Alexander’s touch as he took her hand was warm and strong. The smile on his lips warmed his eyes and softened every line of his face. She felt heat in her cheeks again and looked away. Gods, I’m such a fool.
Queen Rhian pulled a velvety green ribbon from a tiny pouch that hung from her belt. She wrapped their hands together and tied the ribbon in a loose knot. “As our tradition dictates,” she announced in what Sloane was beginning to assume was her usual brisk fashion, “these two who are promised shall come together as one.” The queen took hold of their bound hands. Her voice raised in pitch. “This bond represents the joining of their lives, their souls, and their love. May both our kingdoms thrive and prosper under their union!”
The crowd applauded in approval and the queen waited until the thunder subsided, then leaned toward the young couple and said in a much lower tone, “Let us go inside, so that we may get to know our new family.” She turned and walked back into the great hall at a far quicker pace than she had come out. Alexander and Sloane followed. Green-clad men and women appeared around the Pelosians, whisking the soldiers and her cousins along to be consumed in the crowd.
Sloane caught the barest glance of Bale, who wore a look of profound consternation as a young blonde woman almost half his height led him in her wake. She turned her attention back to the prince. “How long are we to remain...”—she gestured to the ribbon—“like this?”
“Until nightfall. I’m Alexander, by the way.”
She looked at him plainly. “I know who you are.”
“Ah, of course.” He frowned and fell silent.
“I am sorry,” she said, quickly. “I didn’t mean to be so curt.” She felt a fool; he was probably just trying to be courteous. “I’ve been under quite a bit of stress.” She smiled lamely.
“No, it’s fine. I understand, we’ve never met before and are expected to become man and wife. King and queen.” He chuckled. “That sounds kind of strange when I say it aloud.”
Sloane was beginning to realize Alexander might be as nervous about this marriage as she was. She smiled in earnest this time. “Yes, it does.”
“I must apologize for my father’s absence. He is deathly ill, but I suppose you already knew this as well,” replied Alexander.
“I did. I’m sorry for his hardship, and yours.”
He returned her smile. “Thank you.”
They trailed behind the queen, who spoke largely to the air around her. The four men who had comprised the official welcome walked closely behind. Soldiers and servants lined the hall in two quiet rows. The soldiers held their heads aloft, their expressions stoic. The servants, however, were alight with happiness. Young pages of both genders shuffled from one foot to the other, attempting to maintain the dignity of the occasion, but unable to restrain themselves beyond holding their tongues.
Alexander inclined his head slightly and whispered to her as they walked. “Your journey here was a pleasant one, I hope?”
Sloane looked sharply at her husband-to-be, who continued to walk in a measured pace. Of course, he wouldn’t know. She schooled her face back into a calm and pleasant expression. She moved her mouth as little as she could when she replied, “Events of which you may not be aware have taken place, and they must be discussed most urgently.” Sloane glanced at Alexander’s face; he was concentrating on her words. “I must meet with those who are handling your father’s affairs, immediately.”
Perplexity briefly creased Alexander’s brow . He smoothed away the furrows and smiled for the crowd as he spoke to her. “I have handled my father’s affairs for the past two years, so whatever events you need speak of, you may speak of them to me.”
Eos, take my stumbling words! she thought, abashed anew. “My apologies, again. I just assumed...” She wondered how many times would she make a fool of herself before the day was out. Off to a splendid start, she thought. Best just get to the point and save yourself looking the idiot as well. “Can we speak somewhere privately?”
“Of course.” Alexander stopped walking and called out, “Mother.”
The queen’s bustling stride ceased immediately and she turned gracefully to regard the pair. “Yes, my son?”
Alexander laid his free hand over their bound wrists and smiled at his mother. “Sloane is weary from her travel, and as you know, they did not take the traditional time to rest and prepare before entering our home.”
The old queen’s lips pursed as she considered the breach in protocol, but she nodded for Alexander to continue.
“Would you see to the welcome celebration while I sit with her alone for a moment?”
Queen Rhian narrowed her eyes briefly.
Sloane wondered if she suspected some impropriety, but then her face relaxed and she smiled warmly.
“Of course, my dears. Of course,” the queen said. She approached with a quick step and reached out to hold the couple’s bound arms, looking at each in turn. “Take as much time as you need.”
Raising her voice to carry the length of the hall, she addressed the twin lines of faces that had turned to watch the halted procession. “Well? Be about your business, then, people.” She brought her hands together with a surprisingly sharp smack when the assembled soldiers and servants looked at each other in confusion. “Move!”
A mad scramble ensued as the lot of folk began to dash about in every direction, and soon enough, the hall was almost empty but for the six nobles.
Rhian addressed the the general and minister of trade who still waited beside her. “The two of you might as well assist me. Come.” The general stepped quickly to the queen’s side, followed more slowly by the minister, who was walking with his attention fixed on a point just in front of his feet and a scowl on his face. Her voice receded as she proceeded down the hall with the two statesmen hustling to keep pace.
Alexander watched his mother’s receding form until a turn obscured her from view. Servants and soldiers began to appear again shortly after the queen disappeared, talking softly and seeing about their everyday duties.
