The Remedy (Eyes of E'veria)

by Serena Chase

  The King attended to nameless duties throughout the rest of that day and into the next, but I found it difficult to keep my hands busy enough to distract my mind.

  The day following the announcement found me in the company of Julien and Erielle, who had come to my chambers with the intent of studying the scrolls. But by late afternoon the poetry could no longer hold my attention.

  Surely by now the Regents had spread word of the news they’d received. Tonight, there would be a ball and I would get a taste of how the rest of the Kingdom felt about my father and me, now that the truth was being spread. What would the reaction be around the Kingdom when the people discovered their King had been deceiving them for so long? How were they, even now, reacting to the news?

  The question was ugly in my mind. Knowing the kind, truth-loving man my father was, it felt cruel to even assign such a label as “liar” to him, but what else could I call his scheme but what it was? And I, at the very center of it, was nearly as duplicitous. Would the people be angry about the lies, or would they rejoice, understanding his motives? Would the losses they had suffered these years allow them to agree that hiding me and my mother away was a necessary defense against the Cobelds, or would they see it as an unforgivable breach of trust with the people of E’veria? I’d been protected from knowing about the prophecy to secure my identity, but did enough of the people know of it to see the hope it offered?

  A light, early supper was brought for the three of us, but I could barely eat. My stomach twisted tighter with every moment the ball drew nearer. Carriages had begun to arrive late in the afternoon, and even though I had purposefully blocked my mind from ascertaining the mood of our guests, I couldn’t help but wonder about it.

  I paced off and on, reciting bits of the scrolls’ poetry, quizzing and being quizzed by Erielle and Julien, but more often than not, I interrupted my own concentration with more troubling thoughts.

  Through night-drenched caverns of silence dimmed, casting spears from halo’s rim . . .

  Night-drenched caverns. Thoughts of darkness, of traveling through pitch-black caves inside Mount Shireya, shadowed me almost as much as my worry. What if E’veria loses all faith in her King when they learn the truth?

  I paused at the window and watched another carriage roll through the gates, and then shook my head and tried to move my mind back toward the scrolls. Silence dimmed. I ruminated on the phrase. How do you dim silence? I resumed my pacing. Will the people be able to forgive my father?

  “Rynnaia.”

  I jumped at the sound of my father’s voice, for I had neither sensed nor heard his arrival.

  I turned. Both Julien and Erielle were gone, but I had not noted their leaving, either.

  “What’s on your mind, child?” he asked gently. “I can barely hold a thought together with your colors battering my mind as they are.”

  “Oh!” My hand flew to my mouth. “I’m sorry, Father.” I closed my eyes and reached inside my mind for the gray swirls that would protect him from my worry.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said as he crossed the room. “I want to know what’s bothering you so much that you are soon to wear a hole through your rug. Sit down and talk to me, Rynnaia. I am your father and I want to listen to you. And give you comfort, if I may.” He took my arm and led me to a chair. He took the one opposite mine and waited while I composed my words.

  “The announcement was yesterday. By now the news has traveled nearly everywhere, I imagine.”

  He nodded. “And?”

  “I’m worried that the people will think you a liar. That they will feel betrayed by the deception. Or that they will doubt the truth of it and believe the announcement itself is a fabrication.”

  “Ahh,” he said. “I see.” He was quiet for some time. “That has always been a possibility at the back of my mind. Any lie, even if told with good intentions, is still a lie. If there is a negative reaction when the truth is revealed, we can only trust in the power of truth itself to use it for good. We must rest in the hope that the truth will be rejoiced over rather than despised.”

  I nodded, but emotion lodged in my throat, bearing worry heavily upon my spirit. “I would rather remain unknown if the revelation results in the people loving you less.”

  He rose from his chair and knelt before me. “Rynnaia,” he said, his smile gentle, “give the people time and have faith in their resilience. Even if they resent the truth, it cannot be changed. You will be their banner and their hope. In time, their Queen.

