Bounty

by Harper Alexander

  Godren could not believe what he was hearing, but he did not allow his hopes to run away with themselves just yet. The king still sounded as if he was reasoning with himself. The balance could still be tipped either way.

  “I have tried to avoid upsetting the crime queen for a long time,” Talivor continued. “Too long. It is a fault and a weakness, and altogether a bad idea to humor her so and tread so carefully in my own city, but bad things always happen when we happen too close. Too many times have my men disappeared with a scream into dark alleys, as if swallowed, or turned up tortured to death with magic.” He shook his head. “And the ghosts I don’t believe in seem to haunt her domain anyway. The supernatural, the undead… I should not be afraid of what I shelter in my own borders, and yet every day I steal myself against the dread and foreboding that emanates from the lurking presence I allow to reside here, and leave alone as if in cowardice. And now, to discover that that very beast I left to lurk has come after my daughter, and could have done anything to her if not for some righteous soul misplaced in her employment… I have been foolish to leave her be, and I should be ever indebted to you.”

  “Sire–” Godren said, suddenly feeling unworthy of such a change of heart, but Talivor held up a hand.

  “What’s more, my daughter has told me of the signs that seem to clamor in your favor. That grove has always been special, and to have it center on you – I wonder what else there is about you that I may be interested to know. Have you any gifts, Godren? Any intriguing tendencies that make you more than the man that meets the eye?”

  “I…I’m told I am gifted of the wind, Sire. It speaks to me, and…circulates around me… I can call it – or, at least, have the capacity to. I don’t know the extent of it.”

  Talivor nodded, searching him. “I’m afraid I have not even shown an ounce of due sympathy toward one who has endured so mortal an injustice in his life, on top of everything. I have been overcome with protectiveness for my daughter since her recent close-calls, and could find nothing but resentment and blame for the man who drew her to forsake her own safety in his interests. You do not deserve the full force of that blame, however; I know my daughter is her own person, bound to a strong sense of justice by birth and my own doing, and nothing can stop…” – He paused there, as if it was hard to say, but it was already destined to come out – “…love. Nothing should stop love, or what is meant to be. Perhaps it could have been handled in a more professional manner on my daughter’s part – but then, maybe not. In any case, I cannot imagine carrying the blame of murder when you did not commit it, and gauging yourself even as you fought for survival, trying to preserve what you could. That calls for respect, certainly over judgment that only depends on what others have done to you. In Wingbridge you stood before me ready to accept the consequences of your actions even though you were forced to commit them, and then again here in the interest of a friend, and…the decency in that is staggering.”

  At that point, finding something to say was hopeless. Godren was torn between looking at the floor in modest humility and showing the king the respect of taking the praise and showing his appreciation like a man.

  “You have humbled your king this day, Godren of Wingbridge. And I would feel a great security leaving my daughter in your hands. You have more than proved you would give your life for her. What more could I be unreasonable enough to ask for? You are hereby forgiven for your crimes; we can say you were a spy. After all, spies must maintain their image in their given setting every day. You’ve done a great service to your country in such a setting, so how can I view you any differently?”

  Stricken with astonishment, Godren stared at him. “I beg your pardon, Sire?”

  “I’ve no quarrel with the gods, and if they’ve put their two cents into you being with my daughter, well – I seem to have no quarrel with your character either, and if it ensures Catris’s safety and gets Mastodon out of my kingdom, I cannot really object, can I?”

  “I–” He was speechless. The civilian had been right; criminals didn’t just waltz into the palace on civilian traffic and ask for the princess’s hand in marriage – but the king certainly didn’t just grant it. It was more than unheard of. It was unreal.

  How could I have gone from the bleakest point of ruin to the most astounding rung of the gods’ good graces and society’s fortune so quickly?

  Suddenly his luck was just so awe-inspiring, yet he knew it wouldn’t even fully hit him for some time.

  “Your Majesty, I don’t…know how to respond,” he managed to express.

  “Just don’t lose the humble sentiments that life, and this opportunity, have taught to you. If you ever aspire to stop cherishing my daughter, you will have my wrath brought down on you. But I don’t need to tell you that, because I don’t need to tell anyone that. If you maintain the proper amount of humility and swear to remain devoted and to cherish the princess Catris Vandelta for as long as you are lucky enough to live by her side, I have no objection to your presence in this house. You will keep her safe, and that means a great deal to me.”

  “How do I ever thank you?”

  “Only by holding true to what I’ve charged you with by my daughter’s side. If you do, I don’t think I can regret it. She loves you, and it isn’t every day a king gets to promise his daughter to someone she actually loves.”

  Godren bowed his head, a lump rising in his throat at the overwhelming endowment. The king had just bequeathed the princess of Raven City to him. To his exclusive, eternal care. He would never ask for anything again.

  “She’s waiting for you in the grove,” Talivor said.

  Godren felt grossly obliged to express the gratitude and incredulity that the king had brought to him, to make him understand the depth and magnitude of what this meant to him, but there was no way. And knowing a gracious dismissal when he saw one, he took it. Bowing, he took his leave from the room.

