The Edict

by P. J. Keyworth

  “Now,” the Prince carried on, as though there was no animosity between them and violence had not been part of the conversation. “Tell me who you are.” He took a seat by open doors that led onto the balcony at the opposite side of the room. Reclining on the silk cushions he looked every inch the Prince, arrogance emanating from him as though he could command anything he wished.

  Kiara almost laughed. He could of course - he was the Prince - but she would surely die before becoming some puppet for his pleasure. Let his Reluwyn whores play along to his tune, she would keep marching to the war beat of hers.

  “No wish to recount your story to me? Your name then?”

  She glared at him. She would no sooner give him her name than she would willingly give him herself. It wasn’t just about hiding her race. Somehow in this moment it felt as though telling him her name was too intimate. A gift she would not bestow.

  “Very well, tell me neither,” he sighed, “Though it’s a shame. I have to admit, I'm slightly intrigued as to how a beautiful young woman could become a thief.”

  “And I a Prince,” she shot back, she was getting tired of this posturing, and the way his eyes kept drifting over her body.

  His brow clouded a little but he assumed a look of bored amusement, “Sometimes a little excitement is a nice change.”

  “From what? Ruling an Empire, yes, that would be boring. The lives of so many in your hands, how could that interest you?”

  “Temper, temper, Little One.” He spoke as if to a pet. It made Kiara's blood boil. “A fitting name. If you will not give me your name then that is what I shall call you. I must say, you are looking,” his took in the strips of exposed skin, the smooth legs and the feminine curves of her body, “Different.”

  Kiara turned away, as if doing so would obscure her body from his view. She saw her opportunity and strode quickly towards the bed spread with silks and furs.

  Her hand reached out to the leather scabbard, the ties inches from her fingers when she felt his hand clamp down on her arm, pulling it roughly down to her side and ramming her against the wall.

  “That was not wise, Little One.” He called her that again, but for a term containing words of such sweetness, it was uttered with undisguised contempt. He hated her. He must hate her.

  He pushed against her but she wasn't struggling.

  “You had better learn manners if you are to be here.”

  “Let me go.” Kiara wasn't asking for his hands to release her. She was asking for freedom.

  “Killing me is the only way you’re leaving this palace. And you don't even have a sword.” He started chuckling and then laughing loudly and Kiara just felt sick.

  “That’s enough for today. Leave.”

  She was his pet. She was his to command. Unless she left this place she would be his indefinitely. It was flight or death. The former seemed worth the risk.

  “Welcome Zephenesh, come, let us feed you after your long journey.”

  “I will not refuse.” Smiling lines appeared at the side of the old man’s mouth. He rested a hand on the Captain’s shoulder as he walked down the main tunnel with him. “This is my companion Djeck.”

  “Ah yes, I remember.” Fidel did not try and grasp the elf’s hand in the traditional Laowyn greeting. He knew from their last encounter that the sullen elf held no truck with niceties. He was a strange and silent fellow. “How were your travels?” Fidel turned back to Zephenesh, knowing he would not cause offence.

  “The Imperial Guards are out in force on the main roads.”

  “Did you run into trouble?”

  “Me? An old man? What trouble could I cause that would encourage them to stop me? They were more interested in the young. I saw a family attacked, the husband arrested for trying to move them out of Miresh. Everywhere the Reluwyn are stopping migration of the Laowyn, they have plans but I have yet to determine what.”

  “That is what the Commander has been saying, but the other Elders are intent on no action at present.”

  “I see, and Ikara, how is she faring?”

  Fidel didn’t answer immediately. He turned the old man down a passage towards the kitchen and dining hall. “She commands the respect of the men.”

  “You are ever the faithful friend.” Zephenesh chuckled, patting Fidel’s shoulder once again. “I shall not fight you for answers, I will see her myself soon enough. Tell me, how have the raiding parties fared since the Laowyn trading ban?”

