Leena's Story - The Complete Novellas (A Dance of Dragons Book 4)

by Kaitlyn Davis

  And then she opened her eyes.

  Blinked.

  Remembered.

  Shaking her head ever so slightly, Leena stared at the silk canopy overhead, the wooden four poster bed so different than the golden metal frame of the one she slept on at home. She looked to the window, to the blue sky floating over grassy fields. Glancing to the other side, she saw a wardrobe, and then a little farther an open door leading to a sitting room. White stone walls and not wooden slabs surrounded her.

  What?

  Leena sat up, confused. Surely seasickness would dissipate when one was no longer on the sea. Why on earth was she still nauseous?

  But moving was the wrong way to go, and immediately her stomach flipped, recoiling, regurgitating, and Leena jumped from the soft mattress in search of a chamber pot. There. On a table beside her bed. She grabbed it with just enough time to get settled before the vomiting began in earnest. When it was over, she stood on wobbly feet, feeling far greener than the normal olive tone of her skin, and sat beside the window, drinking in fresh air.

  And then the truth hit.

  Leena gasped, widening her eyes, snapping her head up as the world faded away and all she could see before her eyes were numbers. Days and weeks, counting back. And she realized something—something that had been lost on her through all the mourning and the endless hours planning her escape.

  She had not had her monthlies for quite some time.

  More numbers.

  More counting.

  The last night she and Mikza had been together was the eve of her sister’s wedding, the night before they tried to escape. Weeks ago.

  Slumping back against the cushions, Leena’s hands found her belly. Was it swollen? Was there a baby resting there, safe and warm, a little piece of Mikza she hadn’t lost? Tears came to her eyes, slipping free before she could stop them. But for the first time since she could remember, they were not tears of sorrow, but tears of joy. And a smile spread slowly across her cheeks, wobbly from the sheer force of her emotions.

  Leena eased off the window seat, standing before the mirror in her nightgown, and pressed the fabric to her skin. Nothing looked different, but the awareness was there, a motherly affection rooted in hope and possibility, and she was certain beyond a doubt that she was with child. With Mikza’s child.

  Movement caught the corner of her eye, and she glanced up only to find a shadow in the mirror, a phantom in the shape of a man, a figure just over her shoulder.

  Gasping, Leena spun. But the room was empty.

  She blinked. Shaking her head, dispelling the image. But at that exact moment, a gust of wind roared through the window, flinging the glass wide, sweeping over her things, and rustling the curtains. Leena smiled as the breeze caressed her cheeks, whipped around her body, blowing the nightgown this way and that. She closed her hand over the little golden ring circling her left finger, the one crudely shaped from the broken link of a guard’s uniform, the one she had only had the courage to slip on during her escape from Da’astiku, the one Mikza had given her in private as a sign of his devotion.

  All the fear drained away.

  Because she knew exactly who was with her. Mikza, ashes in the wind, sharing his joy in the only way he had left. And though it seemed crazy, perhaps impossible, Leena was well acquainted with magic. She knew nothing was ever as far-fetched as it might seem.

  A thundering knock at the door broke the moment. Almost instantly, the wind died away, disappeared, which only acted to strengthen Leena’s belief.

  “Princess?” a man called.

  “Yes?” she called back, struggling to find her voice, throat still tight with unfelt emotions.

  “The king has requested your presence in the throne room.”

  Leena bit her lip, looking at the state of her hair, her clothes. “I require a few minutes to prepare myself.”

  “I will wait.”

  Cautiously, she walked to the wardrobe, hoping it wasn’t empty. At the sight of bright silks, she breathed a sigh of relief. Women’s clothes. But so very different from the ones she was accustomed to, with long sleeves, lacing up the back, wide and heavy skirts. The clothes of her homeland were simple, sleeveless and shapeless—it was the jewelry, the metal accents that really denoted status. Chewing on her cheek, she stared helplessly, not at all sure where to begin.

  And then another knock sounded.

  “Miss?” This time softer and more feminine.

