by Shea Godfrey
“I’m sorry.” The Princess Darrius’s hand was still extended. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Jessa placed her hand within the Princess’s. The feel of the strong hand about her own caused a pleasant flutter within Jessa’s chest and she smiled beneath her veil. “Tu an rayza masha-anna,” she breathed, tightening her grip as she rose and stepped close.
Darrius took a small step backward as etiquette demanded, releasing Jessa’s hand and holding forth the shawl. “I’m afraid you must translate, my Lady.”
Jessa found her tongue at last. “Thank you,” she said, taking back the shawl. “You’re most kind, Princess.”
“And you’re most welcome,” Princess Darrius said. She glanced at her sister and lifted her elbow out. “Might we escort you to dinner?”
Emmalyn slipped her right hand in the crook of Darrius’s arm. “By all means. Lady Jessa, this is Lieutenant Bentley Greeves.”
Bentley stepped forward and lowered his head in deference. “Princess, I am most honored to make your acquaintance,” he said formally. “If you would allow me the privilege of being your escort, I would be most pleased.”
Jessa bowed her head in return. “I must enter the great hall with my brother, Lieutenant Greeves, but until then I will most humbly accept your arm.”
“Off we go.” Emmalyn turned to Darry and set them in motion. “Malcolm has promised a feast of delights. It wouldn’t do for us to be late.”
“Yes,” Darry said, “that would be a sin.”
Emmalyn cast her a sideways glance. “You’re looking rather splendid in your dress blacks,” she said.
The uniform had been specially tailored to fit, the jacket flaring at the waist and falling just past Darry’s slim hips over a starched white tunic, her black trousers hugging her strong legs and tucked neatly into calf-high black boots polished to a brilliant shine. On the left breast was the embroidered emblem of her command, a golden mountain panther stitched with an expert hand. On the right were the insignia that announced her rank and several service medals as well, denoting that she had served along the borders of Lyoness and Greymear. She had also sailed for a year with the royal navy, patrolling the Sellen Sea aboard the Queen’s own clipper, the White Zephyr.
Not even their brother Wyatt had managed to accomplish that. Their father had frowned upon such a duty as too dangerous. Darry, however, had gone when her opportunity to do so had arisen. The fact that their father had said naught against Darry for it and had refused to send for the ship’s return still troubled Emmalyn. She was unsure why he had argued for Wyatt’s safety and not Darry’s.
Darry had been just seventeen, and it had been a very long year for those left behind. A year in which their mother had barely spoken to their father, her anger and worry so thick that from solstice to solstice the royal family had been at war within itself.
That war had ended only when Darry walked through the palace gates in her bare feet and worn, weathered uniform. She was as dark as an island native and grinning wildly. Wyatt had been so jealous that Emmalyn had thought he would burst, but he had worn it well and still swelled with pride when the Zephyr was mentioned, trumpeting their sister’s service as if she had conquered the world.
“Darry?”
“Hmm?”
“Nothing.” Emmalyn tightened her hold upon Darry’s arm as they stepped from the stairs into the grand foyer. “Just wondering where you were.”
They neared the doors of the great hall and Darry straightened her shoulders at the sight of their brother Malcolm and the Prince Trey-Jak Joaquin. “Just wishing I was a farmer’s daughter, Em, and you?”
“Bloody well glad you’re not.”
Darry smiled in full, drawing Joaquin’s gaze. She met his hazel eyes and nodded in deference, to which he bowed, as was custom. His brightly colored tunic and waistcoat were a startling shade of green beneath his tan jacket, the embroidery on the lapel and the piping along the jacket cuffs a matching green. His head was shaved extremely close, but he had a long braid hooked forward over his right shoulder. “The Princess Darrius, yes?”
“Prince Joaquin,” Darry said. “A pleasure to meet at last.”
“I’m glad you could join us this evening. I was greatly disappointed that you could not be present at the welcoming banquet.”
His accent was thick and clipped, giving the Arravan words a harsh sound that Darry had not noticed with the Princess Jessa. “Alas, but duty called. A soldier goes where they’re told. Is this not true in Lyoness?”