  They took a seat at one of the long wooden tables and Ria came to serve them cold meat and bread. Zephenesh took her hand and exchanged a few words of greeting to the woman he had met at the last few Elders’ gatherings. He then turned back and gestured with a knife for Fidel to continue.

  “They have taken more causalities but continue their mission to protect those persecuted. Though recently they did pick up a Reluywn in the forest.” Fidel’s brow furrowed and he stopped eating, looking off into the middle-distance for a moment.

  “Who was he?”

  Fidel drew himself back into the present. “You will not believe me. We should have taken decisive action, but does the Great Spirit condone the killing of an enemy who does not bear arms?”

  “The scrolls advocate the fair trial of an enemy, you know that Fidel.”

  The Captain did not nod in agreement as he usually would have to the words of one of the most learned Elders in the Laowyn community. For once his feelings were conflicted.

  “And if breaking that rule could avert a potential war? The deaths of hundreds if not thousands?”

  “‘Those who evade the law, breaking the Great Spirit’s commands, shall face repayment one hundred-fold, for the good-doer shall have the Spirit dwell within the heart of his hearts, just as the good-doer seeking protection shall draw the Spirit from his heart within hearts to protect him.’ The words of the Spirit as written down in the scrolls of Inarr.”

  Fidel took a mouthful of bread and meat, forgetting to chew and grimacing as a lump of deer-meat slowly made its way down to his stomach.

  “Who was the Reluwyn prisoner? Do you speak of him in the past tense because the deed has already been done?”

  “He escaped, the Prince escaped.”

  Zephenesh’s hand stopped midway to his mouth, a piece of meat dropping from the bread he held and falling on the wooden table. He gave Fidel a measuring stare and then took the mouthful, processing what he had heard slowly, a cog turning with every chew.

  “How can you be sure it was him?” He picked up the meat from the table.

  “The forest was crawling with Imperial Guards searching for a palace runaway.”

  “It could have been a criminal.”

  “There were circumstances which led us to believe it was him, but only after he and the female prisoner we held escaped.”

  “Female? Another Reluwyn.”

  “No,” Fidel countered Zephenesh’s certain comment. “She was Laowyn, her mark was checked, but there was no love lost between the two, we can’t quite figure out what happened. Our comrade, an elf by the name of Zeb, was knocked unconscious in a struggle of some kind which took place on the surface after the escape. He hasn’t fully recovered yet. I am due to check on him.”

  “May I accompany you?”

  “Yes, although it does not have much bearing on the Elders meeting later.”

  “On the contrary, if the Prince is abroad away from his palace, we must be in charge of as many of the facts as possible.”

  Fidel considered this but did not follow. The old man’s thoughts drifted in all directions, forking like a river here and there, trying to understand the Prince’s absence from his city.

  “The Edict of Maidens is supposed to come to a conclusion in a few weeks’ time. So why is he not at the palace?”

  “He is.”

  Zephenesh frowned. This conversation was not yielding any expected answers. At his age he had a quick mind, but today it was not enough to piece all these facts together. He remained silent, awaiting enligh
tenment.

  “We have received reports from our scouts that he has returned and, though we could not confirm they left together for lack of Zeb’s account, we have since heard of a golden-haired woman at the palace.”

  “Golden-haired?” Djeck’s first words were curt.

  “Yes.” Fidel answered Djeck’s question, his green eyes resting upon the elf’s stern countenance. “Matching the description of the woman we held here. Apparently, the Prince had a better offer for her than we did. The Commander would not offer her permanent sanctuary - she was to be sent back to her family.” Fidel then turned to Zephenesh. “Palace gossip is usually no concern of ours, but the woman has caused quite a stir, and stories seep from the city walls.”

  “Why is that?”

  Zephenesh had fallen silent. His eyes were wide and hard and his gaze was on Djeck who had already guessed what Zephenesh now feared.

  “Some say she is the new concubine of the court, turning heads wherever she goes; some say she is one of the maidens; others say she is a prisoner of great beauty who defies the Prince even in his own court. The reports are mixed and confusing, but it is clear that her true race must remain concealed - her continued presence defies the Laowyn feeling at court.”

