by Alex Aguilar
“Come. We’ll store this somewhere safe. The royal guard will be here to gather a few things soon. And then I’m gonna need you to look after father for a few hours.”
“Where will you go?”
“To Elbon. I won’t be long, I promise.”
“What’s there to do in Elbon?”
Evellyn’s face was dirt-ridden, but it was beautiful all the same. She wiped herself with her apron, and there was a new trace of hope there, vivid from the sparkle in her eyes to the warmth in her cheeks. She untied her stained apron and pulled 5 coppers from the leather sack, admired them for a moment, and then hid them in one of the pockets of her red housedress.
“I’ve a debt to repay the Huxleys,” she said with a smile.
* * *
Val Havyn during sunset was something from a dream.
It was spellbinding, the way the sun would cast shadows of the arched red-bricked roofs over the cobblestones, and the way the light reflected from the stained glass windows of the royal palace, as the cloudy sky blended into a serene blue.
It was as peaceful as it could get.
Lady Brunylda Clark, treasurer of the royal city, sat in a beautifully decorated armchair that she had specifically requested be moved to the outdoor balcony that morning. Her bedroom was in the highest tower of the palace, nearly a hundred feet above the city streets. The view from her balcony would have been astounding for the common peasant, but to the Lady it was nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, it frequently reminded her of the responsibility she held over the people of the grand city and therefore she found herself unable to sit out there longer than ten minutes without a drink at hand.
She sat there that afternoon sipping from an elegant goblet, savoring the taste of the dark and bitter Roquefort liqueur, which was far too strong for most people’s taste and yet to her it was as light and smooth as water. The wind in her face was causing her eyes to become watery and so she closed them, sighing deeply and exhaustedly, allowing for the heat of the liqueur to burn her chest…
She welcomed the burn, embraced it, felt almost completed by it…
Finally some rest, she thought to herself. There were no sounds except for that of the wind and a whistling hummingbird standing on the edge of her balcony.
She peeked at it.
How nice he must have it, she thought. To be able to fly away, wherever his heart takes him. What joy that must be. What luck the little bastard has.
When she closed her eyes, she did not want to open them again.
Without the view of the landscape, she could have been anywhere.
One moment she was in the royal city of Val Havyn… And the next moment she was in Roquefort, a young naïve girl with high hopes and distant dreams…
A Lady only speaks when spoken to, her father would say.
A Lady does not argue with her superiors, her mother would advise.
It wasn’t until Lady Brunylda Clark was of age thirteen that she realized what her mother really meant was ‘A Lady does not argue with her superiors who are men’.
Forty years later, the Lady found that not much had changed…
Whenever she remembered it, she found herself beckoning for the nearest servant to fetch her another bottle of liqueur. Not that the drinking slowed her down, by any means; in fact, the Lady at her worst state often proved to be remarkably smarter than most of King Rowan’s advisors at their best.
She breathed, slowly and deeply, her eyes growing heavy and drained.
It wouldn’t have been the first time she dozed off in her balcony. In fact, during the worst of days, she preferred it. There was a soft knock on her door, however, that brought her back before she could sink into a deep sleep.
“Come in,” she spoke loudly.
Brie, the former handmaiden to the princess, walked in nervously.
“Sorry to bother you, m’lady…”
“What do you want, girl?” she asked, evoking her displeasure through her words.
“Sir Dar… Umm… pardon me, Lord Darryk Clark wishes to speak with you, m’lady.”
Lady Brunylda took a good sip from her goblet and with a scowl said, “Lord Darryk Clark may walk himself here if he wishes…”
At that very moment, the door hinges screeched delicately and a heavy boot stepped inside the Lady’s bedroom… Darryk felt the discomfort before he could even speak. This was the second time in his life he had visited Val Havyn, and never did he envision himself ruling it. The man stood there, wearing a silver crown that felt more unusual to him than the elegant silk clothing the king had ordered made especially for him. He was 25 years of age and yet he looked more like a frightened boy turning towards the nearest familiar face for guidance.
