by J Glen Percy
Other than the boisterous soldiers, the tavern was a subdued place. No stories, no laughter, no ambient buzz competing with lively music. Instead, men stared silently into their mugs, or fiddled aimlessly with the rough grain of the tabletops. Everything about Shorefeld had exceeded her tale-inflated expectations. This establishment was the exception.
Wart knew as much of the world beyond her family’s penniless homestead as most men knew of the Forgotten. She would be a flippin’ stump-wit to believe the dour mood had nothing to do with the newcomers. The owner curtsied, but the prince and his soldiers were clearly not welcome. Thankfully Ceres kept his scathing opinions of the vermin mongers to the table, Allis adding indifferent shrugs here and there. The tenseness followed them into the street at the end of the night, the locals glaring daggers before heading wherever the soldiers were not.
“Hey boy,” came a voice without a face.
Wart would have ignored the beckon, only, it was the first time all night hearing someone other than Ceres or Allis speak above a whisper. Pointing to herself, the man hanging in the tavern’s shadows nodded.
“Ain’t nobody in this town have eyes?” Wart asked as she approached. Even the well-meaning, freely perspiring tavern owner had a pat for the cheeky little lad. Ceres and the other men continued down the street. “Ain’t never seen a flippin’ girl before? What’d you want?”
Wart did not know why but the man winced, his expression curling. He recovered quickly. “I’ll give you two silvers, lass, to tell Prince Ceres that his sister is in Shorefeld Keep.”
The secretive man took her hand and tucked two silver coins into her palm. Wart’s eyes sparkled. Her pah had rented rooms to travelers. Those had been paid for in coppers. Everything else on the farm was had through bartering. It was the most money she had ever seen. The man could call her a flippin’ stump-witted trout face for all she cared.
“Who should I say told him?” she asked.
The man pushed another coin into her hand. “You shouldn’t.”
CHAPTER 25
Queen Willa Romerian rode just behind the wagon carrying Mykel, Fennel, and Shri, her traveling column of two dozen soldiers riding in formation after. Though Meryam and Wyn straggled at the rear, it would not do for one of the trailing guardsmen to overhear.
“She’s hiding something,” Meryam said in hushed tones to her husband’s liegeman.
“She’s a queen,” Wyn responded blankly.
Security was the one clear benefit of having royalty along for the trip. The downside of course was that everyone took notice; especially unfavorable if you did not want anybody – one man in particular - knowing you were gone in the first place.
The days between Whitehaven and Shorefeld had been uncomfortable for Lady Starling, and not solely for securing an alliance without her husband’s approval. Plotting what amounted to treason against her unwanted companion’s husband - her own husband’s dearest friend, no less – made for poor campfire conversation. Though she could not say why, Meryam was increasingly convinced that the journey had been uncomfortable for the queen as well. Shorefeld and its rocky coastline rose in the distance. Thank the light they were nearing the end.
“She’s a woman,” came Meryam’s flat response. “There’s something there. Something deeper than the mantle of queen imparts. Lying with every smile, sneaking with every footstep.”
Wyn turned pointedly in the saddle, his black eyes burrowing. “Are we not, my lady?”
The Fellsword was always short on words. He had been unusually so ever since their meeting with Lord Steward Redmond. Meryam’s secretive actions weighed on the man’s honor.
“Your wrist is as smooth as mine, your station second-class no matter how well you wield that sword, yet you disagree with my actions. How?”
“I haven’t decided that I do.” His tone left more unspoken than Meryam could accept.
“Speak freely, Wyn Fellsword. You have known my husband longer than I. You likely see the same cracks and pitfalls of my arrangement with the North that he will.”
Wyn considered for a long moment. When at last he spoke, his thoughts were as sharp as the moon blade he carried. “I believe you are attempting to control a flame, unaware of the overflowing hay shed you stand in, my lady. Lord Redmond is a dangerous ally, more dangerous than his unfathomable weapons. Who else will you align with at your family’s peril?”