  Leena spent no time hesitating as she rushed to open the door, thankful for the slightest bit of help. But immediately, she knew no companionship waited in the hall, just orders.

  The woman stepped inside, eyes narrow, lips clipped, and got to work. Without so much as a hello, she strode to the wardrobe, pulling out an orange gown—the one color Leena hated against her skin. Perhaps it was growing up around so much honey gold, but orange just reminded her of rust, metal gone sour. And for a moment, she wondered if the maid did it on purpose. She couldn’t help but ask the question again as the strings at the back of the gown were pulled tight, stealing the breath from her chest, completely restricting her movement. But the maid assured her that was how the dress was meant to be worn.

  When it was done, Leena stood before the mirror, unrecognizable to her own eyes. Sleeves dripped past her fingertips, completely covering her tattoos—something that was illegal in Da’astiku. The skirt stretched far beyond the edge of her toes, weighing her down with the excess layers. Her waist was cinched in, unnaturally so, binding so tight her breath came out airy. The shoes were hard with a heel at the back, not at all like the comfortable sandals she was used to. Her hair was braided and tucked, pinned, and there was no veil to cover her eyes.

  Different.

  That was all Leena thought.

  Everything was different here. And she wanted to go home. But she knew she couldn’t, and perhaps never would.

  Before she had time to think anymore, she was ushered from the room and transferred into the hands of the guard stationed outside. He, too, did not speak to her, did not even offer a mumbled “good day”. So Leena followed suit, remaining silent by his side as they traversed the unfamiliar stone hallways, closed in and claustrophobic, nothing like the sweeping rooms and endless columns of the golden palace. Everything here was heavy somehow, the castle, the dim light, the draping tapestries. Whereas everything at home had seemed light.

  But upon entering the throne room, even Leena had to admit the sight was impressive. The massive carved throne. The expansive window behind, offering a view that stretched over the entire city and out to the sea beyond. And the man on the throne was no less impressive than the sight behind him, face grooved with a deep frown and piercing, thoughtful eyes. And on his head, a gilded crown, dripping with precious stones. On his shoulders, a rich crimson cape, sparkling with embroidered diamonds, flowing blood red over the edge of the seat. And underneath, a stark black overcoat, a powerful reminder of who he really was. A king regent, and not a king.

  She curtsied, bowing deeply, only reminded by the scene how little power she had left in the world. How little power she had always had. “King Whyllem,” she said, still looking at the floor. Then she stood, meeting his mysterious gaze, noting the sorrow there. “You asked for me?”

  “Princess,” he said, voice echoing across the empty hall. The word filled the space, bouncing all around her, and Leena couldn’t help but wince. The king noticed. “Do you not like to be called princess? It is what you are, after all.”

  “It is what I was,” she murmured.

  Whyllem just shook his head, eyeing her sadly. “Perhaps that is what you’d like to believe, but blood never lies.” And then he stood, walking slowly to her side and taking her by the arm, gently guiding her to the window. “If I can be so bold, I wish to speak with you freely, one royal to another, one human to another.”

  Leena scrunched her eyes, growing more curious by the second. But her only response was to nod silently, flicking her gaze from the view, to th
e man, and back again, unsure where to settle her eyes.

  “I have sent my brother and Lady Jinji away. Somewhere, out there on the White Stone Sea, is a meager little boat holding the last hope of my dynasty.”

  Leena inhaled slowly, trying her best to remain calm, because she understood the deeper meaning to those words. Whyllem had lost all hope. He believed the city was lost, that his family was lost, and that sending Whylrhen into hiding was the only prayer left to keep the line of Whyl alive. Blood never lied. He was correct in that regard.

  And still, she wanted to hear it from his lips, to hear that all of her trials, all of the hardships she had overcome to travel to this foreign kingdom, all of it had been for naught.

  “Have you lost all hope, then?”