  “Did she give a name?” Zephenesh’s voice came out in a strangled whisper, his knuckles were white on the spoon.

  “She would not,” Fidel eyed the Elder. Zephenesh was acting strangely, and the elf whose gaze usually did not linger on anyone was boring into him. “She said she had been picked by the Edict of Maidens and her family were willing to sacrifice her to protect themselves. Return meant death, that’s why Zeb was so adamant she should be allowed to stay.”

  “Please take me to this Zeb now,” Zephenesh’s voice brooked no argument. He rose, placing his knife on the half-eaten platter of bread and meat and turning to the door before Fidel had even risen.

  The Captain looked to the elf for explanation.

  “The woman you described matches the appearance of Zephenesh’s niece Kiara. She ran away not much over two weeks ago.”

  Fidel only hesitated a moment before following after Zephenesh who was rushing in the wrong direction.

  “Your niece?!” he exclaimed as he caught up with the Elder.

  “Take me to the elf.”

  Fidel was at a loss. He merely nodded and turned to lead the way to Zeb’s quarters. The elf was up and dressed when they entered the room. Apparently even in his sickened state he had managed to mix one of his healing potions.

  “Zeb, this is Zephenesh, Laowyn Elder, and Djeck, a Meir Elf.”

  Zeb looked between the two men.

  “The woman’s uncle and servant?”

  Fidel noted the surprise on both the visitors’ faces. Zeb’s uncanny intuition caught most people off guard and the longer Fidel knew him the more he suspected there was more to his unexplained knowledge.

  “Kiara?”

  “The Prince has taken her, but I have no idea whether she still lives.”

  “You let her escape?” Djeck’s angry words were spat first at Fidel and then at Zeb.

  “Do not look to me, Meir Elf!” snapped Zeb, his voice suddenly filled with cold authority. “I had no intention of letting her be captured by the Prince.”

  “You’re Southern,” muttered Djeck, taking a step back, his eyes clouded with suspicion.

  “I don’t appreciate my quarters being invaded, Fidel.”

  “I came to see if you were well again.”

  Zeb only scowled in response.

  “The Commander ordered it.” The tension increased with the ensuing silence. Fidel should have considered this more carefully.

  “Zephenesh, no more can be done here. The Commander is awaiting you with the other elders.”

  Zephenesh looked for a moment as if he might take physical action, but the light in his old eyes slowly died. He drew away from the elf whose judgemental stare followed him and Djeck from the room.

  “I urged you, master, to tell Kiara of your involvement in the Resistance.” Djeck whispered as they followed Fidel to the meeting room.

  “And expose her to the same fate as her parents?”

  Fidel could hear the emotion thick in Zephenesh’s voice.

  “Were you not making that decision when you said she should obey the Edict?”

  “She should not have been chosen and would not have been but for her stubbornness marking her out.”

  “Are you so oblivious to your own kin?” Djeck ventured to chastise his master but Fidel heard him hesitate. “Kiara is a great beauty.”

  Zephenesh did not respond. The three men continued down the hall in silence, each wondering if it was Kiara in the palace.

  “I thought she would come back,” Zephenesh finally whispered.

  They walked in silence, but they’d all heard.

  Chapter 12

  Johan and Trevisian stood at a balustrade overlooking one of the main palace entryways. Men and women milled below them like worker bees about one of the palace’s largest honey pots of trade. Horses and mules passed each other closely, their tails swishing and ears flying back. Shouts were flung across the courtyard, and answers were hurled back. Some raised greetings, others were demands by Imperial Guards, and still others were tradesmen, selling their wares, desiring entry to the palace where they might secure a generous patron.

  The stone that formed the ground had large nomadic letters in heavy indented script across it - the language of the old Reluwyn. When the streets cleared near dusk the snaky writing could be seen; right now it was covered by hundreds of rushing feet and deluged with waste that ran in the lettering’s rivulets.

