by E. M. Havens
The men continued to glower, their eyes locked, as the seconds ticked by, and Samantha was afraid the table might be tipped over when they went for each other’s throats.
“I would love to hear more about Arborea’s resources,” she interjected, hoping to break the tension. It worked, and two pair of beautiful eyes and identical, placating smiles turned to her.
****
The days crawled by frustratingly slow for Cole. After his initial attempts to beguile and bond with Samantha, he had given up. Each day she would don her corseted dresses, construct her hair and hide her face in makeup. They would share their meals together and for the first few days Cole still tried to start conversations, but they were always one sided. After that they ate mostly in silence. He managed to encourage her to eat more but still not enough for his liking.
Samantha did have a conversation with his father when he joined them for breakfast. Conversation probably wasn’t the exact description. King Arnold droned on about politics, the impending Fate war and other aristocratic drudgery while Samantha nodded politely and interjected condolences or accolades at perfectly practiced intervals. Cole had been the one not eating or speaking at that meal.
For a fleeting moment he wished Samantha had married his father instead of him. That would make everyone happy. The thought sent an abrupt pain to the region of his heart, and the unaccustomed jealously rose dangerously to the surface again. No, as much of a burden as Samantha was, part of him was glad for the challenge and the hope of eventual companionship he could bring her. He stayed his urge to berate his father and let Samantha have bland-but-for-her-stimulating conversation.
All in all, it was probably the most civil contact Cole had with his father since he was a boy. The King must have been on his best behavior while getting to know his new daughter-in-law.
Apart from their meals, the only thing that occupied her days was needlepoint. Every time he entered the bed chambers, she was engrossed in the activity. He chanced a look over her shoulder once. It was hideous. For someone who spent so much time on it, he would think they would be better. There was no color, no life. Everything she crafted was angular and rough. Even her flowers were drab browns and mechanical looking. Maybe it was a new art style he hadn’t seen before.
Cole struggled against the monotony. He longed to be outside, moving about, learning of and breathing in the earth. Instead he moped around the stifling study or attended meetings he wasn’t supposed to.
On this day, one meeting in particular promised a break in the tedium. Five soldiers had been rescued from a Fate prisoner of war camp. After almost a week of recovery they were deemed fit enough for debriefing. The meeting room held the five men on one side of the table and General Crom, a commander from the Perspician army whose name Cole had yet to remember, a few nobles and himself on the other.
“The medics say you’re in good conditions for war prisoners,” Crom addressed the soldiers, his normally harsh, booming voice softened slightly.
“We were treated well. Food, water, facilities,” one soldier responded without lifting his head. Cole noticed that none of them were making eye contact. He could imagine they were exhausted after their ordeal, but they did in fact look in fair condition, their red military dress coats fitting properly.
“Why don’t you take us through from the capture to the rescue,” Crom suggested.
“Our orders were to blend in with the locals,” the soldier said. He seemed to be the spokesperson for them all. “Find out Fate troop movement in the area as well as the general morale of the populace. On our second night behind enemy lines we were doing reconnaissance in a local bar. All of us began to feel light headed and the next thing we knew, we woke up in cells with two Fate guards standing watch. I’m not sure how long they held us there. It was a few weeks, hard to tell the exact time without windows, sunlight.
“We were drugged again. We woke up in the back of a wagon to the sound of battle. That’s when we were rescued.”
“Okay, is there anything you can tell us about where you were detained?” the Perspician commander asked, as gently as Crom had.
“We were unconscious when bought in, Sir. All we ever saw was the inside of our cells,” their spokesperson replied.
“Did you observe their weapons? How many guards were there? What did they look like?” Crom pressed.
Again, the soldiers remained staring at the table, shaking their heads until one answered.
“They only carried batons in the prison block. We were the only detainees and there were only two guards at a time. They looked…” The man hesitated and Cole could see his eyes blinking furiously, shadowed by his bowed head. “Normal. Just normal men.”
