by H. R. Rekow
“Where’s Grem?” he asked his master again.
Vintron did not answer as his grip on the discreetly sheathed sword tightened.
“Master? Master—”
“By the Powers, Horven!” Vintron snapped. “Stop whining like a she-elf wench and be a man!”
Horven fell silent and the men walked on. Vintron said nothing, his shoulders bunched as his eyes darted to and fro, though he kept his head stationary. Both men trailed drops of blood as their swollen, bruised feet carried them on. They had traveled nonstop since the night before, their limbs now heavy and eyes drooping. Yet they could not stop; they had to flee because of their failure. Their employer was anything but a forgiving man.
Horven heaved a sigh as he looked over his shoulder once again, breath quivering though his lips. “Master, Grem has been gone long enough. People don’t take that long to relieve themselves.” He turned to his master with a questioning gaze.
“I know,” Vintron whispered grimly. He did not pause in his steps. He pressed on without a word, his eyes darting between a hawk above them and the horizon.
Horven’s eyes widened in realization and he adjusted his hold on his staff. “He’s dead?” Vintron responded by quickening his stride. “It was just a girl!” Horven gasped as he raced past his mater wildly. “A woman! Lady—what’s-her-face? Olivia? I don’t understand why she needs to die, just a girl. Don’t see why it’s so horrible we failed either—”
Something splattered his face and chest, like little drops of rain. “Stones on bones—” The drops were sticky and warm and red as blood. A heavy, limp form collapsed onto him from behind. With a cry, Horven found himself on the ground and pressed low as a weight held him down. “Master!” he cried. “Help!”
He writhed under the weight, knowing their employer had found them and punishment was near. Horven’s chest heaved as he clawed to free himself, but the weight would not budge. He felt suddenly warm, as though taking a bath in the hot springs close to his home as a boy. Yes, warm and sticky. Horven looked all around, eyes frantic. Someone was gasping. Red was everywhere, red like blood.
Horven’s panting caught in his throat, his blood chilling. Every muscle stiffened. On top of him was Grem, his mouth open in gurgled wheezes as his eyes stared intensely at Horven. His throat was gone and severed arteries gushed blood, similar to the waterfall in Horven’s hot spring memories. They looked into one another’s eyes with panic.
“Horven!” Vintron shouted. “Get up! Go. . . . poisoned air—”
His master’s words were cut off and replaced by a shriek. With all his might, Horven shoved Grem away and scrambled to his feet. Vintron’s shriek turned to gagging, then cracking like splintering kindling, and cold silence. Horven commanded his feet to run, but they did not listen. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder to see who had killed his master and comrade. His eyes widened at the sight of the attacker and he collapsed, hands raised above his head as he shouted pleas.
A hulk of a beast stood before him. He had the likeness of a wolf, yet he was large as a bear with long limbs. His fur was thick and gray, and he had fangs long enough to jut out from his jaws. The beast’s front paws were fingered like a human hand, and his shoulders were broad, like a man’s. The beast turned from Vintron’s mangled, broken body and faced Horven, his yellow eyes alive as blood caked his mouth and his fangs dripped with drool.
“Please, Lord Septimus,” Horven whimpered. “Spare—sp . . . Oh, poisoned air!”
The beast walked toward him and, with a sudden bounce of his front paws, stood on his hind legs and walked like a stooped man. The werewolf towered over Horven and grinned at the shaken human. “Lady Olivia is still alive. You failed my master,” Septimus growled, his fur bristling. “No one fails him; unlucky thing to do.”
“My lord—”
“No one.”
“Please!”
The next day ravens and a hawk were found picking apart three crushed bodies.
Chapter 2
A Half-Giant and She-Elf
Lady Olivia, her eyes closed, gasped as the caravan stopped. Her breath quivered as she drew it in. She peered out the wagon window and dared to look around, for they had reached their destination. The grind of weathered gears filled her ears as the only fortress’s gate closed behind them. A high, stone wall surrounded the keep, and lookout towers were stationed along the perimeter. Archers and men-at-arms kept a watchful eye of the newcomers, fires flickering beside each lookout post. The guards stared down at the visitors, hands on the hilts of their swords, until they realized the strangers were harmless. Their shoulders relaxed as they returned to their muttered conversations.
