A Gift Freely Given (The Tahaerin Chronicles Book 1)

by J. Ellen Ross

  After checking the effect in a full-length mirror, though, Leisha’s brows knit together. She thought she looked like a child playing dress up in her parents’ clothes. Queens were older, taller and commanded respect. She looked too young, too small, to stand in front of all the Tahaerin nobles and proclaim herself queen. They would never permit this. They would rise up and overthrow her. Her heart hammered in her chest and for the first time in years, she thought of Wysia. Frightened, all her angry resolve wavered.

  A knock on the door and then Zaraki stood there, one of the only people here she knew and could trust. “Highness, you look very regal,” he said. “If you’re ready, the choir is in place.”

  His presence steadied her and she took a deep breath, digging her nails into her palms as hard as she could. Pain broke the spell. The time for doubt and fear had long, long since passed. If she backed down now, there would be no chance to recover. She would be sold off to the first slack-jawed nobleman to put forth a claim and all her plans forgotten, ground into dust.

  Lifting her chin, Leisha walked out the door. As her unconventional escort, Symon had Zaraki dressed in silk and linen. Clean-shaven for once, she thought he had even cut his hair. It should have been her father or husband next to her, but she had no one else here she trusted. People would stare and judge both of them for this, but all of them be damned. She did not care today.

  In the corridor, Zaraki heard her too-fast breathing and saw her trembling hands. He wished he could comfort her, but after these months together he no idea what he should say. She never sought reassurance from any of them and kept any doubts or fears to herself. Finally, he risked it, whispering, “You’re already queen. They’ll bend their knees to you.” She rewarded him with a nervous but genuine smile.

  The trip through the castle to Velika Hall took less time than she expected, and before long, they stood outside. She nodded, and as the steward drew open the great doors into the hall, trumpets sounded. Zaraki stepped back and left her alone as her nobles, resplendent in their finest clothes, turned to face her.

  Leisha knew what they saw. A child, unfit for this, full of childish pretentions. She felt their shock and outrage like a bucket of freezing water thrown on her. They saw the sword on her hip and the crown on her head. Here she stood, proclaiming she did not need their approval.

  The trumpets ended their flourish and the choir began singing. Arrayed in the alcove in the second story, their song filled the chamber. An old hymn, it spoke of glorious battles won, enemies bested by her ancestors. These men could all go to whatever hell they believed in.

  Drawing herself up, Leisha walked toward the steps at the far end of the room and as she passed each row of chairs, the nobles bowed. The slower she walked, the longer they had to remain that way, so she took her time. A murmur of disapproval moved through the room, but it stayed low, a constant buzz seeming to come from all corners. When she mounted the steps, the choir stopped singing and everyone stood upright.

  Leisha gazed up at the top of the wall and she saw the line of words in an old language no one in Ilayta remembered or could translate. Above that sat an intricate stained glass window her great grandfather commissioned to mark his coronation. Floating overhead, the vaulted ceiling carved into the creamy white stone by another ancestor sat on fluted columns. Her history rested here. As the last member of her family, she wondered if they would be satisfied with her. Family ties meant little, but here at least she felt some connection. She turned to face her nobles.

  They all raised their heads to watch, scandalized when they realized no one else stood with her to administer the oath. She held her scepter, with the hawk feasting on a hare, shoulder high and began reciting the King’s Oath she memorized weeks ago. She promised to rule wisely and fairly, to bring glory to Tahaerin, to follow the laws and traditions established by kings before her, to be brave in battle and to consult the noblemen of the kingdom.

  When the oath ended, she stared out at the sea of faces in front of her. The nobles, her nobles, returned the gaze, waiting to see what she would do. Leisha stood still and the silence stretched. Tradition said they all must kneel as a sign of acceptance. If they did not, it would be an open declaration of civil war, a free-for-all, as lords scrambled to take the crown from her and from anyone else who managed to claim it.

  She felt their anticipation. Would she demand they pay homage? Strong rulers did not need to demand respect from their lords. Strong rulers expected it.