The Lady was merely a distant aunt he knew by name yet never by face…
To him, she was the only connection he had to Roquefort…
To her, he may as well have been Aharian, for she cared very little that they shared a house name. House Clark had shown her what it meant to be a person of nobility and the amount of power and status one could earn by making the right decisions. That was, of course, exclusive to the Clark men.
As a young girl, she would often question why… And all she would get in response was something along the lines of ‘A Lady does not question her superiors on their way of life’.
“Thank you,” Darryk said to Brie. “Would you leave us alone for a moment?”
“No,” the Lady interrupted. “Stay, girl. Pour me another drink.”
Brie chose to obey the Lady, and Darryk remained in place, as if waiting for the girl to finish and leave. Lady Brunylda, however, seemed to care very little about the privacy of whatever matters the knight-turned-lord had to discuss.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, my Lord?” she asked as she held out her goblet for Brie to fill.
Darryk cleared his throat, approaching her tentatively. “I have come to request your assistance with a particular matter, my Lady.”
“I gathered that much,” she scoffed. “No one ever comes up here unless they require my assistance. What can I do for you, my Lord?” Before the handmaiden could walk away, Brunylda snapped her fingers and beckoned her back. “I said stay, girl… Take a seat. I might need you.”
Brie could do nothing but nervously obey, unsure if the Lady actually wanted her there or if she was simply doing it to spite the young lord. Darryk knew the Lady was never one to succumb to pressure, and so he gave Brie a head nod of acknowledgement before stepping out into the elegant balcony, taking a moment to appreciate the view.
“As you may be aware,” he said. “We appear to have a shortage of men at our disposal.”
She scoffed again. “The world is short of many things, my Lord, but men is not one of them.”
“It is in Val Havyn, I’m afraid… I can’t keep the city safe with such few guards, my Lady. The potential for an unprecedented threat is too great. Our guards need proper rest if they are to do their job and they can’t very well leave the palace unguarded… It is our responsibility to find replacements so th-”
“Our responsibility?” she interrupted him. “I don’t recall my name written on the parchment when his majesty signed your contract… I am merely a humble advisor. But please, do go on, my Lord.”
There was a short silence…
Darryk resisted the temptation to argue, mostly out of unease…
“Please,” he cleared his throat. “Call me Darryk.”
The Lady said nothing, only continued to sip from her goblet.
It had only been days since Darryk was assigned the king’s responsibilities and already his eyelids were starting to show signs of weariness, black and wrinkled in contrast to his smooth caramel skin. But despite it all, he appeared to be holding himself together quite well. His false confidence was irreproachable when in the presence of the king’s advisors. In the presence of the Lady, however, the man felt the weight of expectation lift from his shoulders, replaced by something else entirely… Something
like intimidation, if not fear…
“There is a gentleman from the city of Kahrr in our city grounds,” Darryk said. “Count Raoul Jacquin is his name. I plan to meet with him in the morning to discuss the possibility of sending a few dozen men to Val Havyn.”
“I see,” the Lady said, keeping her eyes on the landscape. Since the knight-turned-lord arrived at her door, she hadn’t even given him a glance. Darryk may as well have been nude and she wouldn’t have noticed. “I wish you the best of luck, my Lord… Don’t be at all surprised if he treats you like a common peasant. It’s quite typical of Kahrran men. ‘Tis why we shouldn’t have free cities.”
There was another silence that followed, during a moment of hesitation on Darryk’s behalf. He felt his palms grow sweaty as his heart began to race. And with a deep sigh, he took a risk and said, “I would like for you to accompany me when I meet with him…”
“Is that an order or a request, my Lord?”
It was then that Darryk felt an impulse to become defensive. The only thing he ever knew of ruling is what he had seen in his father, and Lord Augustus Clark had never been a patient man. Darryk had always felt, in a sense, that he would do things differently should he find himself in a position of power. He simply didn’t expect he would be put to the test quite so soon.