  “You’ve moved among the wounded, you’ve spoken to the knights, the servants. You’ve heard of their losses, of the travesties and pestilences and deaths that have been doled out to our people by the Cobelds. It’s not just the E’veri family who has suffered these years, Rynnaia. Our separation was difficult and your mother’s illness has been a constant ache in my soul, but when weighed against the losses so many of our subjects have faced?” He shook his head. “Indeed, our suffering is minimal in comparison.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes. He was right.

  “The Cobelds have hurt people in every corner of our Kingdom. We are at war, Rynnaia, and as King I am under no obligation to validate strategies of war.” His tone softened. “But I believe my explanation for the deception was very clear in the messages I sent to the Regents. If they do their duty, the truth will be cause for celebration, not disgrace. E’veria’s beloved Queen Daithia yet lives! There is a living Ryn and, not only that, the Ryn Naia from the prophecy! They will find hope enough in that, of that you can be sure.”

  I leaned forward and my tears released onto his shoulder. His arms came around me and he stroked my hair. “I am so proud of you, Rynnaia. You are more than I ever dreamt of in a daughter . . . and in a princess.”

  “Th-thank you.” I sniffed and pulled back.

  My father handed me a handkerchief, his eyes full of compassion. “Just another few hours and you will be dancing at the ball,” he said and stood. “You have nothing to fear. You are the princess and the Ryn. And the King could not be happier to have you on his arm.”

  “I love you, Father.”

  “I will never tire of hearing that,” he said with a smile. “I love you, too, Rynnaia. So very much. Will your mind rest easier now?”

  I nodded and gave him a tremulous smile. A golden gleam touched my mind. “Erielle’s on her way.” I laughed. “I hadn’t even noticed she’d left.”

  “She’ll be coming to help you ready for the ball, I assume.” He gave me a solid nod. “I’ll leave you to that business. As I recall from when your mother was still here, it’s a bit more involved for a lady to ready for a ball than it is for a man.” I smiled when he chuckled and leaned over to kiss my cheek. “I’ll be back around to escort you to the Grand Hall.”

  I had chosen a moss-green gown to wear, the same color as the Kingdom’s banner. After Erielle exclaimed over the shimmery quality of the fabric, she helped me dress. The wide-scooped neckline touched the tips of my shoulders and sheer ribbons in shades of copper and green trailed from the short sleeves, swaying in the breeze made when I walked, but otherwise leaving my arms bare. The bodice of the dress had similar ribbons attached to it, but they were not free-flowing as on the sleeves. Those ribbons were stitched to the fabric of the dress with a glistening golden thread that crisscrossed the ribbons diagonally until they reached a point just below my waist, and from there hung loosely over the gown’s skirting, swaying with the movement of the many shimmery layers below.

  “Those ribbons remind me of a willow tree I used to climb near the river,” Erielle said when I twirled. “But with the copper mixed in with the green and your flaming head of hair,” she added with a laugh, “it’s a bit like that old willow caught on fire.”

  Her gown was the palest pink, the bodice embroidered with white flowers that also circled the hem.

  “If I’m a willow—”

  “A willow on fire,” she corrected.

  “Indeed.” I laughed. “Then you m
ust be a flowering cherry.”

  She grinned. “It suits. Cherry trees are small like me. So, what other adornments can I affix to your branches?”

  I had quite a selection of jewels at my disposal, but after sampling several elaborate pieces from the chest, I decided the extravagance of my gown called for something simpler. To that end, my only jewelry would be the pendant given to me by my mother just before I left Tirandov Isle, and the silver circlet of vining roses that had once been hers, but had rested on my head nearly every day since I had received it. It was special to me not only because it had been a gift to my mother from my father long ago, but because it carried her Queenly emblem, the flower whose name I answered to for the first nineteen years of my life.

