Destiny

by Fiona McIntosh

  Sarel grinned. ‘I’m not enchanted by him, Hela. He’s much too old for me although he is certainly a beautiful man. But I would trust him.’

  Hela shook her head slighty, unbalanced by the newly revealed maturity of Sarel. ‘Your mother was in love with him, Sarel. She told me this in plain words… was even flirting with how she could change Ciprean law to permit her taking a husband.’

  At this Sarel’s eyes did widen. ‘Truly?’

  Hela nodded. ‘I could hardly believe it either when she told me. Sylven was always able to control her emotions and in all the time I served her, never once did she fall prey to a man’s affections, honeyed words, physique. No, no one until Torkyn Gynt had ever roused her passions like this. I do believe she meant to make him Royal Consort.’

  ‘And is this possible?’

  ‘Ancient laws would need to be overturned. I’m no scholar, Sarel. I would not know what such a mighty change in Ciprean philosophy and culture might entail.’

  Sarel nodded sadly. ‘She should not have died the way she did. I will see to it—if it takes all of my life—that the perpetrator is punished.’

  ‘Then you must protect your life to achieve this. Will you come with me?’

  ‘Give me this night to consider, Hela. I promise to deliver you my decision on the morrow.’ She suddenly looked regal. Gone were the childish attire and ribbons she had obviously worn to please her mother. Sarel stood before her, slim and clearly going to be as tall as Sylven one day, and perhaps even more beautiful. In her simple soft blue gown, slim fitting, curving over her high breasts, she looked anything but a child.

  Hela nodded, knowing she must find the patience to wait out another night, and bowed to her Queen. ‘I shall leave you then, your majesty, to consider.’

  As she departed the chambers she almost bumped into a familiar figure; one she detested. Her frustration found a target. ‘What are you doing here? No one is permitted in this tower without my permission.’

  ‘The guards gave me access. I would offer my condolences to the Princess,’ replied the oily voice.

  Its high pitch, effeminate in the way it caressed her ears, had disgusted Hela from the very first time she had heard it. She looked into the cold, almost black eyes, small and ever wary. ‘She is no longer a Princess, Goth. She is a Queen now and the Queen insists on privacy to grieve. She has given instructions that only I will attend her for the time being. You will leave and not return until summoned.’

  Goth kept his face impassive and nodded once but in truth wished he could wrap his pudgy fingers around the woman’s neck and throttle this upstart maid. How dare she address him with such discourtesy. He was, after all, a former adviser to Sylven. The fact that he had murdered her was unfortunate, of course, for now he would need to ingratiate himself with the child. Until recently he had not been aware there was a daughter and had berated himself for not knowing such an important detail, but Queen Sylven had obviously kept the daughter well protected. It was a rare mistake—he would need to be more careful in future. He turned away from the maid, took his leave and was aware that she watched him until he had disappeared from the corridor down the stairs from the private tower.

  Goth continued to surprise himself at cheating death. Surely he was running out of lives? He had survived the fall over the crashing water’s edge and managed to keep himself beneath the rushing river’s surface just long enough to be dragged swiftly out of the keen eyesight of his pursuers. He had hurt himself though, and if not for the few remaining drops of clear arraq in the vial secreted in his clothes, he might not have survived so well. The drug had rejuvenated him and once at full strength he had made his way carefully back to Cipres.

  After establishing that Gynt was no longer in the palace, he had simply resumed his former chambers, feigning shock and horror at the news of Sylven’s death. No one had seen him leave the city; no one had seen him at Neame. He presumed Gynt and the Kloek had already sailed for Tallinor which meant for the time being he was safe. He had spent the next few days promoting the rumour that Torkyn Gynt was the man responsible for Sylven’s murder and, that achieved, he prepared to meet with Sarel and find out more about this new Queen of Cipres. Goth had counted on her refusing all visitors, hence his attempt to take her by surprise. But this toad of a maid was lurking. He hated her; she had not trusted him since he first came to the notice of Sylven and clearly distrusted him now. Well, perhaps she might need to join her former employer, wherever she was now. He would not let a mere servant get in the way of his plans. Goth decided as he left the Queen’s tower that if Hela locked horns with him again, she would die.

