Aislin of Arianrhod (Land of Alainnshire)

by S. L. Jesberger

  The council room was round, fashioned from the same white marble as the rest of the village. Six large, fluted pillars carved from smooth gray granite were spaced equal distance around the room, and stretched from the floor to the domed ceiling. An open semi-circular dark oak table that stood in the center softened the extreme brightness of the room. Seventeen high-backed oak chairs stood along the table’s outside curve.

  The seats looked down upon a speaking platform in the center of the circle, accessed by three wide steps through a swinging gate at the front of the table.

  Instead of taking his council seat as he usually did, Tristan walked down the steps and into the center of the platform. The elders took their seats and quieted themselves. All eyes were now on Tristan.

  His heart racing, Tristan looked up at them, a pair of amber eyes on his mind. He needed to be very careful of his words, and the tone with which they were spoken. Right now, with his thoughts scattered to the four winds, he didn’t trust himself to speak at all.

  When he said nothing for several minutes, Colven prompted him: “You have news for us, Tristan?”

  He swallowed hard. “I do.”

  A few seconds passed. Looking somewhat amused, Colven peered out over the top of his glasses and asked, “Are you going to share it with us?”

  “The human man’s name is Roderic. He’s a courier from Wyndham.” Tristan thought his voice sounded shaky and hollow in the wide expanse of room.

  “And the woman is...?” All eyes were on Tristan. The room was completely silent.

  He hesitated a second before looking up at Colven, willing him to see that he was giving more than just her name. “Princess Aislin of Arianrhod.”

  A collective gasp rose up and filled the room, the low murmur quickly turning into a flood of harsh sound.

  “Silence! Silence!” Colven slammed the gavel down sharply several times. The noise abated immediately.

  “How is this possible? What is she doing here?”

  “I don’t know. I scanned her memories to discover her identity, but I didn’t get a chance to question her. She refused to speak, and I left her.” It wasn’t quite the truth, but... “My spies tell me Jariath of Morrigan invaded Arianrhod a few days ago, and the woman and her courier somehow escaped him.”

  “They must be killed immediately. No human must be allowed to live after they have seen Oakenbourne!” said Duff.

  Tristan had expected this, but to hear it said out loud sent his nerves tumbling off a cliff. “I must be allowed to question the woman further. She may have information that will help us if Jariath turns his attention to us.” Tristan took a deep breath. “I believe we should not be so quick to put the princess to death. She may be valuable to us. We have never had an occasion where another kingdom’s monarch has landed on our doorstep. We need to think this through thoroughly before we act on it.”

  The council erupted with more shouting, and Colven slammed the gavel down again. “Humans have brought us nothing but destruction. We’ve always eliminated them whenever they came too close to us,” Colven reminded him.

  “I know, Elder Colven. But this woman’s memories indicate she has more honor than other humans.” There were angry shouts and mocking laughter at this, so Tristan stopped and let the noise die down. He stared at the floor, thinking carefully of what to say next. He didn’t want them to think he was pleading for her life.

  Turning his face up to them again, he said in a commanding voice, “Once she is put to death, it cannot be undone. It is my responsibility as chieftain to keep our people safe. I don’t know how Arianrhod or Wyndham would react if they found out that we executed their princess, but I doubt they would be pleased. I believe this would put us at risk. It’s a risk we don’t have to take right now. There is no harm in keeping them in the prison for the time being.” Council began to murmur again, weighing his words.

  Colven leaned forward, stroking his long white beard, looking at Tristan over the top of his glasses. Tristan met his gaze, and quickly looked away. Colven’s eyes had a way of slicing into his soul.

  After several minutes, Colven said, “Tristan speaks wisely. We’ll consider the matter further at a later time. Council has finished.” He pounded the gavel, and the meeting was over.

  Tristan exhaled with relief and started up the marble steps. Colven met him at the top, took his arm, and steered him off to the side.

  “You have ever been a wise leader for our people, and I trust you implicitly, but I sense something about the human woman is troubling to you. Take care. Your first allegiance is to your people.”

  Tristan bowed low to Colven, whom he respected more than any other. “I understand.”

  “The princess should be thoroughly questioned. I would like to be present when you do this. Is this agreeable to you?” Colven searched Tristan’s face.

  Trying not to look surprised, Tristan replied, “Of course. Should we meet in the prison, or would you like me to bring her to your rooms?”

  “Oh, I think you could bring her to my rooms. Tomorrow, late morning would be fine. Thank you, Tristan.” And with that, Colven took his leave.

  Tristan was inexplicably edgy after the council meeting, and he took a long walk in the forest to calm himself. The Sylvan never held captured humans, preferring to execute them quickly after a thorough interrogation. Why had he fought so hard for this one? The woman was still warm and breathing in the lower floors of Oakenbourne, and it both excited and frightened him.

  It was late when Tristan got back to his rooms. As he lay in the dark, he thought about how quickly Colven had sensed his conflict. He wondered if he was that transparent to everyone. He couldn’t deny his fascination for the princess, and it made things feel a little off somehow, like his life had shifted around under him. Clenching his fists, he drove her from his thoughts.