  As he made his way through the palace in the direction of the grove, bystanders took note and whispered at his passage, but made no move to obstruct or challenge him. By now everyone on the estate would know of the stir he had caused, and would be gossiping about the king talking to him privately rather than having him thrown out point blank. They probably still thought he was a loony dreamer, but there weren’t going to interfere with the unfathomable matter. It was beyond them for the time being.

  Feeling as light as if wings fluttered about his feet, he hardly noticed the other people that dotted the halls or the strange concept of traversing the palace unchecked. As soon as he could discern the outline of budding tree branches through the window at the end of the hall, he focused solely on that earthly beacon and saw nothing else at all. So the branches were budding again. When did that unfold? Was it another symbol to applaud the endowment of the princess to him?

  Thrusting open the great doors that led out to the estate, Godren emerged into the shady glow that brought the afternoon to its surrender. Radiantly his at the peak of his destination, the princess stood in the center of the path before him, surrounded by the budding trees that amused themselves with arranging reflections of her destiny. She turned at his emergence, a keen paradise of fondness spinning its web in her eyes. The long train of her dress twisted around her feet as she faced him, like waves of an ocean that she walked upon.

  Butterflies hammered against the lump in his throat, but they were warm and replete, as if born of the summer, and he let them rise so their wings shone in his own eyes. A thousand dreams echoed against this reality, transforming the battle cries of old into a victorious clamor of elation. Godren paused momentarily before the princess, rehearsing a thousand beginnings, and then forsook any inadequate composition and threw her in with the joyous fray of an embrace.

  “Please forgive me if this was not part of your plan,” he said.

  Catris smiled against his neck. “Being promised to some inconsequential prince of my father’s choice is the only thing we need label as not part of my plan. You’ve delivered me
from a lifetime of unhappiness – and doubtlessly spared said prince a great deal of grief that he would suffer on my unhappy behalf. I’m afraid I would have been a terror.”

  Godren chuckled. “And that would have been my only satisfaction.”

  The princess drew back and looked at him. “Do you realize you will be king now?” she asked him fondly.

  Godren froze. By the gods, he hadn’t even thought of that. Where had his mind been? He didn’t know how to rule a country.

  “I–” he said, and didn’t know what else to say.

  Catris laughed at the expression on his face. “You don’t even know your own ambition, do you? Though I daresay my father would not have agreed if you had thrown that into the equation.”

  “Good gods. I hope you know how to run a country.”

  “I know a thing or two. But I wouldn’t worry – you haven’t even tried the throne out for size yet, and already you have Mastodon set to vacate the city. That’s been a major goal in the interest of the people for years.”

  “The interest of the people…” He shook his head. “The concept is so foreign. So joyful. I’ve been starved of doing anything in anyone’s interest for so long… It doesn’t seem as if I can. I thought I was doomed to keep hurting those around me for the rest of my life.”

  “It’s all over, Godren,” she promised him.

  Godren sought the sincerity in her eyes before nodding. It would take awhile to get used to.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, touching his face. This time, though the numbness still deadened his flesh, he felt a hint of her touch. “It will all start to fade now. And look – the trees are starting fresh.” Reaching up to a straggly branch that extended over the edge of the path, she drew it down to eye level for consideration.

  On impulse, Godren blew gently on the bud that was a pink knob on the end. In response to his breath tickling its unripe shell, it loosened, spread its wings, and bloomed.

  Catris looked at him.

  Smiling, Godren locked his arms about her waist. This time filled with elation, and instead of closing his eyes, he looked into hers and willed the wind to him. As if easily born of the elated current already stirring inside him, it came to him from the ground, the sky, the very air that was but a moment before still and lifeless around them. As it purged across his skin, he felt it, and it was as if it wore through the numbness that encompassed him and stripped it away. Suddenly he felt sensitivity return to his physical being, and a whole new level of awe crashed upon his shore.

  Then the wind spilled through the trees, fanning out and unfurling blossoms as it went. The grove bloomed as they stood there, the petals evolving to perfection as the current dissipated and died away.

  “For you, your highness. A new season as a gift to you.”

  “Please,” she said, awe-inspired tears glistening in her eyes. “Call me Cat.”

  A smile painted its sunrise onto his face. “Cat,” he murmured in compliance, and he felt the shadows disappear with the wind and the earth steady beneath his feet.

  Epilogue

  Godren perched on the balustrade of Cat’s balcony as another evening came to a lengthening close. The days were getting longer, honoring the sun’s demand for glory as summer announced its transformation in the cycle. Warm, pleasant breezes circulated around him, appeasing his senses. He never got tired of the sensations the wind had returned to him; even the little things were a wonder, as if he were discovering the world and its pleasures all over again.

  A whisper tickled by his ear, and as it attempted to dash away again on a particularly playful breeze, he closed his eyes and breathed it back to him. As he concentrated, the current became loyal to him, lingering around him, and the voices it carried intensified and spoke to him in human tones. No one else would hear it, but it was as if the room that hosted the conversation had come to surround him, to immerse him in the essence of its reality.

  “They are wed, Mastress,” a familiar slave voice announced.

  “He’s been successful at outdoing himself, has he?”