“I would see that we are prepared, both for the battle and the outcome,” she argued, checking her voice with a glance towards the nearest guardsmen.
“The attempt on your son’s life set you scurrying like an insect avoiding the boot. Whether sneaking behind your husband will prevent the crush or hasten it remains to be seen.”
“War is inevitable.”
“Then a shadesayer you have become.” Wyn paused. “I fear your statement is true, not because you foresaw it, but because you acted as if you had. War may truly be inevitable now.”
Meryam thought on his words. Upon inception to motherhood she vowed that her every action would be taken for her children. Opportunities sacrificed, wealth spent, time given; all for the betterment of their future. Was she slipping? Was the deal with Lord Redmond for her children? Was the arrangement with Lord Fairfield? Was independence?
“Yes I have known Lord Starling for a long time, my lady,” Wyn Fellsword continued. “It bears repeating that my oath is to him and him alone.”
“Do you intend to tell him of the deal?” she asked.
“Do you, my lady?”
Meryam hesitated, finding the shame that Wyn so clearly felt. “When the time is right, Wyn,” she spoke resolutely. “When the time is right.” Moisture gathered in her eyelids and she returned her blurred vision to the wooden city drawing near. Her home. Her children’s home. Everything was for them. “The queen is hiding something. Please keep your eye on her.”
* * *
Traversing her tangled thoughts, Willa lost herself. Ahmet Redmond had another child? A daughter? With whom? Why had the man entertained the Starling’s treachery? Was it foolish to feel betrayed by someone when you were betraying your own family with that someone? Curse his beautiful face and everything that went with it.
Her own flawless features were fixed on the wagon and the boy sitting next to the driver. He was the only other person that knew why she would never have answers to the questions plaguing her mind. The only person that knew the lord steward lived on in her womb. The question was, how best to prevent the boy from letting the hawk out of the nest? For now she could only keep her eyes on him. The boy did not want her to notice, but he too was keeping an eye on her.
So much information, so little control. How would Erick respond when he found out his best friend was planning a revolt? Ryecard Starling was apparently in the citadel, arguing for his oldest boy’s life. Or so the Lady Starling had claimed. Was that part of their scheme as well?
The queen kept to herself to avoid revealing that she knew Meryam’s secret. To avoid revealing her own secrets as well. As the man that she silently mourned had expressed, Meryam was no goose-brain. The Starling’s pet wraith wasn’t either. The man chilled her bones.
The Starling boy was a liability. But before going to the extremes she had with Ahmet – the man was a traitor, she would not cry! – she needed to assess the boy’s tendency to squawk beyond the one-sided conversation they had had in Whitehaven. When the party halted on the outskirts of Shorefeld, Willa saw her chance.
“Do you care for poems, young Starling?” Willa asked, cornering the boy before he could hop down from his seat. Meryam’s fussy attendant was at the back of the wagon, the rest of the band stretching their legs a ways off as they lunched. “Have you ever heard The Creation?”
The boy regarded her warily.
“No, likely not provided your... secular upbringing.” There were times Willa felt like the last believer in the kingdom. By the time she was old and gray she likely would be, though she despised thinking of that unavoidable
period in her life for more than that reason alone.
“Five sculptors drifted through emptiness; wondering, imagining, nothing more.
Creation they attempted, waste they accomplished, for Abyss was insatiable.
The first, Null, divided light from dark.
Terra crafted firm ground, vegetation.
Malia produced all manner of creatures.
Manalla created mankind, separate from beast in his awareness.
Eather formed the elements, mysterious, alive, but without a heartbeat.
All for naught.
Abyss consumed the fruits of their talents, infinite creation feeding infinite destruction.
Balance.
Thus it was that the Five’s first lasting creation was malice, born of perceived injustice.
They used their malice to enslave Abyss, the nothingness becoming their canvas.
Creation took root as Abyss starved, the Five overjoyed in their lasting designs.
Yet a problem existed.
