The brothers at first sought a peaceful means of resolving the question. Each presented his argument to the masses, hoping to get such an overwhelming majority on his side that the other would renounce his claim to leadership. As it happened, public opinion split right down the middle as to who should assume the role. The brothers’ efforts to sway the people dragged on for months. Argus and Destus, goaded on by supporters with a broad range of agendas, spouted grievances and outrageous pledges, which just ended up driving the two sides further apart.
One night, in a popular tavern, things got ugly. Blinded by alcohol, a group of Destus loyalists threw the first blows. By morning, three of Argus’s closest friends had died of their injuries.
Argus’s supporters screamed for him to avenge the killings, but Argus, despite his grief, had no desire to fight his brother. The brothers agreed that their camps should move apart before the civil strife claimed more lives. Destus would lead his followers to the uninhabited lands far to the south, and Argus would stay where he was.
Destus’s descendants and followers called themselves Destaurians, and they prospered in their new land. After the initial supply links from Audicia were no longer needed, the two nations, primarily out of pride, ignored each other for over a thousand years.
The Audicians flourished, expanding their five main cities and sending explorers across the ocean seeking trade opportunities. They cut lucrative deals with the inhabitants of the Trystan Archipelago to the northwest. The Celmareans—already a thriving, sophisticated culture—gave the Audicians a warm welcome, and then politely asked them to go away—which they wisely did. By far the most exciting goods the Audicians found were in the South Seas: wonderful woods, stones, oils, and fruits made their way up to Audicia. Audicians found themselves awash in luxuries.
Just when things looked like they couldn’t get any better for the Audicians, a massive army thundered across the range from the Far East. The Tem, a fierce, golden-haired people, subdued both the Audicians and the Destaurians, and enslaved them. The descendants of Argus and Destus, reunited in slavery, were oppressed by the Tem for seven hundred years, until they had nearly forgotten their own kings had ever ruled the land.
One night, an Audician mender named Renrick had a vision of the old times, and he started preaching independence to anyone who would listen. Tem agents quickly moved to quash the rebellious talk. Renrick, his family, and dozens of his sympathizers fled to the mountains, preferring to struggle for survival in freedom than to be provided for in servitude. Renrick’s people learned to live well in the wild. They still communicated with rebels in the city, who convinced the boldest of Audicians, family by family, to wriggle out from under the thumb of their oppressors and to escape to the highlands.
Empires never last forever, and over the next hundred years the central government of the Tem weakened. The provincial governors of Audicia and Destauria, tired of paying tributes to a far-off emperor, declared their independence.
But the Audicians were far from free. Their half-Tem governor, Heric, was a rotten tyrant, who treated the Audicians worse than they had been treated under the empire.
One of the first things Heric did after independence was to send his men to hunt down Renrick’s mountain people, who were now led by Renrick’s descendant, Audric. To escape their pursuers, Audric and his tribe followed the coastal range southward, traversing its dangerous eastern slopes. Crossing back over the range, they hid in the forest midway between Destauria and Audicia.
Within weeks, Audric got word that the Audicians had risen in revolt against Heric. Audicia was finally free.
There was no longer a need to hide or flee, but Audric wasn’t keen on returning to Audicia either. His mountain-dwelling people were culturally distinct now, and they were infatuated with their new patch of forest, and the gems and gold they were finding there. So, with the blessing of the neighboring kingdoms, Audric set the borders of a new nation and called it Arra. Work immediately began on constructing a fortified “castle” in the center of Arra, lest the region’s security prove to be short-lived.
One thousand and twenty-four years after Audric became the first King of Arra, Elaina was peering out the window of a coach in Audicia, pondering the fact that she could be the one to bring the ancient cousins—the Arrans, Audicians, and Destaurians—back together in peace.
Elaina tried not to fog the window with her breath. The procession of coaches wound through a grid of alleys separating rectangular concrete buildings. Just before the end of an alley, the drivers steered the coaches into what appeared to be a warehouse.