“It’s a request… my Lady,” he tried to match her contemptuous tone, and much to his surprise she half-smirked.
“I see,” she said. “And what do you need me for? You’re the Lord Regent of Val Havyn, are you not?”
“Well… My knowledge of the world outside of Vallenghard is not as grand as yours, my Lady. Eventually, there will be negotiation with Count Jacquin. And, as you are the Treasurer of the royal city, I would feel much better having you by my side.”
“Ahh… Foreigners intimidate you, do they?”
“They do not, my Lady… But I know when my expertise lies elsewhere. I am a soldier, not a diplomat. And do forgive me for being blunt, but… A man makes mistakes, whether he’s a peasant or a king. Perhaps his majesty didn’t entirely consider the possibility that there may be another person more qualified than me to rule this city.”
Lady Brunylda was thrown aback all of a sudden… She hadn’t considered Darryk’s feelings towards all of this. Sure, the knight had the look of a confused child when he was appointed Lord, but never did she contemplate that he would feel disinclined to accept the offer.
“Where will this Count Jacquin be staying?” she asked.
“Er… That there’s a matter I’ve yet to figure out. I have two guards asking questions and th-”
“The Emerald Rose Saloon,” a soft voice mumbled.
Both the Lady and the Lord glanced back.
“What was that, girl?”
“Um… The Emerald Rose Saloon, m’lady,” Brie said, slowly rising from her chair out of respect. “M-My sister’s a servant to Madame Sybil… Sometimes I visit her in the evenings.”
Sir Darryk’s brow was half-lowered and half-raised, in a way that hadn’t seemed possible to Brie until that moment. “A-Are you certain?” he asked her with a hopeful tone.
“Yes, m’lord.”
“I-I… Thank you…”
There were no words from Lady Brunylda at first, only a chuckle.
“What is it?” Darryk asked.
“A noble’s first mistake is not realizing that servants have an entire society of their own. In some ways, their connections are somewhat greater than ours.”
Darryk turned his attention back to the handmaiden. “What did he look like?”
“Don’t know,” she replied. “I didn’t actually see him… but I did see his name signed on the guest list for a two-night stay. And he’s paying quite a bit of coin.”
“Excellent,” Darryk smiled. “Excellent work!”
“Hang on a minute,” Lady Brunylda set her goblet down on the glass table next to her armchair. “What did you just say…?”
Brie was both startled and confused. She wiped her sweaty palms on the waist of her green housedress. “I said my sister’s a serv-”
“No, no, after that, girl. Regarding the guest list…”
Brie wasn’t sure of what else to say. As a handmaiden, she was used to being invisible. In fact, this may have been the first time the lady stared right into her eyes for that long without giving her an order.
Lady Brunylda Clark wasn’t exactly smiling… It was more of a look of amusement and perhaps a hint of newly found admiration. Regardless, it was a look that was far different than any other look she had given Brie before. There was more warmth there.
“You can read?” the Lady asked.
“Oh… Um… yes, m’lady,” Brie could feel the sweat building up in her brow, just beneath a forelock of greasy brown hair, the rest of which was tied in an unkempt bun with a copper pin.
And suddenly there it was… An actual smile, plastered over the Lady’s face…
“Very well… I will meet you in the assembly room at dawn, Lord Darryk,” she said, to which Darryk smiled with surprise.
“My sincere thanks, my Lady!” he said with a head nod.
“Anything else?”
“Not at all, my Lady! That will do,” he walked out of the Lady’s bedroom, a new trace of hope in his expression. And when the door closed behind him, the Lady broke the silence first.
“As for you, girl…”
Brie’s eyes left the carpet and looked up as if expecting a lecture.
“Be sure to get a proper rest tonight. I want you on your very best in the morning.”
“Y-Yes, m’lady… Shall I bring your tea here or to the assembly room?”