Their creations were impure, turning on one another with Abyss’ own appetite.
Plants consumed light.
Animals consumed plants.
Man consumed animals.
Weather consumed man.
Imprisoned and starving, Abyss smiled the last smile.
Worlds could not thrive in eternal destruction free of eternal destruction’s taint.
Life. Death. Balance.”
“You see, the world would not be here if not for hatred, deception, revenge. Slavery and starvation. Sometimes bad things can truthfully be good.”
“And sometimes bad things are just bad,” the boy replied boldly.
Willa glanced around, dropping her voice to a growl. “Look you heathen monger, if your wormy little tongue spills a word of whatever it is you think you saw, I’ll have your head swifter than a falcon flies. You can then rest underground knowing your mother is on trial for high treason and your Fellsword nanny for the murder of Lord Steward Redmond. And don’t think it will end there. I-” Just then, Wyn Fellsword himself approached the wagon. Was the man always waiting at arm’s length to rescue the boy?
“I have never known a child Starling to miss a meal,” he said in his unwavering tone. How could skin so pale harbor eyes so infinite in their darkness? “Is all well, young master?”
“I was just telling the little lord of the old ways,” Willa said quickly. “They say the eight moon blades were touched by the Five, your Last Quarter included.”
“They do indeed, Your Grace,” Wyn agreed plainly. “Though I count it fortunate the blades do not require faith to function as designed.”
“My Ceres holds Waxing Crescent much closer than he does the gods as well. Tradition lost to youth is to be expected, I suppose. May the swords and their bearers last longer than the priesthood,” she finished tightly.
“I am obliged, Your Grace.” The Fellsword turned to the boy. “Dhaneb is looking for a worthy horseman to show her through the streets of Shorefeld. She mentioned you by name, young master.”
“Run along then,” Willa followed as pleasantly as possible. She hoped her grating teeth were not too obvious. Wyn and the boy bowed their departure, her eyes following closely after.
What to do about the boy consumed the ride through Shorefeld to the exclusion of all else, her heartache and the predicament in her womb included. She had looked in his eyes, measured his nerve. The boy clung to that famed Starling nobility, gods curse the lad for it. Sooner or later he would tell all he knew.
Unpaved streets and divided crowds passed without the queen’s notice until at last, the band was moving through the fortress’ timber entrance into the receiving courtyard. It was there that Willa’s contemplation was interrupted by further complication.
“Abyss’ flaming embrace,” she muttered aloud. Several guardsman reacted to the curse, then hurriedly looked away. Willa did not notice.
As the young keeper of her most damning secret dismounted the Fellsword’s black mare, his perfect reflection raced down the wide steps from the keep’s main residence. The mirrored images met with an embrace and she cursed once more. Once clothing was changed, she wouldn’t know the boys from two ravens. Bloody crows, two ravens from the same nest were less similar!
The secret-keeper turned over-shoulder as he held his brother. She had spent so much thought debating how to prevent the young Starling from chirping that she hadn’t even gathered a name. Meeting his accusatory righteousness with her gaze, the decision was clear. Gabryel or Mykel, the boy would have to die. For now, her threat would have to do as she made the necessary arrangements. In this town, she knew just the man to call on.
* * *
Mykel squeezed his twin brother. For the first time in days, the knot in his stomach loosened a little. For the first time in days, he didn’t feel as if the next moment would be his last. If the queen would murder one of the most powerful unmarked men in Cairanthem – a king once, and the father of her unborn child! – she would not hesitate with Mykel Starling.
What Mykel saw in Whitehaven was cold murder no matter how the queen tried to spin it. She hadn’t even quoted the stupid passage properly. He didn’t believe a grain of that nonsense, yet even he knew that the Five’s unbridled desire tainted each other’s creations as much as Abyss. Not that he was about to correct her either. Did nobody read anymore?