  Orlac entered the royal square of Cipres, attracted by the sounds of many voices raised in agreement with a single speaker. He paid no attention to what the man was saying. It mattered not in the light of what would happen in the next few minutes. It was darkening into evening and the huge square was elegantly lit by torches. Shops as well as eating and drinking houses lined the square, all beautifully presenting their wares. There was no doubt the Cipreans were far from poor. This square alone, with its smooth, graceful architecture made entirely of white polished stone, literally glittered with the wealth of its people. He looked up towards the palace, towering above on a cliff ledge; its pale minarets shot with gold sparkled like jewels against the inky sky.

  We should make our presence felt here, Dorgryl suggested.

  Orlac agreed with the suggestion. He skirted the edge of the crowd and then began to push through it. His tall, imposing stature helped to part the shoulders of the gathered until he found himself climbing the stairs of the recently erected podium. The speaker turned, slightly confounded by the interruption and nodded to one of the guards nearby to deal with the nuisance.

  A burly man broke away from the guards and approached Orlac.

  He was polite. ‘I shall have to ask you to step down please.’

  Kill him, Dorgryl ordered.

  Orlac felt the god flare inside him. He hated the sensation of Dorgryl’s presence but he knew he must bide his time. For now, they were both on the same side, following the same path. He opened himself to his powers, felt the Colours infuse him and he cast out a trickle. The guard had put a hand up to prevent Orlac proceeding any further and he suddenly burst into flame, a look of shocked surprise crossing his face as he witnessed his own incineration before he collapsed, writhing and burning.

  The speaker yelled, the crowd roared its own surprise which instantly turned to terror. How could this happen?

  Dorgryl commanded again. Deal with the speaker.

  Orlac obeyed. The man who had once held the rapt attention of the gathered before this interruption, now won it again, but for a different reason this time. He began to tremble; his body convulsing as a puppet might, when its strings are jerked by the puppeteer. He began to thrash around the podium, screaming in agony.

  Orlac did not want to be told what to do next. This was his show, not Dorgryl’s and he would take charge. Turning casually towards the stunned audience, with one man dead but still smoking and another flailed to his death, he loosed his Colours—again it was but an arrogant trickle of his power.

  People began to scream as blood ran freely from their noses, eyes and ears. Chaos broke out amongst the crowd and bloodied, mostly blinded bodies began to run in all directions. Orlac turned his calm attention towards one end of the square. It seemed a pity to ruin this dignified architecture, but he pushed again with his Colours and at this bidding the area of buildings began to cave in, collapsing swiftly under their own sudden shift in weight. The grinding and groaning of stone, as it bent to Orlac’s will, sounded even worse than the shrieking, panicking people it threatened, and it brought back all his memories of when he had begun the destruction of Caremboche all those centuries previous.

  Good…good, my boy. Are you enjoying yourself? Dorgryl asked, impressed.

  He was, and Dorgryl was disappointed when his nephew pulled back the Colours, allowing them to soften to a g
low within whilst he surveyed the damage. Dorgryl so badly wanted to touch that well of power, but this was not the time to reveal himself. He relished the day such power would be his. For now, though, he must be the ‘guest’ and learn more about his host.

  The people who had been hurt were lying on the polished stone, crying and begging for help as their blood ran freely. Some had been crushed under the toppling stone of the buildings. Others, not many, had escaped the touch of his Colours but they were in shock, walking from person to person, trying to find their own and seeking help. Why was this happening? What could cause such a thing? they wondered. Orlac noticed a woman fleeing the square; her shapely ankles above jewelled sandals caught his eye. Obviously one he had spared, he thought carelessly, and felt smug that she had escaped his attentions. Perhaps she was pretty? She would certainly help spread the word.

  Hela had picked up her long skirts, revealing her jewelled sandals and, not caring that her veils were askew, ran for her life. This was it. This is what Lys had warned her about. There was magic afoot in Cipres and it came accompanied by death. She had not missed the unaccountably tall, impressively handsome young man who had taken the stage and looked calmly around whilst two men died behind him for absolutely no reason. He had reminded her of someone, but that thought had gone the instant everyone about her had begun to bleed.

