’s father came from a kingdom far north, bringing his paler coloring with him. Maybe one of Honest’s parents did too. Or maybe his ancestors had descended from the lighter-skinned Elwarians like hers.
All thought of the deceit Maligon forced on her fled as the one man who had stood by her side during the worst days of her life approached. She felt her breath quicken in relief and concern for the brother.
Honest’s green robes, designating him as a Teacher of the Faith, hung in limp folds around his legs. Dust clung to the hem, and sweat stained his front. Shana had never seen him look so disheveled.
Across his shoulders, Honest wore a bulging, leather pack. He carried a walking staff, and it click, click, clicked against the sandstone floor as he approached the queen.
His gaze never faltered from Shana’s, an act acceptable only due to his position as teacher. Then he stood before her, knelt, and bowed his head, disrupting the charged connection between them.
“Arise, Brother Honest,” Shana said.
With the teacher standing before her, Shana wondered how to proceed. Queen Adana would know what to say, but Shana floundered. Maligon took a territorial step toward Honest, but the teacher never turned away from Shana. He gave a slight nod, encouraging her.
Shana found the words, one at a time, until they flowed freely. “We are pleased to greet you, Brother Honest. You wish to witness for the Faith?”
“My lady, I do wish to lend the Faith’s witness to your proceedings.” He turned sideways in order to address Shana, but include the gathering, too. This stance kept Honest’s back toward Maligon. “With the Keeper and the Protector of the Faith missing from this occasion, Queen Adana needs a Teacher of the Faith known to her to witness this triumphant day.”
Heads nodded as a murmur of agreement spread throughout the crowd.
Only then did Honest look toward Maligon. “I’m sure the Lord could not find an appropriate ally so soon. I came as quickly as I could.”
The Lord. A name less infamous or inflammatory than Maligon. Honest’s use of Maligon’s self-imposed title appeared to mollify him.
“Indeed,” Maligon said. “We mourned the absence of a true confidante among the remaining faithful teachers. You are welcome here, Brother Honest.”
A glint appeared in Honest’s eyes that disquieted Shana. He had many reasons to hate Maligon.
Rather than reply to Maligon, Honest turned his attention back to Shana, including Samantha in his address. “I heard the crown for your coronation is missing, probably stolen by those who fled the fortress during battle.”
Shana cocked her head to the side, wondering where Honest might be leading them.
The teacher laid his staff on the floor, knelt to dig through his leather pack, and produced an object wrapped in a piece of yellow glimmer cloth. He stood, and with the flourish of an entertainer, tugged on the cloth. The fabric shimmered and glowed in the sun’s light as it fell to the ground, revealing a simple crown of gold in the brother’s outstretched hand.
“It’s not as elaborate as the original crown of Moniah, my queen, but I had little time to make it. I hope it pleases your majesty.”
She stared at the golden circlet. A spire rose in the front of the crown, with a single emerald blinking back at Shana, a third eye, an awareness given by the Creator to all monarchs. She stared at Brother Honest in awe. Her presence here had been his idea. What else would the man do? “We are pleased with your offering, Brother Honest,” Shana said.
The Teacher of the Faith turned, his green robes swaying with the motion, and faced the crowd. “The circumstances today are unusual. Your queen has languished under the stigma of battle and treasonous betrothals
. Today is a celebration of her success in spite of her foes in Elwar.”
Honest glanced back at Shana and gave her an apologetic smile before turning back to the crowd. He raised the crown high. “We must seek the Creator’s blessing and crown her today, before any other event interrupts us.”
Shana heard Maligon’s sharp intake of breath and knew that Honest pushed his luck. The man’s charm, as well as his empathic gifts for reading people’s emotions, would tell him if he overplayed his part today, but still, she worried.
Honest turned to Maligon and said, “Shall we crown our queen today? Do away with these concerns and move this kingdom forward? We still have a battle to fight against those cowards holed up with Kiffen at the Border Keep.”
The traitor, the man known as the Lord, the warrior, Maligon, flashed a triumphant smile and shouted, “Long live Queen Adana! Long live Queen Adana!”
The crowd took up the chant as Honest bowed over her and laid the crown on her forehead. “I crown you as the Giver of Sight and Health, the Queen of Moniah, Commander of the Watchers, and Blessed of the Creator.”
Before he stepped aside, Honest whispered, “Forgive me. It’s the best way to protect you.”
One by one, Moniah’s landowners came before her, kneeling in supplication. After the landowners, the Soldiers of the First Sight marched forward and saluted her as one. At last, as the sun passed its zenith in the sky, the Watchers stood before her. The women knelt, their bows on their backs thrusting upward like a tiny mountain range.
Under the weight of the crown, the chanting of the gathered soldiers, and the heat of the day, Shana stood on shaking limbs and summoned Pultarch to her side. Gripping his arm, she gave a slight nod to the crowd, trying to keep the crown from slipping off, then gestured for Brother Honest to follow her.
She leaned into Pultarch, her need for his immediate support wavering in her voice. “You must escort me back to my chamber, Sir Pultarch. This day must end on this high note. I feel quite faint.”
The Watchers in Exile Page 29
