by R. J. Grieve
“Celedorn was the only one of us with any sense,” the Prince admitted. “I’m not sure, with hindsight, that I liked my thoughts being probed.”
Just then, the Captain approached them, followed by some servants carrying their belongings. Celedorn took back his sword with alacrity.
“My name is Naldian,” The Captain informed them. “I have been instructed to show you to your apartments. I trust,” he added, unbending a little from his icy aloofness, “that you understand the reason for my earlier caution. The curtain of adamant that protects us is said to be impenetrable, you can therefore imagine the shock sustained by my patrol when you suddenly appeared through it.”
The Prince smiled, never proof against an apology. “There are no hard feelings, Captain. My country too faces the threat of the Turog, only we have no protection other than our swords.”
“The Turog have never broken through the curtain - I dare not even think of what would happen if they did,” Naldian said gloomily. Then abruptly changing the subject, he said: “You will dine with the King this evening - an honour indeed. Tomorrow I am at your disposal to show you the sights. The ladies, I’m sure, would like to see the King’s gardens and the city. Then there is the military school, the market and the great library.”
Relisar’s eyes glistened. “A library,” he breathed reverently. “How many volumes?”
“Over ten thousand, dating from the days of the Old Kingdom.”
Elorin laughed: “Ten thousand? I think there is little chance of our enjoying the benefit of Relisar’s company during our stay.”
The others laughed, but the Captain shot her a strange look which no one intercepted.
Their apartments were in a distant wing of the palace, close to the boundary wall with the city. The rooms were on the first floor, above a dining hall occasionally used by officers of the royal guard. For the first time in many long months, Elorin found she had a room to herself. She reflected wryly that the last room in which she had enjoyed solitude had been her prison at Ravenshold. Nothing could have been more different. Her room was luxury indeed. A large bed with a gilded headboard sat in the centre of the room, covered by a feather quilt encased in crimson silk. A polished dresser was set with silver combs and some gold-topped scent bottles and the window was screened by red silk curtains. It was nearly dark and candles had been lit on the dresser, casting golden patterns on the white ceiling. She dropped her pack on the floor and flopped back onto the bed.
“Wonderful,” she sighed, and promptly fell asleep.
Elsewhere in the palace someone was not so content. The old Queen clung to her son’s hand, deeply disturbed. “They bring trouble, my son. I feel it most strongly. The old man has gifts he does not even realise. He merely lacks the confidence to use them, but even so, he tore a rent in the curtain of adamant - I read it in his mind. He is a danger to our safety. Also this girl with no name troubles me. She has a strange fate laid upon her, of which she is yet unaware. I cannot tell what it may be, but it bodes ill for us.”
“And the dark one?”
“Him, I both hate and fear. I cannot penetrate his mind. In all my years, I have never found a single human being who could close his mind to me, but he can. If he had repulsed me using physical force instead of strength of will, he would have flung me across the room. His refusal was utterly violent.”
“Do you think he has spiritual power?”
“No, I do not sense that, just a great determination and a strength of will that is rare. Watch him, my son, watch all of them.”
The next week passed very pleasantly. Once Naldian had dropped his reserve, he proved to be a pleasant and knowledgeable companion. The incident with the old Queen appeared to be forgotten and on the several occasions when they dined with the King, he refused to hear of their departure with such jovial insistence that they felt obliged to stay a little longer. This was no hardship to any of them, with perhaps the exception of Celedorn.
Relisar was soon introduced to the magnificent library and immediately made a fast friend of its guardian - an elderly man who shared his passion for ancient manuscripts. Elorin’s prediction proved true, for apart from occasions when he was dragged forcibly away from his books to dine with the King, little was seen of him.
Elorin and Triana soon discovered the delights of the busy town with its many wares guaranteed to attract the feminine eye. Naldian took the Prince as his guest to the officers’ mess. Celedorn was invited to go hunting with them but refused, explaining to the Prince that he only enjoyed hunting things that could fight back. So largely he found himself left to his own devices. He began to disappear off on his own shortly after breakfast each day and what he did for the rest of the day, no one quite knew. In fact he was exploring the city, getting to know its streets and its gates, acquainting himself with escape routes - should such an event become necessary. He did not entirely take the King’s smiles at their apparent value. Ever since his encounter with the old woman, he had been restless, conscious of a desire to leave the kingdom that he could not quite explain. Moreover, he had noticed that the King paid marked attention to Triana, his eyes dwelling upon her with a warmth that Celedorn could only see ending in trouble.
The others, aware of being treated only with kindness and generosity, were therefore surprised to discover that he had purchased five horses which he had stabled at an inn in a quiet part of the city.
“Why not stable them at the palace?” asked the Prince. “It’s more convenient and I’m sure the King wouldn’t mind.”
“I find myself reluctant to let the King know that we possess them. I have noticed how he always finds an excuse to prevent us from leaving. The latest is that we must attend a banquet, but we must resume our journey soon, for autumn is not so far away and the time is approaching when we had hoped to be at the Harnor.”