A castle stood before Olivia, its weathered stone face etched by time, its dark windows watching the commotion below. Flags tossed this way and that from the castle’s towers, the dampened crimson fabric contrasting with the gray sky and the rain-pelted brown land.
The smell of grease and smoke drifted from one side of the castle as cooks prepared the day’s meal. The lowing of cows, squawks of chickens, and neighs of horses could be heard from across the yard. Stewards rushed to and fro directing the daily progress. Two young boys shoveled the mud-caked courtyard to find dry ground for Tulaun’s future queen. The castle was Crown Haven, the halfway point where Olivia and Prince Theron were to meet at last.
A throat cleared close to Olivia and she glanced up with a start. She stiffened at the sight of Aunt Primis, and her eyes darted to the ground. Countess Primis stared at her niece and abruptly flicked a stray lock of hair behind Olivia’s ear. “You are to be queen!” she hissed. Olivia cringed at the touch of her cold fingers. “Therefore, carry yourself as such.”
“Yes, my lady.” Olivia’s voice was small and hushed.
Countess Primis’s eyes narrowed. “Is that how a queen speaks? So timid and small!”
“No, my lady.”
Primis heaved a sigh and shook her head. “Do not disgrace my family!” Olivia’s hands clenched together. “Do not encourage your uncle and me to dread the day we took you in. Never forget our hospitality!” Olivia did not answer as she felt Countess Primis’s glare burn a hole completely through her. “Get out.” Primis stepped back as a servant opened the wagon’s door. Her glass heart beat against her chest and she thought of crying, but it would only make matters worse.
Olivia stepped out of the wagon onto a stool to keep her from the grimy ground. Cedany took hold of the end of her kirtle and held it above the mud. The servants, squires, and men-at-arms attended to the horses and luggage with grunted commands and practiced efficiency. Countess Primis and Earl Quinn followed Olivia as Krea supported Olivia’s arm, Nan trailing last of all. They walked from their wagons to a wide stairway leading to the battered oaken doors of the castle’s main entrance.
Lady Olivia glanced over her shoulder at her aunt and uncle. Why let her lead? They had never given her the higher privilege before. They stared at her and Olivia turned away, though she knew they were critiquing her with unmerciful precision. When will they ever leave? Soon. When I am proclaimed as queen. She tried to lift her chin and find hope in her aunt and uncle’s departure.
Along the castle’s steps, on either side, stood the stewards, the chamberlain, and a host of workers. Each was dressed in their best shoes and stockings; their cloaks had been washed the day before, and the hay had been picked from the earth-toned fabrics. The estate’s Seer stood to the right of Crown Haven’s lord. His small frame was dressed in a crimson robe that dragged the ground and his bare feet were icy and blue in the chilled wind. Beside him was his Song Bearer. Though the young apprentice was not dressed in red, he was also bare-footed. Crown Haven’s duke stood at the head of all, and a Lunaris was to the left of him, the she-elf smiling as Lady Olivia approached.
The duke was an enormous man, and he stepped forward to help Olivia up the stairs. “Greetings. Crown Haven welcomes Tulaun’s forthcoming queen.” He was an aged man, his coal black skin wrinkled and his hair speckle
d with gray. His oversized hands and feet revealed his blood was not pure: he was half man, half giant. Olivia eyed his intricately detailed tunic and furred sleeves and collar. She had not expected a half-blooded duke to be as wealthy as he, yet she remembered the half-blood had tutored the prince, and wealth always follows royalty.
The duke stooped low to take hold of Olivia’s hand, his black fingers contrasting against her ivory skin. She saw his eyes were pale blue and looked as though they were made of ice. “I am Duke Aldret, and it is an utmost pleasure to open my dwelling to you and yours, and to see you again.” He bent down and kissed her hand. Olivia wanted to pull away, for she could smell him; fruit wine with an underlying smell of quail’s flesh.
She forced herself to smile. “May The Wizard forever grace your halls, my lord.”
He released her hand and stood to his full height, high, high above her. Olivia swallowed hard and looked away. Duke Aldret turned to lead them inside, but stopped as his icy eyes fell on Nan.
