by R. T. Kaelin
“They’re mushy.”
Nikalys leaned forward and whispered in Helene’s ear, “You know, I don’t like mushy carrots, either. I’ll tell the cook to make them a special way—my way. I’m sure you’ll like them.”
Helene scrunched up her face, considering his offer, before giving a short nod.
“I’ll try your way.”
Sabine let out a low huff, pretending to be perturbed.
“I’ve been trying to get her to eat carrots since we got here. You walk in and—poof!—she says she’ll eat carrots.” There was a friendly, teasing tone to her voice. “Too bad those are the last in the storerooms.”
Nikalys was relieved. He hated carrots.
He looked up at Sabine and smiled the first natural grin he had given her in turns. At first, she returned his smile with one of her own, but her expression quickly shifted to one of anxious interest. She stared at him beseechingly, asking a dozen unspoken questions with her eyes alone. As much as he wanted to look away, he could not. Something about Sabine mesmerized him.
Suddenly, Kenders stood up, cutting short the odd interlude. In a firm, decisive tone, she announced, “Helene, as you did such a wonderful job eating your potatoes, perhaps we should venture into the kitchen and see if they have any of those sweet cakes we were talking about earlier.”
Nikalys threw his sister a dagger-filled glare. He did not want to be alone with Sabine. Completely ignoring him, Kenders moved to the end of the table and held out her hand.
“Let’s go, dear.”
Helene freed herself from Nikalys’ suddenly tight embrace and was halfway off the bench when she stopped. Peering at her sister, she asked, “Sabine, may I?”
“Yes, Helene. But only one cake.” Turning around to face Kenders, Sabine reiterated the point. “Only one, Kenders.”
Nikalys’ sister nodded solemnly.
“Of course, Sabine. Only two.”
Helene giggled as she gripped Kenders’ hand and the two scurried away to the back of the commons.
They were less than a dozen paces away when Sabine turned back, stared straight at Nikalys, and said, “So, you’ve certainly been going out of your way to be everywhere I’m not. Care to share why?”
Nikalys blinked twice. Sabine did not waste any time. He opened his mouth, thinking he was going to protest, but not having any idea how he possibly could. She was right. He sat that way, gaping for a moment before pressing his lips shut. No lie would be believable, and the true reason—that he and Jak both had feelings for her—was not something he wished to discuss.
Wholly misinterpreting his hesitation, Sabine said in crisp, clipped tone, “Fine. If you won’t talk, I’ll find somewhere else to be.”
She put her hands on the table and began to stand up. Before he could stop himself, Nikalys reached out and placed his right hand on top of hers. He was surprised how soft her skin was.
“Don’t go,” he said.
Sabine halted, holding her half-standing position, and glanced at his hand on hers. As soon as she did, he pulled it back, embarrassed that he had been so presumptuous. She sat back down on the bench, her dark blue dress rustling quietly. Once seated, she folded her arms on the table and turned her gaze on him, eyebrow cocked. She waited with an expectant expression, her long, silky black hair framing her perfect face. She was going to make him speak first.
Nikalys took a deep breath, exhaled and tried to say something, anything.
“I…”
The single syllable hung in the air. He had no idea what to say.
Frustrated, he dropped his chin to his chest and stared at his hands, resting on the wooden bench. A flash of reflected firelight near his left hip caught his attention. His gaze flicked to regard the silver band encircling the white stone carving of the lion’s head pommel on his sword. He stared at the lion’s head, mouth permanently open in an eternal, silent roar, reminding him of his purpose, his duty.
Clenching his jaw, he looked up to meet Sabine’s eyes. Whatever expression he wore caused her to flinch.
“First, I apologize for my behavior. Suffice it to say, were you to hazard a guess as to why I have been avoiding you, there is a good chance you would be correct.”
That was as close as he was going to get in admitting he had feelings for her.
The corners of her lips turned upward even though she stared at him with wary eyes. More was to come and she knew it. Something she would not want to hear.