“Fuck the tea,” the Lady said unexpectedly. “Have someone else fetch it.”
Brie’s jaw dropped slightly. It wasn’t that the Lady didn’t curse, she certainly did, especially when there was liqueur involved. It was the new look she was giving her… It wasn’t at all how servants were typically looked at…
“If you can read, I trust you can write, yes?”
“Um… Yes, m’lady.”
“Good… You’ll be coming along with us. A good diplomatic meeting will require a good bookkeeper,” the Lady picked up her goblet again with a grin.
“Y-Yes… Thank you, m’lady!” Brie said, her face lighting up with wonder.
“Go on, girl,” the Lady snapped her fingers, though Brie found it to be far less intimidating than before. In fact, the handmaiden had a concealed smile and a shiver of excitement.
“A proper rest, girl, remember… I need you sharp. Can’t be too careful with Kahrran diplomats, they can smell weakness. You will wear the finest dress you own, is that clear?”
“Yes, m’lady!”
“Good. And, by the gods, will you do something about that hair?”
* * *
It was a pleasant afternoon in the farming village of Elbon.
Or, at least, it began as one…
The sun was setting, the air was cooling down, the grassy fields were dancing with the wind, but there was something lurking among the greenery. And for the first time in a long time, fate was to bring a great misfortune to the Huxley family.
Just before nightfall, the twins Margot & Melvyn were scampering through the fields, using sticks as swords, happy as children their age should be. But the boy began to feel anxious as his sister ran further and further away from the comfort of their mother’s farm and towards Lotus Creek.
“Margot, wait!” he shouted.
But the girl’s thirst for exploration always got the better of her. They ran until they reached the top of a hill, the view of their farm as beautiful and serene as it was every spring, like a charming portrait in a nobleman’s study.
“Remember what Mister Beckwit said,” the girl aimed at her brother’s feet with the stick. The boy’s eyes moved absentmindedly, and Margot then jabbed him underneath the ribcage.
He grunted. “What was that for?!”
“Keep your eyes on the enemy!” she
grinned.
“Why, you…”
He ran after her, but Margot’s speed was unmatched, as she had proven it many times before. She frolicked downhill, dangerously away from the farm, hopping over sharp stones and patches of swampy grass.
“Get back here!”
“Make me!”
“It’s not funny, Margot! Mum said to stay close!”
“We’ll be fine!”
She did what her heart told her to, which would often lean towards that which her mother objected to. She ran until she could see that dark shade of blue in the distance, until she could hear the rapid waters drifting by and could feel the breeze against her face. She came to a halt right at the river’s edge, and aimed her stick up at her brother, her other arm held up in the air as if she were carrying something on her shoulder.
“Do you dare challenge me?!” she spoke in a deeper voice, as if imitating a gallant knight of some sort. “No man that ever challenges me has lived to tell the tale, sir.”
Melvyn was not very impressed. “We have to go back, Margot. Mum won’t like it if w-”
“D’you want to get better or not?” she asked, this time with her normal voice and an eye roll.
He hesitated. But then her sister gave him a smile.
He smiled right back and crossed his stick over hers as if they were crossing blades.
“I do in fact challenge you, Margot Huxley of Elbon!”
They clashed sticks, again and again. Margot, agile and unflinching as she was, climbed onto the stones along the river’s edge, unafraid of falling into the current. But the boy was more wary, sometimes holding back on his swings out of fear of making his sister lose her balance.
“Come on, you swine!” Margot said, again in her fake knight voice. “Is that all you got?!”
“Just warming up!” Melvyn swung again.
“You fight like a farmer, lad. Who trained you?!” Margot’s swing was suddenly fiercer than before, and so the boy dropped his stick. She held hers up to his neck. “Certain death,” she smiled.
He was out of breath. But she could have gone on for an hour.
He pushed her stick away with mild annoyance.
“Someday,” he said. “I’ll get you.”