  The sandstone walls of the city held writhing labyrinthine streets, and it was from these that Emril’s citizens oozed past the system of circular palace walls, clamouring to gain access to the innermost area where only courtiers resided. Their bobbing heads were oblivious to their Prince who stood above them. Most were dark haired Reluwyn, but occasionally a fairer haired incomer would catch Trevisian’s eye. He would follow them from the shadow of the Tower Gate as they threaded their way like gold through the tapestry of dark heaving silks. None of them had quite the same fair skin as her though, and it was to her that his thoughts always drifted back.

  He had commanded a display of all the maidens who had finished their beauty treatment yesterday. The golden-haired thief had been there. She had spat in his eye when he had touched her. Unfortunately for her, he did not respond with anger but amusement. He was almost certain she was indeed a maiden. That was the only possible reason for her tense reaction whenever he came near. Her eyes had flashed brimstone at him when he’d chuckled in response to her action. He had demanded she give her name, just as he had all the other maidens present. She had not obeyed, but he was sure he could eventually break her.

  “Did you see the way the other women looked at her?” Johan’s thoughts echoed Trevisian’s.

  “How do you do that, Johan?”

  The Radichi warrior ignored the question, leaning his thick forearms on the balustrade and watching the waves of people ebbing against the palace’s shore.

  “Your favour singles her out.”

  “Favour!” Trevisian spat. “She is in receipt of my wrath.”

  Johan ran his calloused fingers along a crack in the stone beneath his arms. “Is she?”

  Trevisian clenched his jaw and pushed the hair out of his eyes. Today he had changed his courtly tunic for leather trousers, an open black shirt and spurred boots. He had spent the morning relaxing in the harem, and some of the tension which had bothered him since the High Council meeting at dawn had been worked away.

  Garesh’s constant complaining of the rebellious Laowyn had irritated Trevisian into doing his bidding. He’d signed an Edict to suppress the Laowyn and only then had he been freed from his duties. He had to trust the man who knew more about his Kingdom than he did, but still, the action had plagued his mind afterwards.

  The feeling of
uneasiness had sent him in search of carnal pleasures, but even that had left a bad taste. He had lain with two of the maidens now that the examinations had begun. Both were beautiful, both were satisfying. One, who had been bolder than the other, had touched his back, tracing the markings which coloured the length of it. She had asked about them. The two were now back in the harem, demarcated as concubines for the rest of their lives. Trevisian would not call upon them again.

  The questions had resurrected thoughts of his mother, the marking linking him with her. Only one knew of the true meaning behind the marking on his back. His High Councillor had not mentioned it since the day he’d made Trevisian promise never to use his abilities. He had protected Trevisian from himself and a people who would not accept his true nature, and that was why the Prince trusted him. But recently that promise had been hard to keep. He had been at the palace for weeks now, and the last time he had run, truly run, was over a month ago.

  Trevisian looked sideways at his companion and then back at the crowds. Johan had never asked about the marking, although Trevisian had caught him staring at it more than once over the years they’d known each other. There had always been a knowing look in his eye which made Trevisian wonder if such bloodlines existed within the Radichi clans who came from the same desert as the Reluwyn.

  All of this had put Trevisian’s mood on a distinctly dark path. Now Johan was pushing boundaries.

  “She’s a petty thief.” Trevisian finally replied. “One who cost me my freedom.”

  At least if he was to be caged here he had the satisfaction of knowing another suffered the same fate.

  “Yet she is treated as a harem favourite.”

  “Your point?” Trevisian could feel the heat of the midday sun touching his shoulders.

  “I hear things. The harem’s temperature is running high.”

  “It’s hot everywhere,” said Trevisian, passing a hand over his brow.

  “The women are becoming competitive. Your thief could be targeted.”

  “Good.”

  Johan turned, leaning on one elbow so he could face his Prince, but said nothing. Trevisian had called him half an hour ago and since then they had been watching the comings and goings below, a guard standing behind them in the shadows.