Plunging ahead, he said softly, “Whatever is happening in the Borderlands right now is only the beginning. Things will get worse, Sabine. Much worse. I don’t know how exactly, but I doubt Indrida offers prophecies about easy fights.”
Her face darkened. She knew it, too. Nikalys continued, ensuring no one besides her could hear his gloomy assessment.
“You see how Lady Vivienne carries herself. She’s on constant edge. Commander Aiden, too. He hides it better than most, but he’s worried. And there were times before Broedi left where he would stand on the battlements, staring at nothing for hours.”
Sabine gave a short nod of her head and muttered, “I saw.”
Nikalys sighed and said, “There are thousands upon thousands of oligurts, razorfiends, mongrels, and demons out there. Demons, Sabine! All marching this way as we sit here and eat sweet cakes. For reasons we do not even understand!” His eyes flashed wide. “We have less than three hundred soldiers here!”
He muted his passion as best he could, afraid that others in the room might hear him. It would not do to have any member of the Shadow Manes here doubting their odds, no matter how low they were.
Taking a deep breath, he continued in a calmer tone, saying softly, “Which is why I must remain completely focused on the task at hand.”
Sabine held his gaze and shot back firmly, “That does not mean you need to avoid me, Nikalys. I want to help.”
He smiled thinly.
“I know you do, Sabine. You outshine nearly everyone when it comes to courage. It is one of the things I admire most about you.”
Her face lit up at the compliment, which, in turn, made Nikalys wince inwardly. He did not want to be eliciting that sort of reaction.
Frowning, he said sternly, “I promise to do everything in my power to keep you and your sister safe.” He paused, not wanting to say the next set of words. “But in order to do so, any feelings I have for you need to remain that. Only feelings. Nothing can happen between us.”
“But—”
With a firm shake of his head, he said, “No! That is the way of things. All sour, no sweet. I’m sorry.”
She closed her mouth, swallowing whatever she was going to say, biting her lip.
He eyed her a long moment, wondering if he dare ask what was lingering at the back of his mind. Knowing that he might regret it, he pressed ahead anyway, asking softly, “Besides, do you not have eyes for another?”
Her eyes widened.
“What…?”
She trailed off and turned to glare to where Kenders and Helene stood at the back of the commons, speaking with two kitchen workers.
Guessing what she was thinking, he said, “Kenders did not spoil your secret, Sabine. I have seen the way he looks at you.”
She turned back to stare at him but remained quiet.
“Jak is a good man,” said Nikalys. “The best. Through everything that has happened, he has stood by my side.”
A look of fondness flashed across Sabine’s face, confirming his fears. He was surprised how much it hurt to see it. Nevertheless, he peered into her brown eyes, no longer hesitant to hold her gaze. She, however, dropped her head, unable to meet his stare.
With a deep, reluctant sigh, he murmured, “I suppose that is why I decided that he can have you.”
Sabine’s head shot up with the speed of an arrow loosed from a bow, eyes wide.
“Pardon?”
Her voice was as hot as a new blade when pulled from the forge. The pleading look in her eyes was gone, replaced with a f
ierce, burning anger.
“You’ve decided that Jak ‘can have me?’”
Nikalys froze, realizing his mistake. Before he could stammer out an apology, Sabine exploded upward and stepped over the bench. She glared at him with the same expression Nikalys had seen the day he met her, right before she sliced the unconscious bandit’s neck: anger, hurt, bewilderment, and determination all swirling together, highlighted with a strange cool-headedness that Sabine exuded in times of distress.
In a surprisingly even tone, Sabine spit out, “You are the Progeny, yes, and I can’t imagine how heavy the weight you carry is. Of course, how could I? You never blasted talk to me!”
She gestured around wildly, waving both hands in air to indicate the commons. He was sure the few Shadow Manes in the room were watching even if they were pretending not to.
“I know what everyone here is expecting from you. You’ve been given an impossible task. ‘The Progeny must rise to lead the fight’ and all of that.” She jabbed a finger toward him, snapping, “But that blasted prophecy does not give you the right to make decisions about who can ‘have me!’”