His smile was instant. “It is true for those not of the Blood, yes.”
Darry ignored the taunt. “But I am just a captain, good Prince, not a commander such as yourself or my brothers.”
“Well, you have limitations,” Joaquin said. “A woman cannot expect to be of the same standing as a true soldier.”
Darry tried very hard not to respond.
Malcolm stepped forward, his blue eyes severe. He wore his own uniform but a vest of silver closed about his white tunic, the decorative buttons onyx and flaring within the light. The jacket sported silver frogging that matched the piping along his trousers. His dark goatee and mustache were trimmed neatly, his thick black hair combed back from his face. “Emmalyn, allow me to escort you?”
“I believe your sister wishes to say something first,” Prince Joaquin said quietly, his attention fierce upon Darry. “Princess?”
Darry smiled at last, taking Emmalyn’s hand and guiding her to Malcolm. “Only that you should enjoy your meal, good Prince, for I hear it will be an absolute feast of delights.”
As Malcolm took Emmalyn’s arm, Darry refused to meet his glance. She never took her eyes from Joaquin.
After a span of time that infringed upon proper etiquette, Joaquin looked past her. “Jessa, hootun ahshee.”
Darry stepped aside as Jessa let go of Bentley’s arm and started forward. Darry smiled and then she winked. Jessa appeared surprised, then lowered her eyes as she stepped past her, her brother taking hold of her elbow.
Bentley stepped close, allowing Darry to lean against him in her leisure. They watched as Prince Joaquin escorted Jessa into the hall. Jessa’s face was lowered and her steps matched those of her taller brother. She had surrendered to his authority in all things, even his gait. “Isn’t he just as sweet as a peach,” Bentley said with a lisp of mocking. “Such a clever boy.”
“I’m thinking he doesn’t like me.”
“Liking has nothing to do with what he thinks of you, or what he might enjoy doing about it.” Bentley chuckled. “Your beauty would appear to cast a wide and salacious net, my inferior female friend.”
Darry returned her attention to the great hall, sighing as Joaquin held out Jessa’s chair and took her hand. The Princess sat with grace, never lifting her eyes. “What a truly unpleasant thought. I’d rather have him drag me behind his horse.” Bentley offered her his elbow and she took it. “Darling, always the gentleman,” she purred, blinking her lashes.
“Let us do our duty and drink your brother’s best spring wine,” he said, “before you goad our foreign dandy into dragging you off by the hair and I’m forced to defend your rather dubious honor.”
“By doing what? Confusing him with your wit until he decides which fist to beat you with?”
Bentley’s step faltered as he sucked down his laughter. Darry merely kept walking, eyes straight ahead as they crossed the room. When they neared the table Bentley pulled out the chair to the right of Jessa’s and Darry flipped her short coattail back and sat as Bentley claimed the seat beside her.
Jessa turned her head slightly as Darrius took up her goblet. She noted the small scars that adorned Darrius’s skin and her fingernails that were trimmed close and neat. It was the hand of a soldier, the strength evident and revealing that her rank was far from ornamental.
At the head of the long table and seated to his father’s right, Malcolm stood, drawing everyone’s attention as he lifted his goblet. “Again, I welcome our
guests from the western lands. Tonight, in honor of their stay, we have prepared a meal of Ibarris venison from the land of the Green Hills. I bid you enjoy.”
Goblets were raised and Joaquin nodded at the honor.
The servers entered from the kitchens carrying trays laden with food: leeks and peppers in a thick wine sauce, freshly baked breads, and steaming platters of rare venison and spiced potatoes. The hall filled with the smells as plates were set before the guests accompanied by pitchers of spring wine and chilled water, as well as a sweet juice made from unfermented grapes.
Jessa closed her eyes at her plate. The sight of the venison sent a swell of nausea through her and a rush of heat within her chest. While considered a luxury to most, venison was forbidden to the followers of the Vhaelin. The stag was a sacred animal and the messenger of her gods. Jessa was trapped. If she didn’t eat the delicacy provided by Prince Malcolm she would insult him and her brother would make her pay for the slight.