Mykel could not argue that his mother was plotting treason, as the queen had threatened to divulge. He himself did read, too many volumes on the rise and fall of kingdoms to be so unwitting. The queen’s second threat was a shameless lie though. Wyn Fellsword had not killed Lord Steward Redmond. Power and romance had done that – not mentioning the queen’s knife - two things the Fellsword knew nothing about. Wyn would throw himself from Shorefeld’s cliffs before grappling with either of those.
The boys released each other. There wasn’t a person in the kingdom, Rosemarked or provincial-born, that could consistently tell them apart. To Mykel’s eye however, Gabryel appeared much older now. Like he had shed his boyhood youth, donning instead the cares and lessons of a life three times greater than his own.
“What happened to your arm?” Mykel exclaimed, noting his brother’s grimace as Gabryel clutched for his shoulder.
“The one lousy idler certain to obey mother’s orders is the one out seeing the world with her,” Gabryel remarked through a fond but measured grin. “At least your skin is intact. Same can’t be said for me and Ary. And Breccyn’s will only last until mother grabs hold of him. You won’t believe half of what I saw.” No, it was still his mischievous brother yet there was a shrewdness present now. Gabryel would still chase badgers, but the scratches he received would no longer come as a surprise. His hair wasn’t any less messy, that was certain. At the moment, Mykel was sure his own head spoke of days on the road without a proper bath.
“Then we are truly twins,” Mykel responded with a glance towards the queen. Those piercing emeralds hadn’t moved. “Only, everything I saw was unbelievable.”
“Are you sure you’re my brother?” Gabryel asked skeptically. “Having adventures. Seeing things that aren’t written in the pages of a book. You seem more confident. Maybe you’d be interested in a badger hunt when this entire mess is sorted out. Though, if this is what getting out does to you, people will start thinking you are the older.”
Mykel nearly laughed at the mirrored assessment. Nearly. It was hard to find humor when the most powerful woman in the kingdom – and if his father’s guidance on wives was accurate, the most powerful person period – wanted you dead. As Mykel saw it, his death had been signed the moment Lord Redmond’s had. Remain silent or inform the kingdom, the beautiful green-eyed terror would see to his death regardless of his decision.
Men were made by these kinds of decisions, his father had instructed. Decisions that were unquestionably right and impossibly difficult. Murder of a provincial-born at the hands of a Rosemarked, even a lord steward, could be waved off. Murder at the h
ands of the queen would be waved off. Not her infidelity. If Mykel played his knowledge right, Queen Willa’s grave would be dug long before his own.
“Where is father? And Breccyn?” Mykel asked.
“Father hasn’t returned from the capital. And you’ve seen as much of Breccyn as I have without wasting your morning searching for him. Oh well. After yesterday he could probably use some time alone, if he hasn’t run off altogether.” Mykel was about to ask what Gabryel meant by all that when his mother and Wyn Fellsword walked over. Gabryel sighed. “Though I do wish he was here to share in the trouble. Wish me luck.”
In place of the mercy-begging grin that regularly preceded Gabryel’s guilt, Mykel’s twin greeted their mother with the same meaningful embrace that he had offered his brother. Like Mykel, Meryam took notice instantly.
“What is wrong, Gabryel?” she asked directly.
Though the following story was muddled and cryptic – intentionally so, Mykel more than suspected – Gabryel did not deflect his involvement or honey-coat the consequences. He had grown. Even the fact that Gabryel focused more on the present situation than the events leading to it came off as a way to expedite the current seriousness rather than to conceal his prior involvement. That could be dealt with later; Aryella’s wakeless condition apparently could not.
Anger forgotten in favor of a mother’s concern – and a drove of razor-edged questions for Gabryel - Meryam started immediately for the keep. Wyn and the boys followed, but were halted before reaching the steps by Queen Willa’s added presence.
“Gravest apologies, Your Grace.” Meryam somehow managed politeness despite her hurriedness. “I am told my daughter requires my attention. If it pleases, I will have an attendant show you to your rooms. Perhaps we can dine together this evening.”