“This way, Princess.” Alexander said, leading her into a hall, and up a broad stairwell. Eventually, they came to a heavy wooden door, which Alexander pushed open to reveal a broad stone porch.
“Will this do?” he asked, gesturing to the chairs near the stone railing.
All Sloane could do was stare. The city opened before her, spilling down the hills of the island to dip long piers into the turbulent waters of the basin. The falls that spilled down the giant stairs of stone extended several hundred feet, defying the imagination to calculate the magnitude of water spilling forth to crash on the rocks below. The sun was to her back, behind Terrandal, covering the area in shade. The balcony was made of finely cut limestone and projected away from the palace perhaps fifteen feet. A tendril of root from Terrandal cupped the stone floor, reminding her that the building had been constructed as one with the living leviathan that reared above the Citadel. A stone rail bordered the far edge but was set low enough that safety had been sacrificed for impact. The view was glorious.
A streaking form crossed sharply, turning with terrific speed toward the water below the falls. Just before the Rohdaekhann hit the basin, it flared its wings and stabbed talons into the rapidly moving water. The giant bird hauled forth a fish that must have been ten feet from whiskered head to thrashing blue tail. The Rohdaekhann’s momentum hardly abated as massive wings pounded to carry itself and its struggling prize up and over the palace.
She craned her head around, watching the predator’s flight.
“I never tire of watching them, myself,” Alexander said. “They are masterful, to use a word that hardly does them justice.” He gently guided her to the pair of chairs and offered one to her.
They sat together, their bound hands dictating which seat each of them took.
Alexander leaned forward in his chair. “You may speak freely here. We are completely alone.”
Here it goes, she thought grimly, wondering what this man would thin
k of her news. “My sister, Sacha, was abducted on our trip here, mere days ago.”
Alexander’s face immediately went blank, but his eyes hardened as he absorbed the importance of her words. “I had understood she was to accompany you,” he said. “When she was not in your party, I thought it only a change of plans.”
She slowly shook her head in reply.
“By Eos, this should not have happened. I will alert the guard at once; the whole of Waterfall Citadel will be mobilized to find her!” He stood and began to walk toward the door.
“No!” Sloane stopped him, refusing to rise. “You cannot, must not, bring attention to this.”
Alexander frowned and opened his mouth to object.
Sloane rushed on before he could speak. “It happened on Basinian soil, you see. My father would take it as an insult, an indication of a lack of fitness to rule, and quite possibly, a sufficient cause to declare war.” She wiped the welling tears from her eyes. “You must have other means at your disposal. A way to find her, before Pelos discovers what has happened.”
He nodded respectfully. “Yes. I can see the wisdom in this.”
“Only through the foresight of Lady Barrelon,” she said. “Her words showed me the truth of it.”
Alexander gave her an appraising look. “I believe you will make a most excellent queen.”
Sloane almost smiled at the compliment. “There is more. I, that is to say, my captain, found the reason the Wildmen are invading our kingdoms.”
He sank back down into his chair and gazed intently at her with piercing brown eyes. One of his dark brows lifted, pressing her to continue.
“Skelris. The hobgoblins are moving north.”
His eyes grew wide. “You are certain of this?”
Sloane nodded and told him of the encounters on the road, the prisoner Bale had taken, and the information that had been pulled from him.
Alexander raked his free hand through his hair multiple times and stared out at the waters of the basin.
She was surprised to see a fierce smile cross his face.
“I was told marrying a Pelosian would be ‘adventurous,’” he said. “ I don’t think the men who thought to warn me knew the half of it.” He placed his free hand back over their bound wrists and continued. “I must... No, we must make plans. Our kingdoms united can weather this storm.”
She smiled at his amendment.
“We will find Sacha as well. It can be done quietly, but it will be done. I promise you this.”
She placed her free hand over the prince’s and for the first time since her sister had been taken, she let herself feel true hope—just a little.
“Where do we start?”
BANLOR sat on the edge of the desk, regarding the wreckage of the room around him. His hand gently cupped the blue-veined stone that had been under the glass dome. His right ring and middle fingers lightly stroked the letters engraved on the surface.
All about him, the evidence of his fury was apparent in the dim light provided by the few wall-mounted oil lamps that had escaped his rampage. A paper that had been cast into the air from a violent sweep of his arm slipped free of its binding in a skewed picture frame and began a seesaw path to cover the shattered glass lying on the floor.
Princess Sloane was alive and well.
The appearance of the princess and her escort at the gates of the Citadel had thrown the entire city into an uproar, but none so much as him.
Curse the face of Eos, Banlor thought as his fingers flexed convulsively about the piece of rubble in his hand. Standing, the minister placed the stone carefully on the desk, which was now clean of all but a single piece of parchment. He crossed the room to cast the doors to his balcony wide and stepped into the cool night air.
From below and all around him, music and snatches of voices were raised in song and laughter. The sounds floated on the night’s breeze, adding a human touch to the susurration of the wind through the trees and the constant thrum of the falls beyond his sight in the darkness. The successful ceremonial bonding of the princess to Alexander had already shifted the sense of unease amongst the Basinian people to one of hope. Damned sheep have slipped the pen, he thought sourly.
