Part of Brehan wished he just put a baby into the woman he loved, but the rest of him wanted to be there to raise the child with her. Today, he had dressed himself in fancy garb to pass unnoticed on the way out of the castle. A black tunic clung to his heaving chest and was tucked into long brown pants. He wore no family symbols or markings on his person to attract any attention. His dark skin would make the guests think that he was a performer for the reception.
They held each other in the middle of the room as Elisa playfully smacked Brehan with his brown leather belt.
He said, “Remember the night I had to tell you I was moving to Mattingly and you cried all night long.”
“Yes. I was just a little girl,” Elisa quickly answered.
“I guess tonight it’s my turn,” said Brehan with a slight smile.
“Don’t make me cry. I know you are kidding, but I am emotional right now. I have to go out there and pretend I am happy to be married to Ali-Varis Wamhoff,” Elisa sobbed.
“Alright, I just need a few things before I depart,” he stated.
He put on his sword belt with the long sword missing and pushed his hair down over his eyes. He had four other knives on his belt but the long sword would have attracted too much attention. He grabbed an empty chalice as a keepsake from the makeup table and kicked the purple chair aside. This exposed a secret door on the floor and Brehan flipped it open. He rose, smiling at Elisa. They embraced one last time.
“Well, this is it. I’ll miss you, Lady Wamhoff,” teased Brehan.
“Stop it,” whispered Elisa, as she kissed him slowly and softly. “I love you,” she pledged.
Brehan kissed her again and said, “And I love you. Now be strong in this dirty Capitol. I must take leave now, my past and future Queen.” He grabbed a torch and slipped into the hole in the floor as he waved goodbye to his love.
Brehan hoped to only see a few people on his way out of the castle and the nice clothes would hopefully make the guards believe he was invited to perform for the Prince. He knew they wouldn’t believe that he was an invited guest because his skin was so much darker than those attending the wedding.
Sir Brehan didn’t like this marriage in the least. He knew Elisa had no option in the matter so his anger shifted to Aston Burke. Brehan hated Duke Burke. He felt the leader of Burkeville had treated him like a slave and was a drunken slob.
Brehan now needed to get back to Mattingly to serve the Colbert’s. He hoped the family had already squashed the Fritz revolt. It hurt him not to be there to support his brothers in arms. He pushed open the door at the end of a dark path because the torch died out, and daylight streamed in.
Sir Brehan walked out only to notice that two armored guards had spotted him coming out of the secret door. He took off in a sprint. He easily outran the two guards and used the crowds to shake them completely. A smile came over the face of Sir Brehan Castaway, realizing he would always risk his life for his lady, as she had just done for him.
As he walked south, down a familiar path, he saw a friendly face. Sir Gunnar Pine of Mattingly stood there, waiting for Brehan.
He asked, “Did you enjoy your time, Sir?”
“Yes I did, and you, Sir? Did you enjoy your first visit to the castle?” Sir Gunnar courteously asked back with an over-exaggerated bow.
Sir Brehan Castaway unleashed a wide smile and declared, “I certainly did.”
EMILIA
“Hurry, we have to get back to Elisa now. The nosy guests will start to ask questions,” the Queen said to Sir Anderley Ellsworth.
“Alright, here it is, all ready.” Anderley had the potion poured into a large cup. He had made a quick little fire to boil water for the mushrooms that grew on the trunk of the blue-leaf trees. Anderley knew to boil them for at least five minutes to kill the poison.
“It is still steaming hot, so be careful,” cautioned Anderley as he gave her the handle of the thick white cup.
The Queen held it in her left hand and grabbed a large spoon resting on her dresser. She took a spoonful, blew it cool, and drank the nasty nectar. She continued until the mug was half-full and handed it to Sir Anderley.
“No, my Queen, I told you I cannot do that today.”
“Just a few spoonfuls,” insisted the Queen of Donegal.
He knew it was best to oblige or she would fly into a rage. She always got her way. He took a few warm sips and almost threw up. Queen Emilia snatched the potion back and finished the rest. The mushroom tea brought on euphoric feelings and a distorted sense of reality. Emilia decided she needed it to deal with her so-called friends at the wedding, but right now she just felt nauseous.