  “Kings don’t have the luxury of hope,” he said, gaze still plastered on the horizon. And then a tremor ran through his body, ever so slight. He turned to her. “And neither do you, Princess. You have a choice to make. Because there is another meager boat in the harbor prepared to take you away, as thanks for all you have done to try to help my family. You can stand here with us and hope, or you can run and live. The choice is yours.”

  Leena gulped, overwhelmed.

  Hope or despair.

  Stay or run.

  Live or die.

  And then she remembered that the choice was not only hers to make, it was theirs to make. And she pressed her hand to her stomach, imagining the innocent soul resting peacefully within her womb. Twisting the simple gold band around her finger, she let herself get lost in thought. What were her choices really?

  To leave? Wouldn’t that mean certain death, too? If her father won, if he gained control of both kingdoms, there would be no place secret enough to escape from his power. No place safe. What kind of life would that be for her, for her child? Always running, always hiding, always afraid. It was the very life Mikza had always been petrified Leena would be destined to have, the single excuse he always gave when they used to plan their escape in the dark hours of the night, safe to dream impossible dreams. What would he say now?

  Leena imagined him here, his sturdy arms hugging her waist, her back pressed close to his stomach, completely wrapped up in his love. Mikza’s strong solid hands resting gently over hers, as close as they could be to his child. He would kiss her neck softly, and then he would whisper in her ear, the gentle caress sending a shiver down her back. And what would those words be?

  To stay? To fight?

  Once upon a time, they had both chosen to run. And look where they were now. Mikza murdered, Leena dead in the eyes of her people, a traitor too. What would running bring her this time?

  She stepped forward, placing her palm against the window, truly taking in the city down below. The buildings were entirely different, the customs, the culture, everything. Was this to be the scene of her final hours, her final battle? If she were destined to die one way or another, wouldn’t she rather die fighting? Wouldn’t Mikza?

  “I will stay,” Leena whispered.

  The king inhaled sharply, somewhat shocked she was sure. “You’ve surprised me, Princess. My brother fought to stay with every argument possible, and I challenged him every step of the way, demanding he leave. But you are not under my command, so I will not force your hand.” And then he paused. Leena could feel his eyes on her, the respect in his gaze. “May I ask why you choose to stay, defending a city full of people you’ve always considered enemies?”

  “It is not just for them,” Leena said, one palm pressed against her still flat stomach. “It is for my people, the ones who suffer every day under the rule of my father. It is for the people who would suffer here should he gain control of your kingdom. It is for the hope that the war is not over, that we still have a chance. For the hope that one day, I’ll be able to return home, to a kingdom changed, to a kingdom that has tossed cruelty to the side and replaced it with love. You may call me naïve, or young, or in over my head, but hope is all I have left, so I cannot abandon it. I can only trust it.”

  And unspoken, but at the forefront of her thoughts, Leena knew it was for the unborn child within. The one she only just realized she carried, but had already come to mean everything in the world. The one she wanted to raise in a loving household, not constantly running for her life. The one she hoped would grow up proud to be Ourthuri, proud of her heritage and her home, not disgraced by it as Leena had always been. All of the changes she had once hoped to see for herself were now all the changes she needed to see for her child. And for Mikza, for the strength he still gave her, and to honor all the dreams the two of them were only ever confident enough to dream together.

  “You are much stronger than I ever guessed, Princess,” Whyllem murmured by her side.

  “Why?” Leena smiled, turning to him. “Because I’m Ourthuri or because I’m a woman?”

  Both.

  The word hung unsaid between them, but Leena saw the answer in the depths of his irises. Surprise. Wonderment. Approval. And to her shock, a hint of envy too.

  “Should we find a way out of this war and a way to bring King Razzaq to his knees, I would be happy to begin a new age between our two kingdoms. To broker a peace with you and to put you back on the throne of your homeland.”

  Leena shook her head. “My brother will be king, I just hope to teach him a new way of thinking, a new way to rule, to open his eyes to the possibilities my father will never let him see.”

  “Perhaps by the time my nephew Whyllean grows to be king, he’ll find it hard to imagine a time when Whylkin and Ourthuro were not the greatest of allies.”