Sawery opened the door to Elaina’s coach and helped her hop down. Only a few lamps lit the place, which smelled strongly of hay and freshly-cut wood. Four workers pushed aside a massive crate to reveal a downward-sloping corridor.
“If our Celmarean guests would please line up in order of age,” Minister Sawery said. “Your people are waiting to welcome you.”
Elaina wasn’t quite sure what “order of age” meant. “Youngest first,” Alessa explained. “That’s you, girl.” Elaina stepped up, and the others fell in behind her.
King Seir and Minister Sawery grabbed lamps and led the group down a seemingly endless concrete tunnel. The air felt cool and humid. Nobody spoke—not the hosts, not the guests. The scrape and clop of everyone’s steps echoed off the hard walls.
At the end of the tunnel they ascended three flights of dusty wooden stairs and emerged into a storeroom packed with crates, sacks, and barrels. Is this the way they receive all of their foreign dignitaries? Elaina wondered. Next they passed through a few more storerooms, and the air grew warmer. Finally, a door led them out into a vast ballroom with a highly polished wooden floor.
Grand crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling. Hundreds of bottles of liquor and wine lined shelves behind a bar that spanned most of one wall. The air held a mix of sweet aromas: perfume, spilled alcohol, wood polish and cleaning fluid. At the far end of the room, tiered platforms ascended—no doubt risers for some lively royal orchestra. Elaina was sure she could feel the joy, romance and drama of the myriad celebrations held in the room over the centuries. Minister Sawery led the group into one of the palace’s main corridors.
While the corridors of Arra’s castle were a stodgy grey granite, the Audician palace had a brighter feel. Local stone was used considerably, but steel and plaster also featured. Although great artistic effort had clearly been applied to fashioning the high ceilings, pillars, and ubiquitous bas-reliefs, there was no evident theme tying it all together. Elaina felt surrounded by attempts at creativity, held together by a steel framework so a quake wouldn’t bring it all down.
Soon she heard music, thumping with percussion, coming from a room up ahead with closed double doors. Sawery halted the line of delegates just before the doors. “Here we have the Hall of Mirth,” he announced. “A moment, please.” He pulled one of the doors slightly open, and he and Makias slipped inside. The delegates heard three resounding claps, and the music in the room abruptly stopped.
Elaina jumped as both doors burst open, and a line of acrobats sporting brilliantly colored costumes and paint on their faces, hands, and shaved heads, filed out and marched down the corridor, without making eye contact with the delegates. Another group dressed in black followed, carrying sheets of music. Elaina tried to peer inside the Hall of Mirth, but she couldn’t see much from where she was standing.
“His Majesty, Seir, King of Audicia and the Seaward Provinces,” Elaina heard Sawery shout, and then King Seir disappeared into the room. The doors closed.
The delegates waited for what seemed like five minutes while the king gave a droning speech, his words incomprehensible through the thick wooden doors. Servants arrived to gather everyone’s cloaks.
After the king’s speech, it was time for the delegates’ grand entrance. Sawery opened both of the doors, and gestured for Elaina to enter. She inhaled deeply and stepped into the Hall of Mirth.
The guests
inside had formed into a receiving line, extending the full length of the left side of the hall, and all of them were focused on her. Whoever had organized this line had put the Celmareans up first, youngest to oldest; Elaina recognized them by their dark brown hair, soft, higher cheekbones and slightly narrower eyes than a those of a typical mainlander. A lavish banquet table occupied the right half of the hall.
Elaina wasn’t sure she’d been announced, but she kept walking toward the receiving line, with the other delegates following behind.
At the front of the receiving line, a young mother held the two youngest guests, probably not much older than a year, one in each arm. Elaina approached them. I’m their princess, she told herself, both to calm her nerves, and to remind herself to choose her words carefully.
“Panuse,” said the mother, meaning “my princess,” “my son Kindol is the youngest here.”