Jessa felt something brush against her right arm and she opened her eyes.
Princess Darrius lifted Jessa’s plate smoothly and replaced it quickly with her own. Jessa stared at the plate of fresh fruit and a thick fillet of smoked fish decorated with spicy red peppers. Startled, she looked at the Princess, who picked up her knife and fork, surveying her new dinner.
“He doesn’t know, Princess,” she said, stabbing the steak of venison. She placed it on top of Bentley’s, who lifted his cutlery out of the way as she did so. Darrius set her fork down and reached for a pear from the bowl in front of her. “I do not care to eat venison on principle. The animal is much too beautiful to end up on my plate merely because someone was good with a bow. I don’t approve of such an unfair fight,” she said. “The cooks know this.”
Jessa watched as Darrius cut her honeyed pear in half and then returned to the inviting food before her. She lifted her own fork and tried to find her tongue in response to the unexpected kindness. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Vhaelin essa ahbwalla.”
“Ahbwalla essa,” Jessa automatically responded, startled yet again as the words of the Vhaelin blessing passed her lips. She looked once more at Darrius, who was studying the edge of her knife. “You worship the Vhaelin, Princess?”
“No, I do not. But you do, yes?”
“I do.”
They stared at one another for the span of several heartbeats and Darry flashed a grin, the dimple pressing into her left cheek. “You shall have to explain to me, then, how I might avoid their Blood Fires.”
Jessa looked at her, confused.
“I said I do not worship them, not that I didn’t believe,” Darrius said. “My mother tells me frequently that I shall wind up somewhere unholy for being such a terrible cad. I’m merely trying to avoid the more unsavory destinations.”
Jessa laughed. That was the last response she had expected to hear. “If you’re destined for the Blood Fires of the Vhaelin, Princess, I’m afraid there’s naught you may do about it.”
“Then I shall have to enjoy myself more while I am able. It shall take some effort, I think,” Darrius said, then chuckled. “Eat your dinner, my Lady.”
Jessa returned to her plate, delighted if not somewhat confused. She rarely felt at ease with anyone, much less a stranger, but “at ease” described her condition exactly. And wonderfully off balance as well. The feeling was not at all unpleasant.
Darry cast her gaze down the table, running straight into the stern appraisal of Prince Trey-Jak Joaquin. She returned his stare and then smiled without guile, giving a small wave with her knife still in hand.
Emmalyn watched her. “Darrius.”
Darry contrived an expression that embodied innocence as honeyed-pear juice coated her lips. “What?”
Emmalyn looked as if she could hardly keep herself from laughing. She often said that though Darry walked a fine line, she did so with such enjoyment and unrepentant daring that it was extremely difficult not to share in her humor. “I swear to Gamar, if Mother doesn’t skin you alive I shall do it for her.”
Darry swallowed awkwardly as Bentley laughed at the reprimand. “What’ve you done now?”
“Nothing,” Darry said, reaching for her wine.
Bentley made a face and returned to his venison, carving a sizeable piece. “You don’t actually need to tease him,” he said so only Darry could hear. “He’ll still want to fuck you.”
Darry sputtered into her wine, closing her eyes to avoid the back spray as Bentley smiled in satisfaction.
She swallowed and cursed, setting the goblet down and reaching out. Jessa’s fingers brushed hers as she placed a napkin in her palm. Darry wiped carefully at her mouth and left eye, praying silently that her mother’s attention was occupied elsewhere. She cast a furtive glance to her left but Jessa appeared to be enjoying her meal with a hint of a smile.
*
Jessa moved unseen within the shadows of the night, the spell she had cast familiar to her lips. Her cloak was pulled close about her body and its hood was wide and dark, enclosing her face. She had removed her bangles and veil, and her slippers were as silent as dust upon the stones. The spell did not make her invisible, but it allowed her to blend within the shadows and even the light, if need be, disguising her form as just another turn of darkness within the night.