  Erielle pulled my hair back, tucking, rolling, and pinning the sides away from my face, but letting the back hang free. As I lowered the crown into place, the familiar heat of the Emblem of the First greeted me as a brief, bright orange glow in the looking glass. As the light transferred pleasing warmth to my forehead, it brought with it the memory of the voice of The First, the voice that had transformed me in the bay at Tirandov. And with that memory, the assurance that regardless of what would come, he would be with me.

  The sky had darkened while I’d readied for the ball. Soon enough, Erielle departed so that she could be announced with her brothers, and I stood near the fire in an attempt to ward off the chill of nervous energy that trickled about my limbs as I awaited the approach of my father. When he knocked I stayed near the fire but opened the door with my mind. He entered.

  In the short time I had known my father he had never not looked like a King. But tonight, he looked even more so. He wore a moss-green tunic over his ivory shirt with black breeches and boots. Medallions graced the golden sash that crossed his chest from shoulder to waist, and in place of the simple circlet he usually wore, a most definite crown increased his height by the length of my hand from wrist to fingertip.

  “Isn’t that heavy?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  He smiled. “It’s not as bad as you might think,” he said and then laughed. “But it’s been so long since I wore it that I must admit it feels a bit heavier than I remember.”

  He leaned over and kissed my brow and I flinched, expecting the big crown to fall.

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry. It’s quite secure.” He stepped back. “You are a vision, Rynnaia,” he said. “Even if you were not the reason for the ball you would be the belle of it. Now, let me tell you how things will proceed.”

  His tone became slightly more formal, but still retained its warmth as he explained how the evening would progress.

  “Protocol dictates you dance with the higher ranking officials first.”

  I nodded, having expected as much.

  “I am pleased to tell you that I rank highly enough to be your first partner.” He winked and I laughed. My smile faded, however, as he began to recite a series of partners in a list so long I couldn’t possibly hope to remember them in the expected order. But when he mentioned that someone called “The Herald of the Dance,” a master of protocol, would apprise each man of his turn, I suddenly found I could breathe again.

  He resumed listing the partners protocol dictated I danced with and why, speaking of these rules as if they were common annoyances. I wondered how I would ever learn them all.

  “Next will be Kinley. Whittier’s other sons will each be given their dance,” he said, “and then I imagine you will be surrounded by others who will demand your time.”

  “Whittier’s other sons?” I asked. “But only Lewys is—” I gasped. “Surely you don’t mean to say that Rowlen is here?”

  My father’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, Rynnaia. I thought you knew. Whittier’s youngest son arrived just this morning. I didn’t know myself until I received a petition from him offering to provide entertainment.”

  An undignified little squeal of glee escaped my throat and I gave my father an impulsive hug that was fast and tight enough to illicit a slight grunt.

  He laughed. “I had hoped you might find a loving home with Lord and Lady Whittier,” he said. “I am thankful your bond with that family is so dear.”

  “They are very protective of me,” I said after my heart steadied. “With all three of Lord Whittier’s sons here, I fear they may interrogate any man who asks for a dance before they allow him near me.”

  “All the better,” he said with a frown and a nod. “It is too big a hall and too large a crowd for me to be able to watch you every second.” He paused. “There are a few nobles in particular that, while protocol allows each a dance with you, I do not wish you to suffer their company overlong. The herald has been informed. Their time with you shall be brief.”

  “Anyone in particular?”

  “The Earl of Ganeth is the first who comes to mind.” He chuckled. “He is a sweet old man, but has caused many a young lady injury while dancing.” His smile fell. “Another would be Tarlo de Veir, the youngest son of the Duke of Port Dyn.”

  “Is E’veria so full of poor dancing partners, then?”

  “Not at all.” A line formed between my father’s brows. “Tarlo is known as a particularly fine dancer, as I understand it. Quite the charmer as well.” His tone darkened. “But there are rumors that his loyalty may not be as well established as his charm.” He patted my arm. “But you needn’t worry. I’ve assigned knights to shadow anyone whose allegiance I’ve been given particular cause to doubt. But be wary, just the same.”

  “Will there be many here tonight who fit that description?”