“What is this? A Wilder!”
Olivia stiffened at his sharp voice. Nan’s jaw clenched as hateful looks from all assembled were cast upon her. A guard on the closest lookout tower notched an arrow onto his bowstring.
“No,” Olivia whispered with a shake of her head. “She was born and raised close to Deep Wilds, yet is not one of them. I swear by the One in Red.”
Duke Aldret turned to Quinn and motioned at Nan. “Her darkened skin and brown eyes say otherwise.”
“She is not a Wilder,” Earl Quinn said as he stepped forward, his jaw set and eyes ablaze. “I kill such barbarians. I favor the mace over the sword. Their weak skulls crack easily against it.”
Duke Aldret grunted with a nod. “Worthy answer.”
Olivia let out a breath as he turned away. Nan’s nostrils flared, and she gave Earl Quinn a hot look. She held her tongue and lifted her chin as the hostile looks withdrew, one by one.
The half-giant motioned to the Lunaris beside him, and she stepped forward. Her skin, slightly hued with powder blue, was unusually tan for a Lunaris, and her long hair blew in the breeze like black waves. Her eyes were purple and the ears peeking out from her hair were turned up at the tips. Her several ear piercings and free hair set her apart from the women of Tulaun. Her tall, slender form bowed low and with grace.
“Mistress Sobriina les Desoreel of O’Taro Province is the name I was blessed with,” the she-elf said. “I will be your faithful servant and beside you, as a shadow.” She stood to her full height and smiled down at Olivia.
“I am grateful.” Olivia nodded respectfully. She noticed Sobriina’s fine belt, and the silver broach embedded in the leather. She was a royal friend, no doubt, and a pure Suvarian elf too. Her company would be interesting.
Sobriina’s smile broadened. “A hot bath has been drawn and sits in waiting for its lady.” A smile finally blossomed on Olivia’s rosy lips.
Duke Aldret moved back to let Olivia pass. “Mistress Sobriina shall inform you, my lady, when repast is prepared.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Olivia bowed and ascended the stairs, her ladies-in-waiting and bodyguard beside her. As she passed the castle workers, each bowed until her shadow had gone by. Olivia watched them out of the corner of her emerald eyes and frowned. She had been bowed to before, but not like this, not like one with royal blood in their veins.
“Earl Quinn,” the half-blood duke said. Olivia turned a listening ear as Duke Aldret and her uncle nodded to one another in a wordless greeting.
Earl Quinn straightened once Aldret lifted his head, and motioned to the stiff woman beside him. “You remember my wife, Countess Primis.”
“My lord.”
“Countess Primis.” Aldret took her hand and kissed it as she bowed. The half-blood smiled politely, yet unemotional, and turned back to Quinn. “The legality of the marriage will be deliberated upon the prince’s arrival.”
“When?”
Aldret shrugged helplessly. “The Wizard alone knows. The prince is dependably unorthodox. However, it is predicted that within a fortnight he will come. Possibly sooner. The Western Border is still in need of him, for Wilders keep threatening the boundary. The barbaric tribesmen are resilient, yet not impossible to defeat.”
Earl Quinn nodded. “So I have heard.”
“How was the journey?”
“Eventful,” Quinn muttered. “Suspected intruders—cursed peasants!—came into camp one night.”
“By the Silver Eye.”
“If you will follow my steps and guidance, my lady.” Olivia looked up the stairs to Sobriina as she gestured to the oaken doors of the castle. She glanced away and took in a breath before continuing. As two stewards opened the doors, Olivia wrapped her cloak tighter to her body, and followed Sobriina into Crown Haven.
The entrance gave way to the Great Hall. The high ceiling and length of the hall caused all sound to echo from one end to the other. Guards stood on either side of the doorway, their eyes directed ahead, weapons sheathed but ready. One had a dog seated beside him.
Servants bustled past, heads lowered in a bow until their queen-to-be walked by. The hall was adorned with tapestries that told stories of ancient heroes, both historical and fictional. Amid the seamed stories were life-size tapestries of past royalty. Olivia looked up into the sewn eyes of several queens and noticed some smiled, yet most did not.