Blackstone Keep was a magnificent structure, and even though the towers of the Jade Palace pierced the sky, she was discovering that it could not compare to the royal seat of Arravan. The outer curtain encompassed almost three times the space, and the stones of its walls were a mixture of granite and black rock, the combination not only beautiful but nearly impenetrable, their color having given the palace its name. The outer walls stood nearly thirty feet high and eight feet thick, and she gauged it to be two leagues or more upon each side.
The inner curtain stood taller yet, the towers and ramparts allowing for an easy defense in support of the outer ward and beyond. Though it was clearly designed for defense, the architect had also kept beauty in mind. The inner ward was wonderfully open, every measure of space planned to perfection with living quarters on all sides of the residence, with spiraling staircases and sweeping rises. Arches of cut marble and carved blackwood prevailed, with massive doors of teak that swung on pins of steel, making their massive weight irrelevant. And windows were everywhere, stained glass and open casements that required only the shutters be closed against the elements. Unexpected skylights opened high within the ceilings, protected by thick panes of glass that allowed a surprising amount of sunlight to fall within the building. Even the moonlight passed through them, illuminating the corridors with its pale glow.
Carpets and heavy tapestries adorned the walls, brilliant scenes of Arravan’s history on display. And within the inner bailey were the gardens and the keep with its great hall, the foyer, and a solar. The Queen’s Library and the lesser halls for minor functions surrounded these, with the kitchens at the heart of it all. The throne room was there as well, connected to the council chamber and the great hall, though Jessa had yet to see the throne of Arravan itself.
Many of the rooms and private chambers within the residence had two entrances, one that led into the closed interior and one to the outer balustrade. Slanted roofs offered protection from the rain and elements, yet provided the feel of a walk outside, despite the fact that the stones beneath were high above the ground. Some of the chambers, such as her own, were built within odd spaces that allowed for both entrances as well as a balcony, the stone jutting out upon smooth corners and curved towers.
As Jessa moved along just such a terrace walk, keeping close to the inner wall, she realized that she had never been in a more welcoming place. She had yet to know the people, though her opinions were forming quickly, but the palace itself had been constructed with obvious love and care. She was certain hidden corridors and pathways known only to a few existed, for such was the nature of a palace. It was clean and open, and much too inviting not to acutely appreciate it.
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As she neared one of the open staircases that would take her down to the main level, she stopped beside the stone rail and tried to gauge the size of the barracks and the stables, the latter bordered by fertile green paddocks and straight planked fences. She took in the bulk of the massive armory and the wide practice yards beyond the barracks with its watch bell tower. She could see torches within the towers of the outer wall and light from the guard posts near the main gate.
She could smell the sea and lifted her face toward the Bay of Alirra, seeing the lights of Lokey spread beneath the palace and spill in twisting streets toward the harbor. Several ships were anchored there, waiting through the night tides upon their moorings and the massive piers. She wondered how the palace might appear from below to one of those ships sailing into Arravan’s largest port.
When a distinctive voice intruded upon her explorations, Jessa stepped back from the rail and drifted through the shadows along the wall, waiting, then catching a second voice. Common sense told her to avoid them, but her curiosity took hold and she searched them out instead, silent as she descended the stairs. As she neared the bottom the voices began to take shape. Jessa spied the deepest shadows and slipped within their protection.
“Do you think I didn’t see you?”
“I didn’t think of you at all, actually.”
Prince Malcolm faced Darrius as she sat on the rail. Darrius had removed her jacket, which lay neatly beside her. “This was a formal function, Darrius, not a tavern for you and your friend Greeves to make a mockery of.”
Jessa found the darkness beneath the staircase and drifted into the thickest part of its gloom, standing as still as the stones behind her.
“We did no such thing and you know it,” Darry answered in a tired voice. “I’m sorry if you thought so. That wasn’t my intention.”
“You engaged the Princess in conversation? As if she were just another guest at my table?”
Darrius’s eyes were sharp. “It is our father’s table, Malcolm, not yours. And I treated her as I would a friend. For the love of Gamar, you had her seated half a world away from the people she knows. Did you not consider she might be nervous?”