  Let her fail, their thoughts whispered, flowing through the air, caressing her and tempting her to run. A shiver ran down her spine and her hands began to shake. Soon, they would see when the scepter wavered. Then it would all be over.

  In the back corner, she saw movement. One man from a weaker family cursed under his breath and knelt down. If it came to civil war, he would lose everything to stronger neighbors. Soon, several more were kneeling, heads bent to her. They were not choosing her side she knew, but choosing her protection if war did come. Then, the whole hall moved, no one willing to declare themselves against her. Even Staval, who still held out hope he could force her into marriage, lowered himself to the stone floor, submitting to her.

  Triumphant, Leisha allowed herself a very small smile. She moved to the bottom step and the choir began singing again. The lords, her lords, rose one by one to come and bow over her outstretched hand. In hushed tones and sullen voices they repeated, “You are my Queen and my sword is yours,” before walking down the center aisle and out of the chamber.

  When they had all gone, the choir dismissed and the trumpets withdrawn, Leisha sank down on the steps, exhausted. She knew it must be near dinner. A feast was already underway, having started as soon as the first lords left the hall. They were not waiting for her, so she would sit a while.

  She heard a scuff from a boot on the floor and looked up to see Zaraki leaning against the wall. “Ever my shadow?” she asked, sounding tired.

  “Highness, you’re the one who decided it was my job to keep you alive.” He grinned at her. “I’m here to make sure no one does away with you at your own coronation.”

  Leisha laughed, releasing a great deal of her pent-up anxiety. “Come sit, then. No need to stand there.”

  “Symon and I watched from the choir stall,” he said lowering himself to the steps, but at a respectful distance.

  “Oh.” That surprised her. She had forgotten their agreement and had not been as alone as she imagined. “And?”

  He wanted to tell her something had changed today. Her bravery had captured his heart and now he would do anything to keep her alive. But it seemed an inappropriate thing to tell his employer and flirted with breaking his oath of objectivity. Instead he said, “I don’t know much about politics or traditions here, but Symon said you cowed them. If you had come out like a queen, in flowers and with someone else to crown you, things would have gone differently. He said they all realized you would give them a fight if they wanted war.”

  She wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and let him tell her everything would be all right. She wanted someone to hold her and soothe her the way Wysia used to, but those days were long behind her, even at sixteen. Having survived the coronation, a greater challenge lay ahead tomorrow. But first, she needed to attend the feast in her honor.

  ***

  The next morning, on Symon’s recommendation, Leisha agreed to meet with Lords Bartolo, Ceslav, Lovek and Ladvik when they sent the request to her. Her father counted each as a friend or ally before his death. She needed allies ahead of the Convocation, and this seemed like a chance to cultivate a few. Zaraki escorted her to the small chamber where a few chairs had been set for the meeting.

  As soon as she entered the room, she felt their collective threat. They each radiated a smug self-satisfaction, expecting to win here. All four nobles planned this encounter together, a deliberate, coordinated attack against her. Leisha greeted each man in turn and asked him to be seated, holding her anger at bay.

  Exchan
ging glances and nods from the other men, Ceslav began. “Highness, we asked to see you because, to be frank, every nobleman in this kingdom expects you to fail. Soon and spectacularly. Staval will stop holding his breath, waiting to see what you intend to do. He will raise an army and take Lida from you.”

  “We have a proposal for you to consider, my lady.” Ladvik raised his hands flat in front of himself to appear to be offering her a gift. “Your uncle is a dangerous, ambitious man. Davos had plans to marry you quickly, on your return, to one of our sons, if you found any pleasing. It’s no secret to most of us Staval ordered the murder of your father, to take the crown from you. He clearly hopes to see you wed to one of his sons, or at least an ally of his.”

  “So he can pull the strings,” Ceslav interrupted.

  “Exactly, so he can have influence,” Ladvik continued. “If you were to follow your father’s wishes and marry one of our sons, then your problems with Staval would disappear.”