I’ll be up there, too. Olivia pictured herself dressed in furs and finery, stitched into a tapestry to hang for all to see. Her eyes fell to the floor and she swallowed. A wall-length fireplace blazed and filled one side of the room with orange light and warmth. Smoke billowed about the high ceiling and gradually found its way out the opened windows.
Wolfhounds sat beside the fire and crunched fresh bones; their moistened noses twitched as the new arrivals passed. A lengthy, wooden dining table lined with benches ran through the center of the hall. Though the fire burned and tapestries warded off the cold air, a chill still seeped through the stone walls and floor.
The small party followed Sobriina as she climbed the stairs and walked down a long passageway. “I am closely bound to the royal family,” she said as she led with long strides, her back straight and head high like any Suvarian nobility. “It was they who asked me so favorably if I could offer a helping hand to the nation’s fresh queen.”
Olivia nodded. “I am grateful, yet you are far from home. O’taro Province, correct?”
“Indeed.” Sobriina nodded. “I was already here, in Tulaun, when the prince needed a woman’s touch in welcoming you.”
“And why were you in Tulaun?”
“Because of my father, Master Offron de Desoreel. Illness snuck its way into his life and would not leave, no matter how hard we tried. I went to find a cure.” They rounded a corner and caught two children singing as they carried armfuls of firewood. The youngsters quieted, and the women smiled down at their round, soot-dusted faces.
“And did you?” Olivia asked as they continued on.
“Did I what, my lady?”
“Did you find a cure for your father?”
Sobriina’s smile twitched. “Yes. He is well now. The prince and I met as my quest came to an end. I was in need of shelter, and he-” She grinned. “-He has an open heart. Friendship was bound by firm cords that shan’t fray. He specifically wished I would help his future maiden settle upon her arrival. I am rightly pleased he did so.”
Olivia glanced at the she-elf. “Hum,” she mused. I hope he’s friendly to me.
“Ah . . . here we are.” Sobriina came to a stop and motioned to Olivia’s assigned chamber. She opened the door and faced the young lady. “A pleasant bath sits in waiting, and your luggage will be brought up.” Olivia nodded as she walked into her new room, followed by Nan and the two other ladies-in-waiting. Olivia’s bodyguard stationed himself on one side of the door and did not move, his arms crossed and his gaze as firm as his shoulders. Mistress Sobriina stood at the doorway and fidgeted with one of her several earrings. �
��If you need anything, simply shout, and I shall fly to your side.”
“Very good,” Olivia said over her shoulder.
Sobriina watched Olivia, her purple eyes searching. Olivia turned to the she-elf and her eyes narrowed questioningly until Sobriina took a breath and stepped forward. “May I be so bold, my lady, as to speak as friends whisper in the darkened hours?”
Olivia blinked and lifted her chin. She crossed her arms over her chest and stepped back. “All right.” This shall be interesting.
Sobriina uncrossed Olivia’s arms, and gently took hold of her hands. Olivia opened her mouth to protest, but no words came to mind. Sobriina held the young lady’s gaze and smiled. “Prince Theron would be a prince among men even if his blood was not royal. He is a good man. A fine man! Your heart will join firmly to his faster than lightning, for I have felt his friendship and kind words. Our souls were bound without trying; therefore, I know your heart will cling to his soon enough.”
Olivia looked away and almost pulled back, but she held her ground as Sobriina studied her. “If I were in your skin, I would thank The Wizard for his blessed hand. You are fortunate.”
Olivia faced the she-elf, her head cocked to one side. “You are elvish. Do you not follow the Suvarian way of revering your dead Solaric kings? Aren’t they your supreme beings, not The Wizard?”
“Suvarian kings, though noble and worthy of a higher standing, are still elves. They lived. They died. The Wizard can never die. But do not stray from the topic, my lady.”
Olivia looked at her feet and huffed under her breath. Sobriina squeezed her hands, and released them. “The prince will arrive in due time. I suggest you prepare your inner self for his coming.” With a smile and a graceful bow, the Lunaris shut the door.
Olivia let out a held breath and closed her eyes, rubbing her temple and not knowing how to receive Sobriina’s words. Nan watched her lady, her brows drawn low in concern, but said nothing.