  They must forgo the night’s grace she had promised Sarel. She must get the Queen away from Cipres now.

  Hela’s voice was urgent; her terror causing her to forget whom she addressed. ‘Sarel!’ She shook the sleeping Queen. ‘Sarel! Wake up!’

  The young woman opened her eyes, suddenly in shock, her body tensing. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘No time. Get up. Move!’ commanded her maid and friend. ‘It’s begun. There is killing in the square. We must flee.’

  Hela pulled the dazed woman from her bed, ripping off her nightgown not caring for the chill it caused to the pale, perfect skin. ‘Climb into these. Waste no time, Sarel. We leave immediately.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘I don’t know—a golden man—but there are people dead in the square for no reason. I saw them with my own eyes, bleeding from their noses, bursting into flame…buildings which have stood for centuries, collapsing as one, killing all in their path.’

  Hela had not realised she was weeping as she spoke. Now Sarel’s eyes were filled with tears and confusion as she tried to make sense of the babble.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said the young Queen.

  ‘Neither do I,’ Hela admitted, her nervousness betraying her. ‘It is magic…beyond my comprehension, but you can be sure that the man who wields it is headed here. Now quickly! Put this veil on and we leave.’

  Sarel made to open her jewel box by the bed.

  ‘Leave it! I have all we need. Come.’ She led the girl through two doors in her mother’s chamber to a short landing leading towards the stairs used by the servants. Hela opened one of the many storage cupboards on the landing used to replenish stocks of Sylven’s favourite perfume, soaps, bath oils and linens, which Hela alone held the key to. From inside she pulled two dull brown cloth bags.

  ‘This is all we take,’ she said. ‘Here, Sarel, carry one.’

  She ignored the question which she could see coming to the Queen’s lips and turned her back on her, taking her hand. Hela left no room for discussion or, indeed, argument. They moved swiftly—just short of running —down the stairs until they had reached the groundfloor, which led into a private courtyard.

  ‘Hela, the yard and the walls around it are guarded,’ Sarel voiced her thoughts aloud. But of course Hela would already know this.

  ‘I have taken care of it,’ Hela whispered. ‘The man on duty tonight is a friend. He is sweet on me, you could say,’ she added conspiratorially. ‘Mind me, Sarel. Say nothing, no matter what I say or you hear. Do you understand?’ It was said firmly, as mother to child. She was satisfied to see the young Queen nod behind her veils. ‘Come.’

  True enough, as they stepped outside, a guard immediately confronted them and then relaxed when he heard Hela’s voice.

  ‘Are we safe?’ she asked.

  ‘There’s some trouble in the square, or so I hear. I know nothing more but if you follow the old road, it should be clear,’ he said, grinning wolfishly at the veiled face of Hela. ‘Who knocked her up, then?’ he added, turning to Sarel.

  His blood would have frozen in his veins if he could have seen the chilled expression his new Queen wore beneath her veils. Sarel felt Hela’s hand tighten on her arm with reassurance as the maid answered him, a casual tone to her voice belying the tension she surely felt.

  ‘Stupid girl! She’s three months gone and showing—no idea who the father is. I fear she is simple in her head and so lies with anyone,’ she answered, playfully knocking Sarel’s shoulder with her own. ‘But her mother is a good friend of my mother’s and I feel obliged to do the right thing and get her home before anyone of rank finds out. You know how they are?’ Hela winked at him which he caught even behind those dark veils of hers.

  He turned again to Sarel. ‘You wouldn’t give me a quick one, would you?’ he asked, tugging at his breeches, ‘…as it doesn’t seem to matter much to you.’

  This time, it was Hela’s turn to freeze. If only he knew to whom he spoke.

  ‘Garth—leave it will you,’ she said, forcing her voice to remain light and playful. ‘I need to get going with her before it goes completely black out there.’

  ‘You owe me one, Hela. You can pay me in kind on your return.’

  ‘I’ll happily pay, Garth. I’ve always enjoyed you.’