Cole was beginning to feel that these soldiers were indeed not ready to be questioned. They just didn’t seem alert enough, nor forthcoming with helpful answers.
A soft snick from behind told him there were newcomers to the debriefing. He turned to see the King enter, preceded by two of his personal guard. Cole didn’t let his gaze linger and turned back to the soldiers, wishing to avoid any debate or scene with his father.
“Carry on,” the King said and seated himself beside Crom.
At his words the soldiers looked up as one and turned their faces towards the King. An icy hand gripped Cole’s heart when he saw them. The pupils had overtaken the color in their eyes. Black voids locked King Arnold in a quintet of murderous stares.
In unison they slammed their clenched hands onto the table hard enough to break their fingers. In fact, Cole thought they had all broken their little fingers that stuck out from their fists, the skin cracked and warped. It was what lay beneath the faux skin that had Cole backing from the table. Their small fingers had been removed and replaced with daggers.
“Resign to the Fate,” the men chanted together and chaos erupted in the room.
Simultaneously they stood, tipping the long wooden table towards their questioners. Papers and goblets flew into the air. Cole fell backwards and barely managed not to be crushed. A crazed soldier vaulted over the table toward him with his knife hand aimed to strike between Cole’s eyes. Cole rolled away as sparks of metal on stone flashed where the dagger made contact at the spot his head had been.
“Protect the King!” Crom bellowed from somewhere behind Cole, his deep voice adding to the bedlam of the crazed soldiers. The door burst open and the shing of swords being unsheathed penetrated Cole’s shock.
He jumped to his feet searching for his own dagger concealed in his boot only to be knocked to his back again. His world went black as his head struck the floor. It returned quickly and a flash of silver blurred before him. He grasped the hand of the soldier who now straddled his chest. Cole ignored the cacophony of shouts and metal on metal around him. All his focus was on the blade that hovered above his eye.
“You must accept the Fate,” the soldier sang and giggled. Cole looked past the dagger hand and into the inhuman eyes of his attacker. There would be no mercy there. “Surrender to the Sovereign. He has no heart. He has no heart!”
Cole’s arms burned as he resisted the attempts of the soldier to plunge his mutilated hand into his head. The sounds of combat from the King’s Guard embroiled with the other attackers relayed that no help would be coming. The knife hovered closer, only a breath away from finding its mark. He couldn’t hold the berserk soldier much longer. Cole feared trying to buck him as he might lose what little strength he had left.
He almost thought the sudden sound of gunfire and splintering wood was his arms giving out until a stick sprouted through his attacker’s temples. A mist of blood fogged Cole’s vision and his mind struggled to comprehend what he saw before him. One thing he understood was that the threatening blade was receding from his face.
The soldier’s eyes returned to normal and he slid from his perch on Cole so the stone floor. Cole wiped the sticky spray from his eyes and stared at his attacker. Realization trickled in and he turned back to where his father stood in the corner su
rrounded by his personal guard. The dragon head of his cane smoked in his hand. The wooden end was gone and now firmly impaled in the head of the dead man beside him. He thought of all the times his father had aimed that cane at him and cringed.
The four remaining soldiers were now pinned and restrained by the King’s Guard and the other interrogators.
“Surrender to the Sovereign!” The attackers screamed as they were dragged from the room. “No heart! No mercy!”
“What the slag is going on?” Cole yelled above the din and rose from the ground with shaky legs.
“Brand. Derik. Escort my son back to his quarters and keep guard until further notice.” King Arnold nodded to two of his guard and then examined the shattered head of his cane. “Are you harmed, Son?” the King asked as the remaining guards followed him to the door.
Cole noted the absence of disdain which usually accompanied that last word.
“I’m fine, Father,” he said and returned the favor, speaking to the king without contempt. A new wave of guards spilled into the room to further restrain the attacking soldiers and his father slipped through the door in their wake. Cole followed with his own escort back to his quarters leaving more questions than answers.