Nikalys sat motionless, afraid to move. All he could do was nod, stunned mute.
Shaking her head, Sabine muttered, “You are an absolute lout, Nikalys Isaac. An absolute lout!”
She spun around and headed to the back of the room where Kenders and Helene stood. Nikalys watched her go, briefly wondering if he should go after her.
He did not.
Sabine reached Kenders and Helene, who had apparently succeeded in securing a sweet cake from the kitchen. After a brief exchange with Kenders, Sabine scooped up Helene and began to walk back in the direction of Nikalys, heading for the exit. She weaved through the maze of tables, ensuring she did not pass him as she left. Helene peered at him and smiled wide, her face smeared with the sweet, brown spice of the cake she still had clasped in her hand. With her free hand, she waved at Nikalys until the pair passed through the open archway. Nikalys smiled and waved back, but both were half-hearted.
He sat, staring at the doorway.
“Hells.”
A few moments later, Kenders’ voice echoed through the hall.
“What did you say to her?”
Pulling his eyes from the empty archway, he found Kenders striding up the aisle of tables, heading straight for him. She looked almost as angry as Sabine had been. Rolling his eyes, he stood from the table and started to walk, intent upon retrieving his book before leaving. He did not feel like discussing any of this with his sister.
Kenders did not intend to let him escape, though. With a stubborn insistence he had heard countless times while growing up, she exclaimed, “Nikalys!”
He stopped in his tracks, the soles of his boots scuffing against the rock floor. If he did not face her now, she would follow him wherever he went. He decided to let her yell at him and get it over with. He sighed, turned around, and peered at his sister.
“What, sis?”
There was strange hopelessness in his voice that he did not expect to hear.
The moment she saw his face, her quick pace slowed and the anger in her eyes drained away. In a kind, sympathetic voice, she said softly, “Oh, Nik. I’m so sorry.” His sister knew him better than he did himself at times.
For a long moment, neither sibling said a word.
Finally, he mumbled, “I said something I shouldn’t have, sis. That’s all.” After a resigned sigh, he rationalized, “It’s probably for the better, though. She’s angry and hurt now, but in time, she’ll realize I was—”
Interrupting, Kenders said, “She has feelings for you, Nik. Saying something brainless won’t change that.”
Nikalys peered at his sister, frowned, and asked, “And she has feelings for Jak, too, doesn’t she?”
Kenders did not respond, her face suspiciously void of any expression. Taking her non-reaction as confirmation, Nikalys let out a short, humorless chuckle.
“Right, then.”
Taking a moment to compose himself, Nikalys continued, “It’s better for everyone if we keep things simple, right? It makes the most sense, doesn’t it?”
He had turned and taken a few strides towards where his book waited for him when Kenders called gently, “The head cannot tell the heart how to feel, Nik.”
Nikalys’ step faltered at his sister’s words, but he did not stop. Picking up the thick volume, he headed for the commons’ entryway. His cold, drafty room now seemed like a much more hospitable place to read.
Chapter 8: Aid
Nathan sat in an oversized, cushioned chair, comfortable but not relaxed, his gaze locked on Zecus and Joshmuel across the room. Father and son were perched on two tall stools, leaning forward, resting their elbows on a round-top table, and talking. Two silver goblets of sweet wine sat untouched between them. One of five arched windows that looked over the well-tended garden below framed the pair. For Zecus’ sake, Nathan prayed things were going well.
Joshmuel appeared to be handling the discussion well. The elder Alsher had displayed signs of worry, but Nathan had yet to detect any anger in the man’s demeanor. Nathan was impressed. A certain strength must run through the Alsher blood.
Nathan went to draw in a deep breath as a precursor to a sigh, but grimaced at the first waft of air. The perfume of the garden’s flowers was overpowering, so much so it was giving him a headache. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, frowning, almost missing the malodorous soldiers’ barracks back in Smithshill.