Elaina bent to give the little boy the traditional greeting: a kiss on the forehead. He smiled and grabbed the sparkling diamond fringe of the collar of Elaina’s engagement cape. Elaina gently peeled his hand from the delicate garment. “I know,” Elaina said to the boy, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it. I’m so lucky.”
“My name is Myrna,” said the young mother. She looked no older than Elaina. “I’m an Audician, but I’ve been in love with everything Celmarean since I was a little girl. My husband is a Celmarean; he’s farther back in the line. I am honored to meet you.”
Elaina smiled and kissed the young woman on the forehead, which wasn’t hard to do, as Myrna was considerably shorter. “The honor is mine,” said Elaina.
“And this is Calin. He’s the second youngest of your people,” said Myrna, nodding toward the child in her other arm. “His parents are also back in the line.” The boy looked serene; his eyes were fixed on Elaina’s crown. Elaina kissed his forehead, and said to Myrna, “I can’t wait to hear all about how you came to love my people.”
As she made her way down the receiving line, Elaina soon found more examples of love between nations: one of the Celmarean survivors, Pietro, had married an Audician, and another, a young woman called Cora, was engaged to a Skarjian boy.
Alessa had said that Celmarean councils had traditionally been cold to the idea of foreigners entering the pure fold of the islanders, but Elaina thought mixing the genes was a marvelous idea, and it wasn’t just because she and her own fiancé, Prince Jaimin of Arra, were half-bloods. What Elaina’s mother, Andienna, had done by being the first to marry an outsider was revolutionary. Yes, Areu—the force for purity that drove each Celmarean soul—was still alive, but perhaps it was blossoming into something even more powerful as the islanders grew to trust unconditionally in the divine spirit’s plan.
Also among the Celmareans were a priest named Sima and his wife Priestess Ariana, and Makias’s extended family, who were priests as well. And there was a young man descended from the Lemsenuerea—the revered custodians of the Celmarean palace.
At the end of the receiving line were the Arran minister of trade and his wife, a lower level official. They had been in Audicia negotiating the purchase of aluminum needed in the construction of Arra’s first hydrothermal power plant. Elaina got to deliver the news to the couple that both of their daughters, Sylvia and Aura, had survived the mass poisoning of the Arran court. The parents could not contain their tears of joy and relief.
After the introductions, Myrna and all the children headed off to the nursery to be entertained by the acrobats. The adults sat down to dine.
They relished the first course, a pleasant pea pâté, piped onto their plates in the shape of the green and white Audician flag. Not one of the invited guests had any inkling that in the shadows beneath the table an explosive device of tremendous power was awaiting a remote command.
CHAPTER THREE
I t was Makias’s brother, Talos, who first sensed something was amiss, and only because of a coincidence. His six-and seven-year-old daughters, Adara and Vanessa, had escaped from the nursery with the goal of rejoining their parents. When the girls, approaching the Hall of Mirth, saw King Seir exit the hall and bar the doors from the outside, they found this so unusual they reversed course and hid in a closet. Their father sensed that his daughters were afraid, and he sensed why.
“Your Excellency,” Talos quietly said to Minister Sawery, “I’m hoping you can explain why we are at this moment being locked in.”
The various conversations at the table all stopped, and everyone turned to Sawery. “I have no idea,” he replied. “That is not something we would ever do.” Sawery turned to High Minister Maugan.
“Something’s not right,” said Maugan, quietly. “I want everyone to pretend there’s nothing wrong while we look into it. Someone may be listening.” He got up and summoned the few Audician guards present to his side.
“I’m…looking forward to the acrobatic performance,” Queen Alethea announced to Sawery. “Where is the troupe based?” A few of the Celmareans and the Arran naval officers silently moved back their chairs and stood.
Sawery played along: “They’re, uh, based in the capital,” he replied. “They started out as street entertainers. They’ve been perfecting their routines for ten years now, and have become quite the attraction. We’ve just welcomed them home from a three-month tour of Skarjia. We are so very proud of them.”
Makias and Xander tested the main doors to the hall and confirmed that they were, indeed, unopenable. Audician guards found the door to the kitchen locked from the other side.