  “You’d have our protection,” Lovek agreed, sounding as if this were the most reasonable thing said all day.

  Leisha looked at each of them to be sure they had finished talking. After an uncomfortable silence, she sneered at them. “I’m young and a woman, but I’m not stupid. Is this a threat? That if I don’t go along quietly, you’ll abandon me? This is my kingdom, my crown, and my throne. What you’re suggesting is I give all three up to purchase my safety. Is that it?”

  No one answered. Even Ceslav sat, watching her to see what she would do next.

  “This is how you view the current state of affairs? That I’m weak and in need of your protection?” Leisha asked, disappointment in her voice. Proud and defiant, she said, “I propose a different reading of the situation, gentlemen. One where I hold all the power. If you back me into a corner, I’ll marry one of Staval’s sons. And I’ll give my uncle everything. Everything he needs to crush you and take your lands. In fact, I’ll encourage it. I intend to win. What that looks like is still up for debate.”

  Now the confidence disappeared and her father’s old allies looked frightened. She read the uncertainty in their eyes and in their thoughts. They did not know her well enough to know if she would carry out her threat, but memories of her mother’s unpredictable nature and raging temper made them consider it. Everyone remembered Shola.

  Leisha rose. “We need each other, your side, and mine. You need someone to present a united front to Staval and his allies. Now, instead of trying to force a marriage on me I’m not ready to make, you’ll give me your support. Vocal, passionate support if needed. In exchange, I’ll make economic concessions to benefit you.

  “I’m willing to work with each of you. I’m willing to help make all your holdings prosper at the expense of our enemies. But I won’t be bullied or condescended to. I am not my father.”

  Zaraki fell in beside Leisha as she stormed out of the little chamber. She vibrated with rage and started pacing back and forth when they moved out of earshot of the other nobles.

  “How dare they? How dare they?” she demanded, pointing back the way they had come. “I’m not a pawn for them to move around, to maneuver. I’m not a cow to be sold to the highest bidder or a prize to be won at the fair.”

  Symon moved towards them from the end of the hall. “Highness, the other lords are arriving in the Great Hall. Are you ready?”

  “No, I’m angry,” she barked at him. Stopping, she took a deep breath and let it bleed out between pursed lips. “You’ll be watching from the window?” she asked Zaraki.

  “Yes, we both will. If there’s any hint of danger, Andelko and I have men waiting outside.”

  “I’m not afraid of them,” she said, not sure who she wanted to convince. “But I’m relieved to know you’ll both be there.” She turned and walked towards the large double doors leading into the Great Hall, her back straight.

  Both men turned to make their way to the upper gallery. “Gods help them all if they overreach themselves in there,” Symon said. “She’s likely to breathe fire on them.”

  Zaraki laughed, thinking of the Tahaerin family motto, And they will awake angry, as dragons from sleep. At first, he had found it odd, but it seemed rather appropriate for the current queen.

  They walked up to the small door hiding the oriel window from casual visitors and Symon produced a small, ornate key from his belt. “This was built for Leisha’s great-grandmother, a formidable woman when women were not permitted to participate in state functions. She threatened to turn a hive of bees loose in the Hall if she wasn’t allowed to at least watch.”

  Without waiting for the obvious question, Symon said, “Yes, she meant it.”

  They ducked their heads under the low doorframe and closed the door behind them. A beautiful, carved wooden screen now separated the little room from the Hall below. They heard the doors creak open and held their breath as their sixteen-year-old queen marched in to do battle with seasoned politicians.

  ***

  At the doors to the Great Hall, two servants stood waiting. Leisha let them pin her crown on her head and fastened the sword so it hung low on her waist once more. She would remind all her lords she was queen and they had made promises to her the day before. Heralds turned to open the door. Using a great, long rope of silk, they would tie the doors shut once she entered. When she declared the Convocation ended, one of the servants would cut the rope with a ceremonial knife.