It had been child’s play to build on the natural distrust of the Basinian people. The Pelosians were well known for their violent past, and given the distance between the kingdoms, not much was truly known about them or their daily lives. Having a real, and he had to admit, beautiful, example to look on in this most public of ways had done for the Basinian people what years of trader’s news reports, small scholarly expeditions, and occasional travelers had been unable to do: She made the Pelosian savages human.
Well, I am not entirely undone, he mused, drumming his fingers on the rail, unconsciously in time with a folkdance that trilled on the breeze. There were still issues of trade to be worked out, and Harristone’s failure to appear with the other dignitaries was at least according to plan. The grumbling of those he had his hand on had quieted nicely in the face of the disappearance of an outspoken opponent.
Just like the pruning of an offending tree branch, the rest of his grove of support would now bend more easily to his will. He noted from the way the eyes of men like Spinnaker and Gornella failed to meet his today that the elimination of the balding man was the right choice. Yesterday, they were all but ready to stare him down, arguing on points that seemed trivial. Today, they were meek, turning their heads from even the most casual of his glances.
Standing, he turned his thoughts to the replacement of Brier in his core group of supporters. Popin, though sufficiently pliable, would never do. He had neither the political strength nor the connections to enable him to serve as well as Brier had. Lord Gornella, though, was a recent-enough acquisition and had both qualities, which Popin lacked. Not only this, but he had them in sufficient measure to equal, if not surpass, Harristone’s usefulness. If Harristone’s conspicuous absence proved sufficient motivation to evict Gornella’s rebellious streak, then this would work out well.
Banlor lifted his face from the city below him and cast his gaze upriver into the gloom, where presumably, the body of the twin sister lay cooling in a shallow grave. The darkness offered no clues as to the fate of either young woman, or the chancellor whom he had dispatched to see his will done.
Kesh, you idiot, what has become of you? Banlor snorted as he thought of the younger man. There was great promise in the chancellor, enough that Banlor had pushed along promotions and recognitions to accelerate the man’s rise to power. Unfortunately, some of very the things that made him a useful and controllable tool also made it difficult to guess his exact course of action.
Pride and vanity, close cousins that they were, warred in the young man’s mind just as surely as if they were rival women competing for a man’s affection. The desire for personal power and the self-satisfaction Kesh was wont to display made him rash on occasion. Banlor sensed it was these desires that may have been behind the man’s conspicuous absence from the arriving party.
The celebration that was in full throng at the palace at this moment was surely the venue where Kesh would have proved his most useful. Though, Banlor thought with a rueful shake of his head, if he had done as instructed, the occasion would not be one of celebration and unity, but one of war.
Banlor focused his attention away from the silent distance and toward the home of the king and his upstart young son. Though it was impossible to separate the sounds floating from the city from the sounds he knew were emanating from the palace grounds, he knew the apparent quiet was an illusion. He had come here, straight from the joyous throng, and he could easily envision the participants in their revelry.
Alexander, of course, seemed to be in his element, almost as much as Kesh would have been. Tall, strong, and young, the dark-headed prince was a central figure in the talk of many of the hopeful women that populated the nation. He made the ideal companion for the ravishing girl tied to his hand by the green ribbon. Though it turned his stom
ach, he had to admit the couple suited each other. Both of the cursed children naturally assumed an air of easy familiarity and authority that bode well for their role as future leaders. They had ready smiles for the well-wishers and patiently open faces for those with matters of state who were eager to test the royal waters.
The group of young women who had accompanied Princess Sloane were worth none of his consideration. The ridiculous flock giddily pointed, gaped, and giggled over the most trivial of items. Even the absence of the other princess had hardly seemed to shrink their awe and empty-headed admiration of the new pond they found themselves in.
There was one man, though, who seemed unable to forget he was a stranger in a strange land and that their party had been critically shortened. Bale Tigon, Captain of the Pelosian Palace Guard.
Captain Tigon’s battle scars, glowering face, and towering presence created an island of space no matter how many people surrounded him. Banlor had watched the man put to flight scores of servants with trays of food and drink, as well as courtiers who approached him with greetings and welcoming words. The man, in his red-and-gold tabard, had not availed himself of an opportunity to remove his armor, and he never took his hand from the long-handled sword hanging at his side. He had also refused to allow himself to be separated from Princess Sloane for more than mere moments, and never by more than the barest of distances. His black mood all but screamed distrust and anger—excellent emotions that lent themselves well to manipulation.
Banlor, although he eschewed emotion himself, found it useful in others. He would have to find out more about this man. Men who ran hot could often be useful tools when the right buttons were pushed.
Turing from the rail with a thoughtful shake of his head, Banlor started back to his study to set order to the wreckage of his fury.
The blackness of his mistress’s mind set upon him suddenly as he walked, and he had no awareness of crossing the threshold back to his rooms. The pain and pleasure of her grip on his mind were his only perception of reality for long moments.
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 26