****
The soldiers who attacked continued to receive medical care and were being questioned further, trying to understand why they turned traitor. In the meantime, more news from Arboreal spies was arriving. Even as he sat up instruments for an experiment, he found his mind wandering back to General Crom’s latest presentation.
Cole shook his head to clear it. He needed to concentrate on the task at hand. Although this was not a particularly dangerous experiment, he still needed to focus. Supplies for this project had arrived days earlier, but the atomic theory book he needed for its completion had gone missing. He asked the servants who cleaned, but none remembered moving it. The book reappeared today, and he was anxious to proceed. He was also going to have to speak to the butler about this, because he was sure one of the servants was using his riding boots too. He was sure he had them cleaned, and now they were a mess.
“Alright. Let’s begin.” He spoke to Samantha, but didn’t turn to face her. She had taken up residence on the study couch, his bed, doing her drab needlework. He hadn’t really expected her to accept when he asked for her assistance with the experiment. Of course she wasn’t really assisting, just sitting in the same room. Still, it might be progress.
Cole scanned the directions on the pages of the open book before proceeding. Double checking the volume, he opened the container of distilled water and measured the precise amount into a glass beaker. He cringed a little at using his stock. Distilling water was time consuming, and he only kept a little on hand for emergencies and experimenting.
He needed to find time to get to the kitchen and make some more. Finding time. The General had been certain in the strategic meeting yesterday that the Arboreal Lands had plenty of time to prepare for the Fate Army. Cole wasn’t as sure. Of course he hadn’t been paying much attention the last ten years as the Fate army had grown from a small movement and begun to consume the lands far to the east of his country. It seemed inconsequential at the time. Now there was only one country separating the Fate and Arborea.
The Nakona. They were a passionate race but barbarians by all accounts. The Nakona people were strong and intelligent, but they rejected the flood of technology that washed over the world. Instead, they clung to their nomadic, hunting and gathering tradition. In a way, Cole envied them, their closeness with nature and legendary penchant for passionate love or swift, deadly anger. A unique race indeed.
Cole adjusted his goggles and carefully unwrapped the block of putty like substance with gloved hands. Potassium reacted to the air quickly, so this step of the experiment needed to be done swiftly. This experiment was the stepping stone to making his own antiseptic, not that his herbal concoctions didn’t work. In some cases, it would be helpful to have something more powerful. He began to cut small pieces to add to the scale.
General Crom thought the balance was in Arborea’s favor now with the Alliance solidified. New technology from Perspicia would be at their disposal, but integrating into their defenses would take time. The meeting had ended with all officials present in agreement. The Nakona would be that buffer of time. They would let the tribal people fight and fall in order that the Alliance stand. The Nakona would be obliterated.
“Lord Cole.” He ignored Samantha’s quiet entreat and finished balancing the scale to the perfect weight.
Cole had neither agreed nor protested this decision, although he wanted to vehemently protest. The problem was, and why this stopped him he wasn’t certain, he didn’t have an alternate plan. He should have just told them all how he felt about their feigned superiority and selfishness.
“Lord Cole.”
How could they let an entire race be destroyed or enslaved to give themselves time. Why couldn’t they try again to bring the Nakona into the Alliance? They were warriors and the buffer between the Fate and Arborea. Protecting that buffer would be a strategic move giving them even more time to buttress their defenses.
“LORD COLE!”
“Hmmm?” Cole replied halfheartedly turning his focus back to the experiment. He positioned the crucible of Potassium to slide it gently into the waiting beaker of water.
“STOP!”
From nowhere, Samantha clasped his wrist, her fingers digging in painfully. Completely confused and taken off guard, he simply stared through his goggles at the enigma before him. Her chest heaved in anxious gasps, and her emerald eyes held his. They revealed all. Anger, and it was directed at him. She didn’t move or make an attempt to speak, but her eyes softened to concern. She broke the gaze, and her eyes trailed the length of his arm to the crucible. His eyes followed hers. For a moment more he stood uncomprehending.