They had all met in the Prince’s room. Elorin, who had been perched on the edge of the dresser swinging her legs, jumped down and asked Celedorn to show her the horses. He looked surprised but was glad to have the chance to enjoy her company alone. He was soon leading her through a maze of twisting, cobbled streets that were somewhat less grand than the main avenues that Naldian had been showing them. He turned down many side streets and cut across so many alleys, that soon Elorin was completely lost.
“You certainly seem to know your way around the city.”
“Yes, I have been putting my time to good use. I feel the moment is approaching when the King’s pleasant smiles may cease. We should be prepared for a very hurried departure.”
“You think he would prevent us leaving?”
“Let’s just say that I am not convinced that his reluctance to let us leave, stems purely from his enjoyment of our company.”
“I noticed that when the subject of leaving comes up, Naldian always avoids the issue. The Prince, too, is getting restless, aware always of the need to get home to Eskendria. You are right. This matter will come to a head soon.”
They turned into the courtyard of an old inn, a little shabby, but homely nonetheless. Celedorn led the way around the back of the building to the stables and they entered to be greeted by the pleasant, musky smell of straw and horses. Five swift-looking horses were in the stalls.
“Which one is mine?” she asked.
He indicated a grey horse. “I had a notion you liked greys.”
She crossed to it and stroked its velvet nose. “You remembered. The horse you lent me at Ravenshold was a grey and he was the nicest-natured horse I have ever ridden.”
He stood watching her, leaning against a post, his arms folded. She continued patting the horse - which seemed completely overcome by so much attention - and was unaware of how intensely she was being regarded.
“Have you noticed how the King looks at Triana?” she asked suddenly, revealing that her mind had not been on her equine companion.
“I noticed. Every day that we stay here the situation seems to become more complicated.”
“Andarion intends to leave a
fter this banquet - he hasn’t said so, but I sense it. He is waiting for the invitations to arrive back at the palace.”
But when they returned to their quarters, they discovered that he had already received them. He was sitting alone in the dining hall, studying three gilt-edged cards with concern.
“What are those?” Elorin asked.
“The invitations to the banquet.” He halted awkwardly, then said in a rush: “There’s a problem. I don’t quite know how to tell you this, but you and Celedorn have not been included in the invitation because you are... you are...” he floundered.
It was left to Celedorn to finish the sentence. “Not of noble birth. The Captain let drop something to that effect.”
The Prince looked discomfited. “I’ve a good mind not to go because of that, but a refusal would cause grave offence.”
Elorin shrugged carelessly, in a manner that deceived one of her companions but not the other. “Of course you must go. I’m not offended because I have not the smallest desire to go. Such events can be so boring, having to make polite conversation to total strangers. I, for one, am quite relieved to get out of it.”
The Prince’s brow lightened. “Really?”
“Of course.”
When she had gone, Celedorn slowly sat down in the chair facing the Prince across the table.
“I take it you are not offended either?” Andarion asked.
“No, such occasions do not interest me, but I must ask you to obtain an invitation for Elorin.”
The Prince was startled. “But she just said that.....”
Celedorn interrupted, surprised by the Prince’s lack of perception. “I know what she just said but she is merely putting a brave face on it. She has been hurt by the fact that she has been deemed unworthy to receive an invitation. Oblige me by going to Captain Naldian and using your influence to secure an invitation card for her. Tell him that although her birth is not known for certain, you have reason to believe that she is of a noble family.”
“But.....”
“Tell him whatever you like,” snapped Celedorn, “but get that invitation for her. You can tell her that there was a mix-up and her card was misplaced.”
“Do you want me to do the same for you?”
Celedorn laughed sourly. “Most certainly not. There may be doubt about Elorin’s birth, but there is absolutely none about mine.” He rose to leave, then looked back. “Oh, and by the way, on no account reveal to Elorin that I intervened in this matter. Let her think she was invited all along and that her card was merely overlooked.”
On leaving the Prince, Celedorn, with another mission in mind, headed with determination up the stairs to the corridor where their apartments were situated and knocked gently on one of the doors.
Triana, who had been sitting in her room sewing peacefully, was startled to see who her visitor was.
“Celedorn!” she exclaimed in surprise.
He was perfectly well aware that she found him disconcerting and was more than a little amused by it. However he greeted her gravely, his thoughts not appearing on his face.
“I wish to ask a favour of you, Triana,” he announced, noting her instantly wary look. “Andarion is securing an invitation for Elorin to attend the banquet and I wish you to purchase a dress for her.”
He crossed to her as he spoke and set several gold coins into her hand. “I understand that such events are very formal and that everyone will attend in their finest clothes. I don’t want Elorin to feel that she is at a disadvantage, so I would ask that the dress be of the finest materials - silk, or whatever.”
She was staring at him in amazement, as if hardly able to take in what he was saying. He knew well the reason for her reaction but pretended to misunderstand.
“Is that not enough?” he asked, indicating the gold.
“Oh! Er....yes, more than enough,” she stammered.
“Buy her whatever else she needs and if you need more money, come to me. Choose something in blue - it’s her favourite colour.”
“I.......yes, of course.”
He turned to leave, aware that he had utterly confounded her and gaining a certain wicked satisfaction from the knowledge, but as his hand touched the door handle, he abruptly turned back. “One other thing, I must extract from you a promise not to tell anyone, especially Elorin, that I did this. Do you understand?”