“My Queen,” said Anderley as he led her from her room.
The Queen grew up a simple farm girl. Even eighteen years of being pampered and fitted in the finest dresses hadn’t succeeded in molding her into a social butterfly. Emilia was a shy girl on the fateful day when King Ali-Stanley had locked eyes with her in Burkeville and she remained that way to this day. She had a few people in the Capitol that she felt comfortable talking to. But to the rest she just nodded and smiled so she didn’t appear rude. As they arrived at Elisa’s powder room, the mushroom beverage really hit the Queen. Everything looked a little fuzzy and quick movement left wavy trails in the air. Her mouth became parched, palms began to sweat, and her feet buzzed as they made contact with the ground.
Elisa opened the door, pulled in the Queen, and closed it. The Queen noticed the smell of sex still lingering and smiled at Elisa.
“I need you to make sure my dress and make-up are alright to go back out there,” said Elisa.
She had some ruby lipstick smeared outside her lip-line that Queen Emilia didn’t notice due to her mushroom-induced funk. She looked at Elisa and wished she were taller. The Queen hated being so short.
She put her hands on Elisa’s shoulders and looked up into her eyes, “You are a stunning bride, you really are. The best I have ever seen.”
“I don’t know. Are you sure these people are going to like me?” Elisa sounded worried.
Immediately the Queen answered, “Of course, everybody likes the wife. The husband is the one who raises taxes, sends men to war and takes land from the citizens. They hate him, not us.”
“But I am referring to the top people of the Capitol and the Wamhoffs. I have heard it is extremely cut throat around here,” said a concerned Elisa.
“Everything will be just fine, look at me. I had never set foot in a castle until I arrived here to marry the King. And I have survived eighteen miserable years,” joked the Queen as she laughed, “Alright, we’re off.”
The Queen locked arms with the new bride as Sir Anderley led them toward the ball room. As they approached the wide black staircase, she saw that the guests were waiting for them fifteen feet below in the enormous party room. The space was suitably decorated for the marriage of a red fox and a black bear. The red tablecloths were accentuated by black chairs and a black carpeted floor. Tapestries hung all over the hall portraying every fox or bear depiction one could imagine. Even the sculpted black fox head centerpiece held ruby roses and tulips.
The servants were clad in dull scarlet robes and served bite-sized morsels of meat on ebony trays to the elite of Donegal. The perfect harmony of light drums and golden shakers made a beautiful background for the female singers. All the love songs of the land would be on display at this royal reception.
As they descended the stone steps, the first people the Queen noticed were Ali-Pari and Ali-Tiste Wamhoff. They wore the red dresses expected of a natural born Wamhoff or wife that married into the family. Then she turned to gaze at the newest Wamhoff, Elisa.
She featured a long dress that hugged the chest and belly, then expanded into flowing lines at the bottom around the legs. It had long, tight sleeves that loosened up around the wrists. The gold piping around the entire dress matched the golden fox pin that every Wamhoff woman was expected to wear on her left breast. All Wamhoff ladies wore a different variation of
dress but it was always red with gold piping and the fox pin. Elisa’s dress had only taken the Lonely Widows two weeks to sew.
“Is that going to be us when we get old?” Elisa whispered to Emilia.
“I hope to never get as old as Ali-Pari,” the Queen lightly responded and the two enjoyed a secret laugh about it.
The pair arrived at the bottom and were greeted by Ali-Pari, “Oh my lovely young bride, congratulations,” she said as she wiped the lipstick from Elisa’s face and gave her a hug. “Hello, my Queen,” she acknowledged Emilia with barely a curtsy.
“Come with me Elisa, I will teach you how to deal with these animals around here and introduce you to the right people.” Ali-Pari’s wrinkled right arm dragged Elisa away.
An awkward silence ensued until Ali-Tiste broke it suddenly. “I must get back to both of my boys, my Queen,” she said with a smirk and half curtsy.