  “If I am not mistaken, it is not himself he has outdone.”

  “Mm. Indeed,” Mastodon replied absently. “Very clever, Godren. Very, very clever.”

  “Shall I rally my kin for leave-taking?” Evantralis asked.

  There was a pause. Godren envisioned Mastodon casting about fruitlessly for an alternative. “Make a clean sweep,” she agreed, and only a hint of resentment rang in her words. Mostly, she had resigned herself to it. “Clean out the annexes, see to my chamber, and send me an aide for my study. We are underway for departure. Execute operation abandonment. I’ll gather the men.”

  The steady feed stirred and broke up, and Godren opened his eyes.

  So Mastodon was packing up. His ploy had successfully made her coexistence impossible, and she was taking the according steps to do herself in.

  A pair of arms wrapped gently around him from behind. Having not heard Catris’s approach over the voices of the wind, Godren glanced close over his shoulder in acknowledgement.

  Cat smiled warmly at him.

  “Mastodon is leaving the city,” he said.

  By now she had grown accustomed to his dealings with the transcendental. “And taking her men with her?”

  Godren nodded.

  “Then you were right. And now you have nothing to worry about.” She kissed his cheek. “How does it feel?”

  Looking out over the gold-touched city, he felt an absolute peace come over him. “Like summer is finally here.”

  *

  Having come to the palace for the wedding, Ilsa and Carra packed up and left after an extended stay in the luxury of the guest wing. They returned to Wingbridge escorted by an assigned guard that was to remain with them until the reopened murder of Wingbridge was solved and put safely in a drawer. The palace’s own esteemed experts of investigation were stationed in Wingbridge looking into the matter.

  To Godren, there were no loose ends left unresolved. Everything was as it should be, or better, or on the right path.

  Seth, however, had one thing still keeping him up at night. Something that kept eating at him, and kept him out chasing one last personal goal that just wouldn’t rest.

  When he caught Ossen, Godren declined the offer to deliver his old rival his due retribution. All he wanted was to be through with the dirty work of old, and he was sure Seth could handle being left to ‘ruffle Ossen’s petals’ his own way. He did go down to witness the event, however, and was a bit surprised to find Catris engaging in the infliction.

  He walked up with quiet conviction, lingering at a slight distance as a bound and gagged Ossen glared at him from his knees in the grass. A great loathing dripped down the air between them, but Godren did not add to it. He remained expressionless – if anything, the slightest bit grave – and maintained the peace he was sheltering inside himself.

  Seth acknowledged his arrival, coming over to engage in a quiet exchange.

  “You sure you don’t want to do it?”

  “I’m done, Seth,” Godren maintained. “And besides, my contract forbids me to tamper with Mastodon’s circle. I can’t touch him.”

  “Alright, then. I can’t complain. Just wanted to give you the chance.”

  Godren nodded, and Seth returned to his place preparing Ossen’s fate.

  “So – welcome to the palace, Ossen,” he began cheerfully. “I’m sure you’ll find the gardens, terraces, entertainment courts, and villas to your liking. We’re famous for them, you know. Oh wait – you do know. You’ve taken advantage of the estate’s hospitality on more than one trespassing occasion, haven’t you? I think her highness has something she’d like to say about that.”

  Having been standing off to the side fiddling experimentally with Ossen’s confiscated dart gun, Catris drew it into its firing position, took aim, and fired a dart straight into Ossen’s chest over his heart.

  Godren masked his surprise. Seth must have been teaching her.

 
; Shock bloomed in Ossen’s eyes, and his breath cut short with the impact, though it was probably due more to alarm than force. A panicking sweat broke out from his temples, and he was quickly blinking it from his crazed eyes.

  “Don’t worry,” Catris said without pity, “I reloaded it with an empty missile. It won’t kill you. No poison involved.”

  Senseless relief crashed over Ossen, and he resumed breathing, though his lungs worked with great, heaving convulsions. Anxiety still ravaged his nerves.

  “That, however, was just for effect,” Seth said, taking the gun as Catris handed it to him. Redevising the contraption’s deployment system, he had the gun reloaded with his own choice dart in expert seconds. “We had the royal specialists analyze traces of the poison that I kept upon removing myself from the Underworld, and they’ve altered its qualities. The lethal factor was foregone for long-term paralysis, which then only slowly wears off.” Moving to stand directly by Ossen, he pressed the gun into his neck, but then paused absently as if having something else occur to him. “Of course, this is the first time we’ve tried it on anyone,” he admitted thoughtfully, and then turned his focus back to his victim. “So really, you’re kind of an experimental run.”

  Stricken with fresh panic, Ossen thrashed to get away, but Seth halted him with a boot grounding his toppled form and pulled the trigger in his hand. The dart caught Ossen in the shoulder, and though he struggled to escape still, going mindless with the instinct to get away, the poison took effect and gradually stilled his writhing efforts. Fatigue clouded his face as fighting the restrictive substance grew increasingly harder. Sweat trickled from his temples, and his breath grew inconsistent and strained. He spasmed with resistance, muscles bulging in his neck, and then the ultimatum of irreversible stillness spread slowly throughout his body.