  Leisha opened the Convocation with little fanfare. It seemed unnecessary after the majesty of the coronation. Her rather somber blue gown with the caplet edged in fur made her look more mature. She swept down the central aisle, defiant, daring the lords to challenge her. Walking on to the dais, she ignored the chair there for her. Sitting would put her head barely above most of the assembled men, so instead she remained standing.

  She welcomed them to the first Convocation of her reign and asked for the first dispute. From the beginning, the lords were hostile to her, which she expected. She listened and spoke about the topics they brought to her attention, confident in the knowledge she had learned in the library and thinking she needed to thank Zaraki for all his help. While she argued some points, she conceded others. Yet, when she heard enough, she silenced further discussion and rendered a decision.

  Symon watched as the lords sparred with their queen. He had sat through several of these with Davos and knew they were toying with her, trying to bait her into making a mistake or lose her temper. Most of their disagreements with each other were contrived and could be resolved by a reading of traditional Tahaerin law, which they expected Leisha would not be familiar with. “She’s holding her own,” he said in a low voice to Zaraki.

  Lord Ambroz opened a discussion about the placement of custom houses on the border between Tahaerin and Embriel. He wanted two more placed in his lands.

  “That would mean taking two from your neighbor, Ceslav. Don’t you suppose he would object?” Leisha asked, sounding amused as she walked to the side of the dais closest to Ambroz. Several nobles raised angry voices while Ceslav shook his fist towards the other lord.

  “I think it makes sense to my holdings to bring additional revenue in when Lord Ceslav has four custom houses currently.”

  “It’s a simple matter of trade, Ambroz,” she said, annoyed now with his arguments. “You’ve made no investment in roads or infrastructure. Why would anyone choose crossings in your lands over those who have put time and effort into improving their trade routes?”

  As the debate went back and forth, Symon watched the other nobles. “They have something planned,” he said sounding alarmed. “Look, there’s three of them passing glances.” He pointed to a number of nobles standing in the middle of the assemblage.

  As soon as Leisha ended the discussion and decided against Ambroz, Lord Petr spoke up. He pitched his voice to carry to everyone, even those behind him, to make sure they all heard. “Now you’ve returned from Embriel, Your Highness, isn’t it time to punish Andrzej for humiliating us, your father and yourself?�
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  Leisha cocked her head a bit and narrowed her eyes at him, considering. “How would you suggest we do it?”

  “The terms of the truce have been met. Invade them.” Several voices rose in agreement, Staval amongst them. Zaraki caught himself holding his breath.

  “And what should our objectives be? Attempt to take the other side of the Vinca again? And lose the natural border and protection we get with the river?” More voices rose, not yet shouting, but close. The lords wanted blood, not reasonable answers, and they smelled it now.

  Petr pounced, getting the response he wanted and thinking she had played into his hands. “She’s no better than her father. Weak and spineless. She doesn’t even care to avenge herself for the humiliation of fourteen years of captivity. Perhaps she’s even Embriel’s pawn.” He turned to look at the other nobles, many of whom nodded now. Some smiled and turned greedy eyes to the girl on the dais.

  Zaraki winced, hearing the gauntlet thrown down. In a kingdom where the nobles measured power in wars fought and land taken, Leisha had to accept the challenge or they would see her as weak. She watched them all with an unreadable expression, waiting out their storm of words.

  In the silence that followed the outburst, Leisha’s quiet threat carried. “Lord Petr, you’ll keep the peace in my Hall or I’ll have you thrown in prison for trespassing.”

  “No,” Symon breathed, shaking his head. “She’s given him an opening.” The misstep gave the other side an avenue of attack, putting Leisha on the defensive. But how could she be familiar with all the ins and out of Tahaerin customs?

  “Trespassing?” Petr laughed. “Your Highness, tradition is quite clear on this point. Perhaps you didn’t learn about this when you were being educated in Embriel. No noble can be barred from a Convocation,” he shouted, looking around for support as more voices shouted their angry agreement.