  Chapter Fourteen

  TRISTAN WAS RELIEVED TO SEE the first hints of morning start to filter in around the tapestry covering his window. He’d lain awake most of the night, his mind churning.

  He jumped quickly out of bed, full of nervous energy, eager to see Aislin again. He’d be taking her to meet Colven later on this morning. It promised to be an extraordinary day.

  Pulling his hood over his head, Tristan delivered breakfast to the man first. Roderic got up from the floor and eagerly took the trencher from him.

  Roderic eyed him warily and pointed at the extra trencher of bread and cheese in Tristan’s hand. “That is for the woman who was traveling with me?”

  “I know who she is.”

  Roderic stopped in mid-chew and glared up at him. “How did you find out?”

  “I read her memories, as I did with you.”

  “If you hurt her, I’ll find a way to kill you.”

  Tristan laughed. “She has nothing to fear—for now.” He backed out of the cell, and pulled the door shut behind him.

  When he opened the door to Aislin’s cell, he was amused to find her sleeping upright in the same corner he’d left her in last night, a blanket covering her like a shroud.

  Tristan had seen her peep around the edge of the blanket at him as he opened the door, but now she had it pulled up over her head. He stood over her with the trencher and waited.

  “I would have thought that after having nothing to eat yesterday, you would be ravenous. I’ll take this trencher of food away if it doesn’t suit you, Princess.”

  “No!” Throwing the blanket off, she quickly turned eager eyes to him. “I’m starving!”

  He held the laugh that welled inside him and handed her the trencher.

  “I can’t very well eat with my wrists chained like this.”

  “It didn’t seem to cause a problem for your courier.”

  She drew herself up and glared at him. He bit back another laugh.

 
“I will unchain you, but I swear if you make any move to escape, I’ll fill your life with pain. Do you understand me?”

  Aislin’s face flushed crimson, and she stared up at him with equal parts anger and disbelief. The tension was thick as they fought a silent battle of wills, but Tristan was keenly aware that the advantage was his. She was hungry, and he had food.

  He pulled the trencher out of her hand and turned to leave.

  “No! Wait! I promise I won’t try anything. Just leave the food. Please!”

  Trying not to smile, Tristan stepped forward and waved his hands over the chains on her wrists. They swelled and fell to the floor.

  Aislin looked at her wrists and back up at him in astonishment. “How...did you do that?”

  “Magik. A skill that has yet to be learned by humans, because you don’t believe in such things. In fact, I’m not sure you humans believe in anything,” he said, as he handed the trencher back to her.

  Tristan sat down on the floor, leaned back against the wall, and watched as Aislin settled the trencher of food in her lap and began to eat.

  “You’re going to watch me eat? You don’t have anything else to do?” she asked.

  “No. Nothing. I’m going to sit here and watch you eat,” he replied.

  Aislin shrugged and went back to eating.

  He leaned forward and studied her closely. How could anyone so filthy be so breathtaking? Dirt smudged her face from forehead to chin, her golden brown hair hung in tangles, and her clothes were covered with what looked like river sand.

  She lifted her chin occasionally to look at him, quick, furtive glances, cautious and questioning, her golden eyes sharp and round as a hawk’s as they looked out from the incongruous disarray of her face. Every now and again, the corners of her mouth turned down with a quiver as if she were talking herself out of having a good cry.

  She must be terrified and rightly so, Tristan thought. This woman has never spent one minute of her life in chains, never mind locked away in a prison. Even so, if she felt any fear, she was doing a good job of hiding it.

  “It’s clear, by the way you’re staring, that you have questions for me. It goes without saying that I have questions for you. We can sit here staring at each other...or...” Aislin looked up at him, but she held his gaze this time. “...we can talk.”

  Her piercing eyes did strange things to his insides, and he reacted with defensive hostility.

  “I don’t think you understand your situation here, Princess. You are the prisoner, not me,” he snapped.

  “Oh, I understand my situation perfectly. That doesn’t mean we can’t be civil with each other. I haven’t harmed you in any way, and you haven’t harmed me.” Aislin set the trencher to the side, and leaned toward him. “How about this: you ask me a question, and I will answer it...honestly... if you will do the same for me. You can go first. Does that sound fair?”

  What game was this? Tristan swallowed and regarded her silently. There was a sharp mind under all that dirt. Her clear voice, and the obvious thought put into the question, left him feeling as though he were about to be ambushed. He didn’t like it at all, but he had no reason to refuse her request.

  “How did you escape from Jariath?” he said slowly. “Arianrhod has no defenses to speak of, and he caught you by surprise with a rather large army.”

  “Well...” Aislin said, leaning even closer to him. “...I almost didn’t escape him. I wandered out into the battle, but my assistant found me before anyone from Morrigan could get me. It was close. In fact, we just made it into the house.” She stopped, sat back, and smiled.

  “Your turn,” she said.

  “You’re leaving out quite a bit of information, I think.”

  “No.” She had a blank look of innocence. “You asked me how I escaped from Jariath. If it hadn’t been for my assistant, I wouldn’t have. That’s my answer. It’s your turn to answer a question.”