“Clinker.” He let out in a whispered breath, and their eyes meet again. Hers only held fear now. She let go of his wrist, her hand trembling.
Cole set the crucible down gently and scanned the textbook pages. When he verified his miscalculations, he turned to find Samantha seated once again on the couch. She was trying diligently to needlepoint, but her hands were shaking so hard it was impossible.
“How did you know?” he demanded, his voice gruff, not out of anger but postponed fear. Samantha reacted as if it was the former, and her eyes glistened with tears. Her breathing was frantic. Cole hadn’t seen her this distressed since their wedding night over a week past. Part of him said to give her space and forget the interaction, yet something deeper said to push, gently, but push.
Cole removed his goggles and gloves and approached the couch. He lowered to one knee before Samantha and placed his hands over the needlework. She continued to stare at his knuckles as if she could still see the muted angular flowers she created. A few tears dripped from her downcast face to his fingers.
“Samantha,” he began softly. “I measured ten times the amount of potassium I was supposed to. If I had gone through with the experiment there would have been an explosion, possibly a fire and most definitely lethal shards of glass propelled across this room.” He waited for a response, but searching her gave no indication of even hearing him. If possible, her shaking was worse. With the least condemning voice as possible he asked her again, “How did you know?”
“I –” she started and finally looked up. What he saw was like a kick in the gut from Octavious. How could she be so frightened of him? She looked like a rabbit in a snare, wide eyed and frozen in terror. Surely he could not have caused this much fear in her from their wedding night. He certainly hadn’t given her any other cause to be so afraid of him. “I didn’t know. I just wanted to ask you a question.” The words began to tumble out now. “I promise, My Lord, to never raise my voice to you again. I swear to never lift a hand to you. Forgive me. I don’t know what came over me. My duty to you and my country is paramount and I will serve you, be the lady you require. Forgive my indiscretion,
please.”
“What were you going to ask me?” This time he couldn’t hide the frustration. The look on her face answered the question for him. She stuttered for an answer. She was lying. She knew. She knew from sitting across the room, and not seeing the instructions, that he was about to blow up his study and possibly them with it. Yet here she sat, cowering at his hand, and he wasn’t going to let her get away with it. He left her sputtering and closed the door forcefully as he entered the hallway.
Something wasn’t right. He felt it. He had blamed himself for her distance and fearfulness, but he was sure now that something else, something beyond their experiences together drove her actions. He stormed down the stairs and out the door, headed for the stables. He was going for a ride to clear his head, and no one was going to stop him.
The couple sat in silence on the terrace listening to the faint sounds of the bustling city as they wafted up on the cool evening breeze. The lights from thousands of windows and street lamps created an unusual glow through the smoky haze of industry. Cole watched as Samantha sampled the lamb. As predicted, she took exactly two bites, followed by dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin. He had watched her, through the entire meal, follow the exact pattern. Two bites of the oyster soup course, dab. Two bites of the fish course, dab.
She hadn’t spoken to him since his return from riding Octavious, nor he to her. Polite half smiles and nods were the only recognition afforded each other as they sat down to the evening meal. Cole could tell she was nervous, and he could have eased her fears. With a few simple words, the entire incident might have been smoothed over, and life returned to normal. Cole didn’t want things back to normal. Princess Samantha of Perspicia was not who she pretended to be.
Riding always cleared his mind, and today was no different. An hour or so of fresh air and greenery blurring by as Octavious ran at full was enough for Cole to piece some things together. At first his thoughts were dark. Maybe Samantha was an imposter or assassin. He had quickly thrown those ideas out. First, the King and Queen of Perspicia would have to be imposters too, and that was just too grand of a scheme. Second, she had ample opportunities to kill him or the king. Finally, he came to a simple conclusion, and from his studies in the sciences, he had learned well that the simplest conclusions were most likely the correct ones. Armed with this theory, he set up a little experiment, a trap for his beloved bride.