The Queen took it as an intentional slight because they had to cast away her last male child because of deformity. Queen Emilia didn’t even get to glance at the baby’s face after he was taken from her body, never to be returned.
At least I have a son that may be king one day and she will always have to live with that drunk.
Her anger immediately subsided as usual. She noticed her cousins, the Burke family, and saw why people hated Duke Burke. The father of the bride had his wine in one hand as always and used the other to mess up the hair of his two young sons, Butrel and Astrid. His teenage daughter Telly rolled her eyes at her father and scurried away before he went for her head. Ali-Tiste wasn’t with the family she had rushed off to tend to, causing the Queen to giggle internally.
A true Wamhoff woman respects nothing, not even her queen.
Sir Anderley had vanished, leaving the Queen at the mercy of those who resented her most. She wasn’t the typical highborn queen and the prevailing opinion seemed to be that she had thrown herself at the King, when the reality was quite the opposite. The Queen hated these types of events and scanned the room for someone to latch on to.
Emilia spotted her son and rushed to his side. As she arrived, the music suddenly shifted. The pan pipes, harps and flutes were drowned out by a bull horn that ripped through the air. Three men dressed in red robes with black belts ran into the room and stationed themselves in front of the harp players. They started a song called “The Courage of Love” about a knight who fought a dragon for his princess. Their deep voices boomed through the expansive room with twenty-five-foot high vaulted ceilings.
“Where is your father?” the Queen asked her son.
“He is down in the Alley with Penrose,” he responded.
“Why does he waste all his time down there?” she wondered. “Forget it. You know pretty soon it will be your wedding day, just as soon as we find you a fit bride.”
The Queen’s stomach felt like it was twisting and tying itself in knots. That constantly remained a possible side effect of the magic tea. However, the Queen believed the drugs kept her from being a bitter person, so she just dealt with the side effects. She excused herself from Ali-Ster and rushed off to her chamber pot.
ALI-STER
Ali-Ster watched as his mother ran off holding her belly. He assumed she had drunk too much already because her eyes certainly looked like it. He really wished she didn’t mention his future nuptials as he tried not to think about it. Every woman he’d talked to at the wedding had asked when he would be married. He feared women more than war. He had gone off to fight at fourteen and didn’t have any girlfriends prior to it, so he hadn’t even kissed a girl yet. Ali-Ster was mainly nervous because he didn’t want to disappoint; sex scared him even more. He had listened to the sexual escapades of the soldiers he fought with and had made up a few of his own to fit in. He still felt destined to fail on his first voyage of love. One captain told a young soldier to practice on whores to gain experience, but the son of a king in him wouldn’t let Ali-Ster participate in those activities.
Another person who seemed sure to disappoint his bride approached. Ali-Varis Wamhoff smiled all the time but today his usual fits of rage were absent. The groom, a short fat man, appeared to be having a great time, clapping his hands together. His bald head had patches of red hair on the sides and back and his oversized lips quivered when he talked. He had deep-set brown eyes and a big, wide nose. Ali-Varis stuttered and also struggled to hold a normal adult conversation.
“Are you having a good time, Ali-Varis?” Ali-Ster asked.
“Uh, yeah, uh, did you know we are going to have food here?” his half-brother asked.
“Certainly did. I can see it right over there,” Ali-Ster pointed.
“Yeah,” agreed Ali-Varis as he quickly nodded his head.
The remote corners of the room had different cooking set ups. One had rotisserie pigs and wild boar being slowly turned on a spit over sizzling red coals that sang as the animal fat dripped down. Another corner had some open fires with crossed grates over them that were cooking huge, primal cuts of bull. This was mainly for the King to enjoy the symbolism of eating his enemy. Then there were bubbling cauldrons of liver stew being slowly mixed by the cooks with stirrers that were as big as boat oars. The last corner contained the seafood. It welcomed guests with pickled oysters up front in large buckets. A few dome topped ovens cooked whole spearfish and speckled-belly blue fish. There were two six-foot tables stacked with salted whitefish. In addition, the back kitchens were full of cooks feverishly rushing to get everything done on time. Supper would start soon and the barbaric frenzy of gluttonous eating would commence.
