A Gift Freely Given (The Tahaerin Chronicles Book 1)

by J. Ellen Ross

  “Symon, I remember some of the trip to Arnost, and I remember you were quite kind to me,” Leisha said, staring out at the countryside rolling by. “I appreciate you coming to bring me home.”

  Leaving

  A week after completing the job for Jonus, Zaraki returned to the tiny room he and Aniska shared with a new, cheap bottle of wine. He was looking forward to another evening of drinking a little and making love to his friend. When he opened the door, he saw her sitting on their bed, looking bereft.

  Aniska looked up at him and then back down. He saw tears on her cheeks. “Zaraki, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” She stopped to sniff and scrub at her eyes. “But I took a job. A real, permanent one, it sounds like.”

  “That’s great. Why are you sorry?”

  “They only want me. Just to tend bar and listen to what people are saying. Report back and all that. I heard this morning Lord Bohumir was looking and I went to check it out. Hired on the spot once his man saw my brand.”

  Zaraki put an arm around her shoulder. “We knew this was going to happen eventually. Don’t feel bad. I’ll find something.”

  “But not here.” Her words were a warning. They were spies first, and territorial ones to boot.

  “No, not here,” he agreed. If he stayed here, it would ruin their friendship. Working for a nobleman meant this became her territory, and anything he did here could be information her employer wanted to know. “Conflict of interest and all that.”

  “How long can you stay?” she asked.

  “I have that job to finish here for the merchants’ guild, but it should only take a couple of days. It’s just information gathering. Then, I’ll head downriver to Arnost, I think.” Ani might feel she had put enough distance between herself and Ostrava, but he wanted to get as far away from Cezar as he could.

  “I’m leaving with the guards to travel to the manor and meet Lord Bohumir in three days. We should spend as much time as possible naked.”

  Zaraki laughed. Pragmatism formed a cornerstone of Aniska’s personality. He appreciated that, instead of being sad, she thought they needed to use the time left to them constructively.

  ***

  Instead of walking to Arnost, Zaraki secured a job on a barge heading down the river to the great city. He knew nothing much about boats, but plenty about keeping unruly passengers under control. The trip took five days as the barge stopped at every single village and hamlet along the way to pick up cargo and travelers. It turned out to be very easy money. No one caused any serious trouble or had to be thrown overboard.

  Arnost came into view as the barge rounded a bend in the river. Though planted in a strategic location at the confluence of the Arn and Pava rivers, this far from any borders, the city had known peace for generations. Parks and streets lined with ancient trees attested to this. The palace sitting on the hill looked more decorative than defensive.

  A huge, rich city such as this should have jobs for him with a king in residence. Nobles and merchants needed information. Even with the money from the barge, his funds ran low and this far from Ostrava he did not know the worth of his brand.

  After the scow had docked, he made his way into town and found a tavern in one of the merchant districts. This neighborhood looked more likely to have the sort of jobs he wanted to start landing. Small-time jobs paid for food, but Zaraki knew he could do better than that. He wanted to find something to put his talents to work on. A quiet tavern called The Harried Hound looked like a place where he would not stand out too much.

  He ordered a drink at the bar and chose a seat near the window so he could watch people coming and going. Half an hour later, two men sat down near him, drunk already and deep in discussion.

  “You heard she left today?” the first said, slurring his words to an impressive degree.

  “Who?” the younger man asked.

  “The Tahaerin princess. Though with her parents dead, she’s a queen now.”

  “They died? Good.”

  The first man shook his head. “You didn’t know the King of Tahaerin is dead? People have been talking about it for two months. Haven’t you heard all the calls to invade? But now the princess is going home, so it probably won’t happen.”

  “She didn’t belong here anyway. My niece worked as a nanny for her when she was little, you know. Said she was queer. Said she could read minds.”

  The other man scoffed. “Read minds? No one does that anymore.”

  “I’m only telling you what my niece said. Either way, I’m glad she’s gone.” He waved his hand dismissively in the direction of the other kingdom as if shooing the girl back home.

  “With her parents both dead, I feel sorry for her. She’s only a child. Sixteen or seventeen I think. Poor mite.”

  All the talk in all the taverns Zaraki visited concerned the Tahaerin princess. He learned a great deal about her as people recounted her coming and now her leaving. They described her as odd, cold, and said she never appeared in public along with Andrzej’s children.

  Walking the dark streets, Zaraki tried to imagine how he would turn this into a job for himself. A new queen should mean open positions. She would not know her father’s men and might look to start fresh. If not, a capital city like Lida teemed rich men who wanted information on their enemies. Perhaps he would be able to work his way up to the castle, then. In the back of his mind, though, sat all his plans, dreams of organizing and running something vast and important.

  Best of all, he could not imagine Cezar sending someone as far as Tahaerin to find him. When he thought about it, this kingdom to the west seemed ideal for him.

  ***

  It took Zaraki a couple of days to find a caravan heading towards Lida needing muscle. Though he detested this sort of work, he was young and strong, and it would get him to the Tahaerin capital in a reasonable amount of time.

  The caravan master looked him over. “You know your way around a sword?”