  She kissed him lightly on the cheek; a promise of real payment yet to come. Then she grabbed Sarel’s arm and pulled her to follow. Sarel was seething.

  ‘Garth, is it? I’ll have him hung when this is over!’ she hissed.

  ‘Ssh!’ Hela cautioned. ‘It’s because of him we’re safe. He changed three guards over so he could be the one on watch at this gate today. He has no rank, no money, so won their places by fighting them. He knows no fear— he’s too young. All that matters to him is the feel of a woman’s body against his own.’

  Sarel did not respond. She felt a bit foolish for reacting so pompously as she realised just what sort of chance Hela was taking: bribing guards with her body, smuggling her Queen from the palace and no doubt prepared to lay down her own life to protect Sarel’s. She remained silent. Once they had left the palace behind, walking briskly, Hela stopped and looked around. She made a soft hooting sound, like an owl, with cupped hands. A similar sound answered back and a few moments later a dark shadow emerged. Another man.

  ‘We must follow him, Sarel. You must trust me now and do exactly as I say.’

  They approached the man.

  ‘Who is he?’ Sarel whispered.

  ‘No friend, that’s for sure, but he can be trusted so long as I still owe him a purse.’

  ‘Are we safe?’

  ‘As we can be, hush now,’ Hela cautioned. They arrived before him.

  ‘I am Hela,’ she said.

  He did not so much as flinch. ‘The money?’ His voice was gravelly. Sarel could read no expression on his face.

  ‘Half now, as agreed,’ Hela said firmly, digging into her pocket and producing a purse which she held out. The man took it.

  ‘Follow,’ he said, and led them down the side of a hill, not caring if they stumbled. He knew the terrain well and strode ahead, the women trailing at a tentative pace.

  ‘It would be easier without the veils,’ Sarel said, hating to state the obvious.

  ‘Until I feel it’s safe, I can’t reveal you.’ She was surprised to hear Sarel laugh.

  ‘Hela. The Cipreans hardly know who I am anyway. My last trip to the capital was two years ago when I was a child, and you saw to it that no one witnessed my arrival this time.’

  ‘All true. But I am taking precautions,’ Hela said in a tone which forbade further discussion.


  The man of no name or conversation led them to a horse and cart and with no further ceremony, not even a helping hand to climb aboard, he wordlessly took the Queen of Cipres and her brave maidservant to the docks, carefully avoiding the city’s centre. If he knew of the wild scenes unfolding therein, he did not share his knowledge. Hela was just glad to know the palace was far enough away that their most dangerous moments had passed. Now it was simply a matter of putting as much distance between Cipres and themselves as possible. She hoped Sarel had a strong constitution—a voyage during this season was destined to be rough.

  ‘Wait,’ the man said, leaving them standing on a deserted wharf. Nearby a small galleon creaked as it rocked gently at its moorings. They could see the ship’s name, The Raven, painted in gold on her side.

  ‘Time to dispense with the veils now, Sarel. Soon we must become women of Tallinor.’ She watched the Queen dutifully obey as she did the same, then bundled up the black veils and pushed them behind some crates.

  ‘There now,’ she said, brightly, wondering yet again where and towards what she was taking this precious young woman.

  The man had returned. ‘Follow.’

  They stepped cautiously behind him up the steep gangplank, trying to steady one another. A few men stared at them as they arrived and Hela was pleased to see Sarel hold her head high, her expression blank. Her haughtiness was gone; a Queen fleeing her own city had nothing to be arrogant about. They needed these men to help them now and attitude was all important. Hela chanced a brief smile towards one of them but he looked away immediately. Pirates…they knew how to keep secrets, not make relationships with anyone unnecessary to their needs. Good, this suited the pair. They would travel in the obscurity she desired.

  The man knocked on a door, opened it and gestured for them to go in. He did not join them. Hela nodded at Sarel and they stepped inside. What they saw surprised them. Whatever both had anticipated for a pirate captain’s chambers, this was not it. A man stepped out from behind a satin screen, water dripping from his beard. Sarel recoiled slightly at the sight of his destroyed eye.