But the true heart of the problem was discovered by a Celmarean. “Leuneutat simitase,” said Cora, who was kneeling on the floor near the head of the table. It was an archaic phrase that meant: “There’s a bomb under here.”
Alessa translated for Elaina, and the other Celmareans translated for their foreign hosts.
“What’s a bomb?” Elaina whispered to Alessa.
Just stand up and come with me, Alessa told Elaina in her mind. Those still seated rose from their chairs. Alessa grabbed Elaina’s hand and walked her quickly toward the far side of the room.
On their way, they heard a heart-jarring crash! Elaina glanced back. Audician guards had tipped over the banquet table, putting the massive tabletop between the bomb and the fleeing guests. Porcelain and crystal shattered, and silverware clattered to the floor.
“Come on!” Alessa told Elaina, tugging on her hand. They ran the rest of the way to the far wall.
“Get down and cover your faces!” shouted Alethea, who was already crouched at the base of the wall, behind her guards. Elaina and Alessa got low and followed the queen’s lead. Just before covering her eyes tightly, Elaina saw the Arran guards Xander and Sasov bending over her and Alessa to shield them.
Nobody knew whether the bomb was timed, or whether it was to be remotely detonated. They just had to assume that it could go off at any moment.
And it did.
Elaina felt two blows in succession. The first felt like a white-hot, full-force punch to all parts of her at once. And then, a chonk! as the side of her head struck the stone wall behind her.
With that grisly sound, time stopped.
In an instant, everything was infinitely black and quiet. Nothing existed but a dark void; no fear, no pain, no sound, no thoughts, no memories…
The first feeling Elaina had was just a sense that time was passing, and that the blackness was lasting longer than it should. But then this feeling went away.
A while later—again—just a sense that time had passed.
And she felt it again later. Nudging her.
And…much later: there it was again…
But how long should the blackness last?
The sensation that time was passing returned, and this time it persisted. With it came a feeling of raw uncertainty about what was, and what was to come.
Elaina had no ability to process these feelings in a rational way. She could feel, but she couldn’t think.
After an immeasurably long while, a thought wri
ggled past her like a tiny floating worm made of light. Elaina hardly noticed it at first and ignored it. In fact, she saw it pass by twenty, thirty, fifty times, but it was blurry and fleeting, and she couldn’t register what it was. Until one time it wriggled again—brighter this time—and she decided to pay attention to it.
Elaina wasn’t sure whether she was perceiving the wriggling thought, or whether she was the thought, but when she focused on it, it grew: yes, maybe it was her after all!
Inspired by her progress, she collected more and more of a sense of herself, but all was still dark, and soon she noticed a new numbness tugging on her, dragging her downward toward bottomless depths. She sensed a presence below her, tempting her to let go of this “self” she had grasped. It felt easy down there. It felt comfortable. Up above, she sensed great pain.
But her instinct told her to go up.
And, as Elaina had so many times before, she put all her faith in her instinct. She would do anything it wanted, even if it led to pain.
The more she fought the temptation of the void below, the more she felt like she was climbing up a raging waterfall in complete darkness, with her bare fingertips on slick rock, scrabbling for handholds. She still didn’t know who she was just then, or who anyone else was, or how she had come to be in this predicament. She was just her, and she had to get up.
She kept climbing the waterfall the best she could. She climbed because she had an inkling that somewhere up there was a place where she had work to do. She started to feel the pain—as if it were carried by the water pelting her from above. And the pain increased the more she pulled herself up into it.
She climbed higher and higher, determined to reach the top of the waterfall.
Near the top of the waterfall, the water—and the pain—were at their most powerful. They pummeled her face, shoulders, and chest, doing everything they could to knock her back down.
With both hands she found good handholds, and she heaved herself up over the lip of the waterfall. Rolling onto her back, she lay flat with the water and pain rushing over her, but with solid rock beneath her at last. Her instinct told her she could stop climbing—she had made it!
The Captive Twin (Principality Book 2) Page 2