  Leena smiled at the dark humor in Whyllem’s tone, understanding that he didn’t truly believe the words to be true. But deep in her heart, she did. Instead of fighting, she met his gaze, infusing hope and lightness in her tone. “Perhaps.”

  And they stood like that for a while, two different royals, imagining two different worlds, but dreaming beyond a doubt for the same future.

  FOUR

  Hours later, hiding in her rooms, Leena was summoned again. This time for something far more intimidating than a private meeting with the king—no, this time she was called upon to attend dinner as the guest of honor, called upon to sit before all the nobles in Whylkin as they passed judgment, a rabbit in a den of wolves.

  Before the maid arrived, Leena scoured the closet in search of an outfit of her own choosing. No more orange—not for an event like this, not when she needed courage and confidence above all else. Rich auburn with a folded and layered skirt? Deep sapphire with long and flowing sleeves? Burnt umber with a low and daring neckline?

  And then Leena saw a dress pushed to the very far corner of the closet, the barest flash of violet catching her eye, and she dug, pulling the silks from the depths. Amethyst had always been her favorite gemstone, and since Leena had not a single jewel to her name, why not wear one on her body? With one tug, Leena knew she had made the perfect choice. It was as though the garment had been made for her. The sleeves, though long in the Whylkin style, had slits cut to the elbow, high enough to reveal her Ourthuri tattoos. The skirts were full but light without needless under layers adding excess weight. And the color shone beautifully against her golden olive skin, bringing out the highlights in her eyes. When the maid arrived, Leena was already halfway into the gown, and the woman just wordlessly tied up the laces. Armed for battle in the only way a woman could be, Leena let the guard show her the way.

  As she paused before the towering door of the dining hall, she couldn’t help but suck in one long, slow breath. But before doubts and nerves could overtake her senses, she charged forward, trying her best to ignore the hush that fell across the room. Every click of her Whylkin heeled shoes reverberated around the walls, every whisper was heightened to a scream, every glare like a knife in her back. Until she stopped before the king regent, and absolute silence took over. The entire room hung still, waiting.

  Whyllem stood, gesturing to the open seat at the far end of the royal table, and waite
d for Leena to take her seat before announcing to the room, “Please welcome Princess Leenaka of Ourthuro, a woman who risked very much to come to our aid.”

  Immediately, a roar rose, the instant buzz of ignited conversation. Leena shut her eyes for a moment, and then resolutely opened them, folding her hands on her lap. She met every glare with a pleasant smile of her own. Inside, they cut. Inside, they stung. Inside, the rejection was overwhelming—the sense of other, of outsider, of knowing she would never be welcomed here, even if it had become her new home. But outside, Leena plastered a serene smile to her lips, the same one she had used many times in the ballroom of the golden palace. Only this time, as she looked to the back wall, there was no familiar face to warm her cold heart, no Mikza to make the time pass quickly, to tear her mind from the pain.

  Except there was something she didn’t expect to see.

  A boy, probably around her own age, watching her with a soft expression. No anger, no accusation. Almost with pity. Almost with affection. Leena couldn’t help but notice that he sat on his own, at the far corner of the room, no friends to keep him company. In fact, the next closest person at the table was squished as far away as possible, uncomfortably near the man on her other side. The boy grinned at Leena, as though both of them were in on the joke. And maybe they were, though she didn’t quite understand. But after another moment, before Leena could figure it out, he looked away, eyes flicking to her left, to the king, before settling on an empty spot on the other side of the room.

  Leena twisted the ring around her finger, thinking of Mikza, unable to ignore the coincidence. What were the chances that the spot he had always stood guard in the golden palace, a direction her eyes were always unconsciously drawn to, would be the same spot of the only compassionate face in Whylkin? Was it a message? A sign? A warning?

  Still holding onto that modest ring, the only metal she had left to her name, Leena turned to the woman by her side, hoping for light conversation to distract her wayward thoughts.