Ali-Ster saw Elisa sitting next to Ali-Varis, forcing a fake smile. He felt awful for her, forced to marry a man of forty-seven who she could never love. She was a beautiful young girl that deserved better, he thought. For a moment, he imagined her by his side, in front of the High Holy Leader, making their vows in the presence of the Gods. He then shifted to thoughts of his mother being over three decades younger than the King when he plucked her out of Burkeville at fourteen.
Return to the well before it dries I suppose, father.
He abruptly shook off these thoughts and spotted his half-sister, Ali-Gare.
Ali-Gare Wamhoff, considered the fairest maiden in all of the land, walked around the tables, socializing. She possessed golden-red flowing locks that fell well below her shoulders and straight bangs that crossed the middle of her forehead. Her medium height was bolstered by her luscious breasts and shapely legs that made her an inspirational princess, a muse of sorts. Many men had died trying to win the hand of Ali-Gare in marriage. Tales of her beauty had spread to the far corners of the world and men risked grave danger just for a chance to lay eyes on the lovely Princess. The twenty-six year old beauty had been betrothed at sixteen to Rollo Etburn. He was much older than her and she strongly protested the wedding. The mysterious hunting death of Rollo left many people questioning the Princess’ role in his demise. For the past ten years she had avoided marriage, causing strong disappointment to the King.
Ali-Ster watched as his other half-sisters joined Ali-Gare. Ali-Terri was forty-five, Ali-Cary was thirty-eight and with Ali-Bia at twenty-nine, Ali-Ster only shared the bright red Wamhoff hair with the ladies. They were born to the King’s first wife, Parys Etburn. King Ali-Stanley had married her when they were both nineteen. She became his key to obtaining the throne. She wasn’t a stunning woman by any stretch, but she did produce beautiful daughters. After her sudden death from fever, the King didn’t even look at women for over a year and a half. Even though twenty years had now passed, the King still visited her preserved body in the Alley of the Heavens every single day that he stayed in the Capitol.
Three black falcons were released into the large domed room. They flew in all their majesty, nearly colliding as they circled the room. This signaled that dinner was ready, so most guests sat down. Nearly one hundred servants weaved through the room, holding huge trays of meats and seafood for the guests to grab according to their fancy.
Finally, th
e King arrived, just in time for dinner. Now people would stop asking him about his father. He chose not to tell them that their King would rather spend his time with the dead. It irked Ali-Ster and the Queen that King Ali-Stanley spent so much time in the Alley.
Ali-Ster wanted to be back in battle, but he seemed destined to be Prince Archduke of Donegal. He would have to deal with all the trivial problems until Ali-Varis died. He would rather take orders from a commander than give them out to the realm as he loathed the shady underhanded dealings of the Capitol. Ali-Ster had only been back for a short time but he’d already noticed this. Ali-Ster saw Penrose pulling the chair for King Ali-Stanley to sit next to his wife and tried to remember the last time he had seen his parents that close to each other.
PENROSE
Penrose stood behind the King, attempting to avoid the food servants. He always worked at these events, protecting the royal family. The voices in his head had been silent for the past couple of weeks, but of course, they rose with him this morning. He scanned the room for suspicious characters. The only one to stand out was the man from Waters Edge that had met with the King last week. The stranger looked guilty of something as he sat unobtrusively in a corner of the room by himself.
Sir Jermar “The Giant” Lolat arrived to relieve Penrose for a bit. Sir Jermar wasn’t actually a giant, but he was the closest thing Donegal had to offer. Penrose walked over to the rest of the King’s Guard. Sir Oliver Wedgewood yawned, showing a semi toothless mouth. He was old, raunchy, and willing to do anything for the King. He lived by a policy of any means necessary. Sir Thomas Maron and Sir Nate Edgewell were about the same size and age, tall and in their mid-thirties.
His brother, Sir Anderley, was talking as he approached, “I mean, I should not have to run around, watching the Queen. This is supposed to mean King’s Guard,” he said, pointing to the pin on his chest.
TWO HEADS TWO SPIKES (The Pearl of Wisdom Saga) Page 10