A little cowed by his stern look, she nodded vigorously but apparently he was not satisfied.
“Give me your word,” he demanded.
“I promise,” she replied, aware of a sense of disappointment that Elorin would never know who her benefactor was.
“Good,” he said, his expression lightening. A flicker of humour lurked in his eyes. “I will now remove my very disturbing presence from your sight.”
Caught by surprise, Triana laughed despite herself, liking him better that she had ever done.
It had been Celedorn’s intention to return to the stables, but when he emerged in the busy streets, he put his hand in his pocket and encountered something he had forgotten about. He set the little object on his palm and studied it thoughtfully, then reaching a decision, he turned abruptly on his heel and strode off in the direction of the broad avenues where the merchants traded their wares.
Unfortunately, the Prince, being a poor liar, was not quite able to convince Elorin that her invitation had merely been overlooked, and instead, all his denials only served to convince her that he had gone to a great deal of trouble to obtain it for her. It did not occur to her that Celedorn might have had a role to play, and all the Prince achieved was to establish the firm conviction in her mind that his efforts on her behalf spoke of a deeper regard for her than she had hitherto suspected.
Triana unwittingly added fuel to the misconception. On asking Elorin if she would accompany her to a dressmaker to be measured for a gown suitable for the occasion, she was met with an instant refusal. It began to emerge that Elorin’s pride was offended by the thought of receiving charity from Triana.
Triana, confronted with such recalcitrance, carefully thought over her promise to Celedorn and realised that while she had given her word not to reveal that he had paid for the dress, she had not promised to reveal the source of such bounty was not herself.
“It’s not me, Elorin,” she explained apologetically. “I can’t tell you who it is, but I assure you it is not me.”
Elorin’s heart leaped. “It’s all right,” she smiled. “I need ask you no more, for I think I already know.”
Triana heaved a sigh of relief that she was not going to be subjected to an interrogation, but she would not have been so happy if she had known that Elorin had come to the conclusion that her benefactor was the Prince.
On the evening of the banquet, Elorin returned to her room just as dusk was falling. On opening the door, she realised that someone had already been in the room, for the candles were lit and her dress was laid out on the bed. Beside it on the crimson quilt, lay a tiny black velvet bag. Intrigued, she untied the strings and the contents spilled out onto her hand. She gasped in delight when she held the object up to the light. It was a delicate gold pendant. A tiny, heart-shaped pearl was encased in a setting of intricate strands of gold. It hung from her fingers suspended on its chain, glittering as it turned in the light.
She stared at it, its full significance dawning on her. “He has given me a heart,” she whispered to herself. “He is telling me what I never thought to hear.”
The three men waiting in the deserted dining hall, were quite unprepared for the vision of beauty that appeared through the door. Andarion looked handsome in dark blue, even Relisar had on a clean gown, but nothing prepared them for what they saw. Three jaws dropped when the door opened. Elorin wore a flowing dress of lavender-blue that swirled around her like water. It was richly decorated along the hem with gold thread and seed pearls. She wore her chestnut hair piled on top of her head, giving her an air of regality, and at her throat nestled the little heart. Triana, fragile in p
ale pink, felt a little eclipsed by her tall friend and would have gladly sacrificed the perfect golden colour of her hair for a few more inches. However, her eye caught Celedorn’s and she had the satisfaction of receiving a tiny nod of approval.
Elorin raised an eyebrow mischievously at Relisar. “I’m deeply flattered, my dear friend, that you tore yourself away from your books to escort us to this event.”
Relisar did not feel that it was the moment to reveal that Celedorn had been forced to fetch him from the library, and had dragged him away protesting vehemently. Instead he smiled sheepishly, like a schoolboy caught in mischief.
The Prince stepped forward, finally finding his voice. “I will be the most envied man present this evening, because I have on either arm the two most beautiful women in the kingdom.”
Relisar was miffed. “I note neither of them wants to take my arm,” he remarked in a disgruntled voice to Celedorn.
But his remark went unnoticed, for his companion’s entire attention was riveted to Elorin, his gaze focused on the tiny pearl from Skerris-morl gleaming at her throat. He watched as she lightly placed her hand on the Prince’s proffered arm, conscious of a deep pride in her mingled with the sadness of knowing that she would never have taken his arm with such a glowing look.
When they had gone, Celedorn returned to his room, intending to read. He had lifted an interesting book from the library when he had collared Relisar, but found that it would not hold his attention. After reading the same line three times, he tossed the book aside and began to restlessly pace his room. Finally, he gave in to his mood and descending the stairs, strolled out into the parkland surrounding the palace. It was utterly deserted, which suited his humour exactly. He walked quietly amongst the trees like a shadow, enjoying the solitude and the balmy air of the summer night. His path eventually led him near the palace. Curtains had been drawn across the windows of the banqueting hall but he could hear the faint sounds of chatter, music and laughter issuing from the room.
He sat down on the grass at the foot of a tree a short distance away and leaning his head back, looked up through the branches at the starlit sky, wondering why he felt so empty, so alone.