  “A few.” He sighed. “Five years ago I would not have imagined that the clans of Dwons would secede from their Regent’s authority and find league with the Cobelds. Now we are at war with our own people.” He paused, shaking his head. “In these circumstances, I believe caution is prudent. The guest list was carefully drawn, but who knows what resentment or greed could cause a weak-willed person to betray his Kingdom? It is times like these that I wish I had your mother’s ability to look into the minds of non-Andoven people. I am glad it’s a gift you share with her, though I don’t envy the noise in your head.” He smiled. “Adjusting my own guard to be up to the task of having Dyfnel, Edru, and you in the palace at the same time has been . . . interesting.”

  “I understand completely.”

  “I’m sure you do.” He nodded, his mood suddenly solemn. “Be on your guard, Rynnaia,” he said, tapping a finger at his temple. “And should you feel at all threatened, do not hesitate to forego Andoven etiquette and seek the truth of a possible enemy’s thoughts.”

  “Do you think there will be spies in the crowd?”

  “It is possible. Among our nobles there are those who are motivated more by greed than justice. It is an all-too-common result of being brought up in privilege.”

  Suddenly, a face sprang vividly to life in his mind. The young man was handsome, but the thought of him deepened my father’s scowl.

  “Tarlo de Veir.” My father named the man in his thoughts when he sensed my question. “He will be shadowed closely.”

  “May I ask by whom?”

  “Sir Kile de Poggen.”

  “Ah.” At last, a name I recognized. Sir Kile had visited Mirthan Hall shortly after he and Kinley were knighted. “I didn’t know Sir Kile was here.”

  “It’s unlikely that you would have seen him, though he has been quite near you,” he said with a smile. “Kile has served as the night guard for your chambers since you arrived. His shift begins at midnight and ends at dawn. He is relieved of duty each day before you rise.”

  “I will be sure to thank him for his service if I see him in the crowd tonight.”

  “And speaking of the crowd,” he said, “our guests are all accounted for and awaiting only for us to commence the dance.”

  He stepped back, bowed, and held out his hand. “May I have the honor, Princess Rynnaia?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Although I had made some progress in learning m
y way around the palace, I had never been up the particular set of stairs, nor down the hallway that led us to the balcony of the Grand Hall. Below us, our guests would have arrived through a much more ornate hallway over which arched a forest-like path of trees carved from marble. This hallway, however, was not only much simpler in design, it was unencumbered by other people, and at its end stood an arched doorway with no door. Instead it was covered by a velvet curtain and flanked by two men wearing the uniform of the palace heralds.

  We stopped a few paces before the curtains and the heralds pulled them open. A small, dark vestibule stretched to meet another curtained doorway.

  “You’ll wait here while I give a short speech,” my father said. “When the herald announces you, the curtains will be drawn back and you may join me on the balcony.”

  I nodded and tried to swallow, but my throat was suddenly dry.

  My father squeezed my hand. “You are first and foremost my daughter, Rynnaia. I am so proud of you. Moreover, you are the Ryn and the Crown Princess of E’veria. Be of good courage. You are an E’veri.”

  He nodded to the heralds. The curtain was pulled back. He stepped through and the curtain closed again. A moment later, the distinctive thrum of the chief herald’s staff against the marble balcony floor sounded.

  I hadn’t even noticed the noise wafting up from the Grand Hall until it suddenly stilled. The silence was so pronounced I could hear the herald’s intake of breath before he announced my father.

  “His Majesty, King Jarryn E’veri!”

  I had expected cheers, or at least a slight smattering of applause, but silence reigned. Was the lack of reaction a sign of respect to the King? Or was it, as I feared, born of a more pointed emotion?

  “Good citizens of E’veria.” My father’s voice was loud enough to carry to the farthest corners of the Grand Hall, but it was as velvet as usual, without any trace of a shout. “Yesterday you learned the greatest, most preciously guarded secret of my reign, a secret which allowed my daughter to grow up without the constant threat of Cobelds thwarting the purpose to which she was born.”