  Tristan snorted. He had the discomfiting feeling that she’d just pulled one over on him.

  “I’m listening,” he said shortly.

  “What are you going to do with us?” she said, tilting her head to look at him. “Roderic and me?”

  “You will be accompanying me to the rooms of Colven, the Sylvan council elder, later on this morning. He has requested that I bring you to him for questioning. Things will go...forward...from there.” Tristan didn’t miss the startled look that crossed her face, but she recovered beautifully, the blank mask quickly sliding back into place.

  “Forward. Oh.” She looked down at her clothing and quickly back up at him. “I can’t meet your council elder like this.”

  He smiled slightly. “It’s my turn to ask a question.”

  “We’re done with questions,” she said, a note of panic in her voice. “I can’t meet your council elder looking and smelling like a dirty forest boar. I won’t do it.”

  He raised his eyebrows at her refusal. “You will do as I say.”

  “No. No. No,” Aislin said, trying to get to her feet. He rose quickly and grabbed her, pinning her arms to her side. She offered no resistance, and he took them both back to the floor.

  “Please, “she said firmly, tensing in his arms. “I am regent for the Kingdom of Arianrhod. Don’t you understand what that means? I haven’t had a proper bath in three days. I can’t meet someone of importance...looking...like this.”

  She’s right. Colven is expecting to meet a princess, and she certainly doesn’t look... or smell...like one. An idea took shape in Tristan’s mind, and he released her. “Finish your breakfast. I’ll be back.”

  “Get up. Come with me,” Tristan growled.

  Aislin quickly got to her feet. He wasn’t angry when he left, but now...

  They stepped out into the hall, and she was surprised to see that everything was made of the same brilliant white marble. It would have been blinding if rich tapestries of burgundy, blue and gold had not hung from the walls in stunning contrast. A colorful and elaborate scene was woven onto each tapestry. Taken together, they appeared to tell a story. Aislin craned her neck, looking up in wonder at them. It made her stumble, and Tristan pushed her impatiently out in front of him to keep her moving.

  Tristan herded her down the hallway and up several flights of stairs. He stopped in front of a wooden door, unlocked it, and pushed her into an apartment. The décor, and the mess, was most decidedly male. Aislin assumed this was where he lived.

  He guided her through the main living quarters, strewn about with his clothing, and pushed open another door that led into a small white marble room. Aislin gave a little squeak of delight when she saw what awaited her—a warm bath!

  The bath, a small square pool elevated in the center of the room, was made of the same pristine white marble as everything else. There were soft, fluffy towels and a bar of soap laying on the edge of the tub. Steam rose from the water in a white curling mist, fogging up the mirror of a nearby vanity. A brush and comb were on the vanity, and a white satin tunic with gold trim hung from a hook on the wall. A pair of white and gold sandals was on the floor.

  Aislin turned grateful eyes to him. She was rewarded with a scowl.

  “Don’t get all dewy-eyed. I didn’t do this solely for you. You have one hour in the bath, and not one minute longer.” Tristan turned and slammed the door behind him.

  As soon as Aislin heard him lock it, she stripped off the dirty clothes she was wearing, threw them to the corners of the room, and stepped into the bath. Laughing, she dove in and began to splash around.

  She washed quickly. The time they’d spent floating in the river had covered her body with a layer of grit she’d not had an opportunity to wash off.

  When she finished washing her hair, she sat and relaxed near the edge of the tub, her head lolling, the rest of her submerged beneath the war
m water.

  Elves. They’d been captured by elves. An elf had drawn this bath for her! She burst out laughing.

  Her father used to tell her stories just like this before he tucked her into bed as a child. But this was no fable. Her eyes hadn’t deceived her. Tristan was an elf— a very attractive elf, but an elf nonetheless. And she hated that he had so much power over her.

  She would have to be very careful, calling upon everything she’d ever learned at her father’s knee about diplomacy. Tristan was chieftain here, and he was taking her to see their council elder. If she could just form a persuasive argument, the two elves had the ability to help her.

  Or not.

  She could sense that Tristan was the unknown in all of this. She really seemed to disturb him for some reason, though she couldn’t imagine why. She’d seen friendly warmth in those green eyes a couple of times, but just as often, she caught him looking at her with angry contempt.

  Something about her seemed to trigger a silent debate in him, and without knowing the crux of the debate, she couldn’t react to it.

  It hadn’t taken him long to discover who she was with that memory thing he’d done to her. She wondered if it had surprised him to find out who she was. She would hopefully be given the respect her station accorded her, but she got the feeling she shouldn’t count on it. Given Tristan’s earlier behavior, she could see he didn’t find her the least bit daunting.

  Aislin got out of the bath, dried herself off, and put on the tunic. It skimmed down over her lean curves as though it had been made for her. She hadn’t seen any of them yet, but there were obviously Sylvan women living here.

  She sat at the vanity, picked up the comb, and frowned in the mirror. Getting a brush and comb through her hair was going to be a bit of a challenge. It was nothing but an unruly tangle on her head.