  “All of them, in fact. And several different knives.” He started to tell the man of the summers he spent riding in the caravan with his parents but shied away from those memories. The dead rarely haunted him anymore, but he had no interest in waking them, either.

  “One tira for the trip and you eat with us. Food will be shit, but what’s new, eh? Be ready to leave in two days. I’m Arek.”

  Two days meant two hungry nights as he had spent almost all his tira getting what passed as a room. At least with a room, he felt safe at night. Zaraki hated being poor. While the other children under Cezar had all known and seemed to accept privation, his brief brush with starvation and poverty left him panicked and terrified at the thought of it. He hated making decisions between food and shelter.

  With the money left to him, he could just afford to buy a loaf of hard bread. Stealing something also occurred to him as an option, and he had quick hands thanks to Cezar. But his sense of fair play overrode his hunger. The other children used to tease him about it.

  He spent two days in his rented room, reading and trying not to think about real food. Then, rested but starving, Zaraki met the caravan at the edge of Arnost and found a place in a wagon along with the other hired thugs. They would be making several stops along the way to trade, adding considerable time to the trip, but at least they fed him.

  He bid farewell to Embriel.

  Three nights into the trip, Zaraki woke up screaming, dreaming about men sneaking into the camp on silent feet, slitting throats as they moved. He sat bolt upright, his heart pounding. For a moment, he could not remember where was and looked around frantically.

  By the campfire, the guard on duty gave him a curious look. Cursing, he stood up and walked out of the light, trying to collect himself. At nineteen or twenty, he felt like these dreams should have passed by now.

  Arriving

  The carriage rolled up to the gates of Lida, where a delegation of townsfolk waited. A few guards stood behind an old man Leisha thought must be the head of the merchant guild. Several more people stood
behind him, smaller guild leaders then. From the walls, she could see townspeople waiting to catch a glimpse of their queen returning from her exile but her uncle was absent. She marked the silent slight and would remember it.

  A servant opened the door and Leisha stepped down wearing the most formal dress she owned but even with both maids working overnight, it seemed less than regal for the occasion. If anyone noticed, they kept it to themselves.

  “Welcome to your home, your most gracious Majesty.” The guildsman intoned the formal greeting and bowed low. “The gates of Lida stand open and ready to greet you. May you always find rest in your great city.”

  She tried to pitch her voice so people on the wall could hear her. “I’m pleased to return to the city of my birth,” she said, going off the script Symon had practiced with her all last evening. The people here thrummed with anticipation, their thoughts apprehensive. Recent events troubled them, and they looked forward to a return to some sense of normality. They also worried about the potential for hostilities between herself and her uncle to spill out into armed conflict.

  “Our city has long been an afterthought. I hope together we can work to change this so Lida can prosper again.” People on the wall cheered and rang bells. Lida would be the first place she would look for allies. Symon told her Davos did not do much to develop the city. He preferred to hawk and hunt and escape his wife. He left much of the day-to-day work of running his country to his Master of Books and an army of retainers. Corruption ran unchecked even this close to the king. If she could improve things here, she would have a strong base to build on.

  The procession rolled through the cobbled streets of Lida and took longer than Leisha would have liked. She fidgeted, bored by the endless parade of buildings and squares. Fourteen years of waiting to be queen stood behind her, and now she wanted to get to work. Finally, the gates to Branik castle loomed in front of them. Carriages and wagons rolled through, across a huge open courtyard and up to the front steps, where a detail of soldiers waited along with several well-dressed men.

  “Your uncle, Staval, is in the middle. Aniol, the castellan, is to the left, and Cyril, captain of your guard, on the right,” Symon told her.

  Leisha disliked Staval immediately. He stood a head taller than the other men did, thin to the point of gauntness. Hostility, smugness, and annoyance dominated his topmost thoughts. Hostility towards her and annoyance for the end of his short regency. Smugness because a sixteen-year-old girl would be easy to tame.

  Tamed? she thought and felt anger well up. Watching the men on the steps, she made a decision.

  “Tell the servants to leave the carriages and wagons parked here. My uncle will need them,” she told Symon as soon as the driver opened her door.

  She heard the older man try to call her back, heard him hiss her name, and she ignored him.

  “Welcome home, niece.” Staval chose to speak to her as family. He did not so much as incline his head to her and addressed her from a higher step, instead of waiting until they stood on equal footing. Laughter wove through his thoughts at these slights.

  “It’s good to finally get to see my castle and kingdom,” Leisha said, pitching her voice so others in the courtyard could hear her taking ownership of her birthright. The two men standing with Staval bent their knees to her, and she let them remain like that.

  “Let me help you get settled, niece. We can talk about everything you’ll need to know to begin you reign here.”

  “Symon will see to my comfort tonight,” she said and turned to wave the old man forward with her.

  Nonplussed, Staval said, “I assure you, I have all the time in the world for my sister’s daughter.” He tried to offer her his arm.

  Leisha gathered up her skirts. She began walking around the assemblage of men when Symon reached her, ignoring Staval and his now outstretched hand. “You’ll address me as Queen,” she replied, not bothering to turn around. “The carriages and wagons are yours to keep. Be gone in the morning.” She felt his rage as it threatened to spill over and drown her.