The ride back from the Council House had been a quiet, somber experience, full of murmured explanations for Joshmuel and Boah’s benefit. Lady Vivienne allowed him and Jak to do most of the talking while she sat in thoughtful silence and they did their best to convey everything that had happened.
The attack on Yellow Mud.
Broedi and the White Lions.
Indrida’s prophecy.
The Progeny.
The Battle of Shorn Rise against oligurts and razorfiends.
The Shadow Manes.
Throughout most of the tale, the two Borderlanders gaped at them as if they were mad. Had Nathan not lived much of it, he would have felt the same, he supposed. However, once Zecus swore it all true, the pair seemed to accept the grand tale.
Upon reaching Lady Vivienne’s villa, she led them to her personal room—the same one in which they had arrived via the port—and left the five men alone, informing them that she would be back later. As the door was still closing, Zecus turned to his father and asked to speak with him. The pair had retreated to the stools by the window and not moved since.
The remaining three men had settled into a trio of cushioned chairs beneath a large painting of a grand, nameless city. Water canals meandered through the buildings instead of streets, covered with countless, colorful rafts of people. To pass the time, they chatted about the painting, wondering aloud at its location and discussing the perceived difficulties of having waterways instead of roads.
A servant arrived a short time later, carrying five wine goblets on a silver platter. Jak and Boah accepted theirs readily, smiles on their faces, and sampled the drink immediately. While Nathan had taken his cup, he had yet to take a single sip. The events of the First Council weighed on his mind.
Jak was in the midst of detailing the Battle of Shorn Rise for Boah, when the sole oaken door to the room opened, swinging inward, and groaning on its hinges. Four soldiers entered the room, two dressed in the blue and gold of the Southern Arms and two wearing the maroon and silver of the Long Coast Duchy’s Shore Guard. The men took up positions on both sides of the doors, standing as straight as the spears they carried.
Duchess Aleece swept into the room a moment later, followed by Duchess Adnil and Lady Vivienne, all three still wearing the formal dresses they had on during the First Council.
Jak turned his head, and upon seeing the two duchesses, attempted to leap to his feet. Sunk deep into his chair’s cushions, he threw his weight forward and thrust himself up
, losing his grip on his goblet in the process. The half-full cup flew from his hand and landed a couple of paces from the chair, splattering red wine all over the polished white marble and clanging as it bounced away. As he scrambled forward to gather up the rogue cup, he tripped over his feet and fell to the ground, sliding into the newly spilled puddle of wine.
Had two sovereigns not been in the room, Nathan was confident everyone would be laughing heartily at the clumsy display. Perhaps even the somber Alsher pair. Boah managed to restrain his delight, letting his mirth expand to a wide grin, but no further. Nathan allowed himself a small smile only.
As the duchesses dismissed their respective honor guards, Nathan rose from his own chair—with extra care—and placed his goblet on the marble table that rest between them. Keeping one eye on the three noblewomen as they walked toward the trio of men, Nathan leaned over and muttered, “Do you need help?”
Jak gave him a sharp look.
“I’m fine.”
As the young man pushed himself from the floor, his cheeks redder than the wine on the floor and tunic, Nathan turned to face the noblewomen.
When he had been standing on the chamber floor before the First Council, Nathan had judged Duchess Aleece to be one of the most attractive women that he had ever laid eyes on. Upon seeing her a second time, he amended his earlier assessment. All other women paled in comparison.
Long, glistening, sandy brown hair draped past her shoulders, perfectly framing her face. Her skin was without blemish, the only marks being two dimples summoned forth by the broad smile she wore. She appeared as amused by Jak’s fall as Boah was. Duchess Adnil—quietly chuckling to herself—seemed to be enjoying the accident as well. Only Lady Vivienne wore a disapproving look. Nathan wondered if the baroness knew how to smile.
Looking over, Nathan saw that Zecus and Joshmuel had left their private table before the garden window and were coming to stand with them. Both men’s eyes had a haunted look to them, sad and worried at the same time. As they neared, Joshmuel reached up and gently patted his son’s back. Nathan’s opinion of the Alsher patriarch rose even higher.