  Here, then, she faced the first challenge of her reign. With ease, he could seize her and overthrow her if the soldiers would follow him. But it might mean civil war if any of her father’s old allies cared. How confident did he feel?

  Leisha never let her steps falter or slow, and Staval made no move against her. She knew any hint of hesitation and her brief reign would be over.

  Once they were inside and out of range of hearing, she looked at her father’s butler. “Symon, never try to correct me in public again.”

  The rebuke could have been much, much sharper, and Symon stammered, shocked at his incredible lapse in judgment. “I apologize, Your Grace. I was so worried; I spoke out of turn.”

  The girl nodded. “I know. I appreciate your concern, but I can’t rule here if people think I’m weak or unable to control my servants. I’m young and a woman. They see me as vulnerable. If I don’t counter that, I’ll never gain their loyalty. We’re going to go about our business as if this is all completely normal. Please show me the apartments my parents left.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” he said, flustered and embarrassed as he realized he had to forget the tiny child in the carriage and think only of this queen.

  Symon guided her through a maze of painted hallways and small chambers hung with tapestries and other trophies. Together they climbed a flight of stairs and entered the royal wing. Paintings, carvings, and other art collected over centuries by her family covered the walls here. They stopped in front of a large set of carved double doors. “These rooms belonged to your father. You mother had his things put into storage before she died. Her rooms are down further and will likely be more to your liking, more feminine.”

  Leisha threw open the doors, eager to make the sort of decision Andrzej never allowed her. She wandered from room to room, admiring the very skilled frescoes a long-forgotten artist painted for an ancestor. Like the royal apartments in Embriel, these were divided into three areas. The first held a small front room where a servant would greet guests, and beyond that a large receiving room with a desk, benches, and chairs. Vivid paintings of hunting scenes covered the plaster walls. Two tall windows pierced one wall and flooded the room with morning light. As the only truly public area of the living quarters, visitors would rarely see beyond the ornate, carved wooden door standing at the back.

  Behind this, Leisha found a set of rooms she assumed her father used for entertaining friends and welcome guests. The walls here were paneled in a dark wood she could not place. A huge oak trestle table surrounded by twenty carved chairs dominated one room. There were also several small bedrooms for guests. One large chamber held a huge fireplace and a collection of high-backed chairs with thick, embroidered cushions. She opened one of the many cabinets placed along the walls to find very fine glassware of all shapes and sizes. Another cabinet held bottle after bottle of alcohol. A place to relax and enjoy an evening with friends or family - neither of which she had in Tahaerin.

  Beyond the final heavy door, which opened with a key Symon handed her, lay her father’s bedrooms, a solar, dressing rooms, and a room with a vast, deep tub. Huge windows let in a wonderful amount of light and illuminated more painted walls covered in heroic images of her ancestors fighting and winning epic battles. Leisha realized she knew next to nothing about her family history and added it to a mental list of things to do.

  She looked out the windows at the view of the city and the harbor. Her city spread before her, beautiful and full of promise. Here, she could watch ships bringing in cargo and smaller fishing vessels hauling in their catch. From another room she found she could look over the courtyard and see who came and went. All of this belonged to her now. There was no more waiting to keep the promises she had made to herself and to Wysia. From here she would do her duty, rule wisely and be a good queen.

  “I’ll take these rooms, Symon. Please have a bed and whatever other furniture my father kept brought up from the undercroft. I’ll n
eed trunks, of course. Perhaps I should have my mother’s wardrobes since they’ll hold dresses better.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Also, I’ll have your mother’s dresses brought up and send some seamstresses. You likely need clothing befitting a queen, instead of a foreign hostage.” Finally, Symon thought. Something I understand—dressing someone.

  He saw Leisha regarding him as she paused and considered her words. “Symon you’re the only person I know here. Do you plan to stay on? I’ll pay you, of course, to help me get settled. There are a million things I need to do.”

  “I’m happy to do so, my Lady.” He had not expected to stay long and had planned instead on retiring to the home Davos gifted him with years ago. “I can at least point you in the right direction to get what you need. I’ll also let your ladies know you’re here. Once we have your things brought up, they can help you into something more comfortable.”

  Leisha found the rest of the day one long chore, but one that needed doing. She met with her maids and explained how she preferred to be dressed and bathed. A never-ending stream of workers dragged heavy chests out of storage and out of the wagons from Embriel. Leisha oversaw their placement and unpacking as wardrobes arrived.

  As promised, Symon produced an army of seamstresses, from the castle and in town, to measure her and begin hauling her mother’s dresses up for alterations. Shola’s collection could have clothed every noblewoman in the kingdom. The maids unpacked them and let Leisha inspect each one before deciding which would be altered and which would be discarded. Slippers, dresses, cloaks, and capes with hoods emerged from the trunks in a riot of colors and fabrics.

  Finally, a team of men appeared with her father’s bed in pieces. They assembled it and brought up the mattress, still in fine condition. Then her maids threw linens over it and declared it ready for use. Leisha dismissed them all after they helped her undress. She crawled into her father’s bed and fell asleep, exhausted.