The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by Charissa Dufour

  Pelor watched as Sir Mannering pinched a slave’s backside, giving her a wink. The woman threw him a saucy smile before walking away, swaying her hips enticingly. Mannering was perhaps the most oversexed man Pelor had ever seen.

  “Pretty little thing,” commented Sir Gregory.

  Mannering smiled, missing Gergory’s sarcasm. “Pretty enough. Not as pretty as the princess though, eh?”

  Pelor glanced at Mirabelle, seeing that she was beaming brightly thinking they were talking about her.

  “Don’t talk about her,” grumbled Fed. “You are not worthy to discuss Princess Bethany.”

  “Shush, Fed,” soothed the queen. “No need getting into a huff over the little slut. She’s gone now.”

  “Don’t call her that,” snapped Féderic.

  Pelor wondered if the prince had real feelings for Bethany. He could relate, having loved her once. Now, though, he thought Queen Arabelle had the right of it. Either way, Féderic was clearly disturbed by any mention of the escaped captive.

  “I wonder if she’s made it back to Dothan by now,” commented Wolfric, his eyes flicking briefly to where Pelor sat. “What say you, Pelor?”

  “Assuming nothing happened to them, they would likely be back by now,” replied Pelor, knowing the land and its hazards better than anyone else present.

  Wolfric chewed on his lower lip, the wheels turning in his head visible through his green eyes. The movement increased as he began to fiddle with the hair on his chin. The thoughts rolling through the king’s head appeared to be taking up all his concentration.

  “You think our plan could still work?” asked the king long after everyone else had moved on to other topics.

  “What plan?” asked his wife.

  “With Bethany. Our plan to marry her to Fed and take over the nation from the inside out.”

  Arabelle glanced around. “Bethany isn’t here.”

  Wolfric sighed. “Yes, I know that. I mean, if she’s safely home, and we negotiate with her father. I mean her brother. What’s his name?”

  “Gilead,” offered Pelor.

  “If we negotiate with King Gilead, perhaps we could continue with our original plan. Fed gets Bethany with child as quickly as possible and, with undercover assassins, we kill off the rest of the royal family. When Bethany is all that is left, her husband will be their king, and her child their future king. In the end, we would have united Dothan with Tolad.”

  “Why not just attack them?” asked Rulfric, Wolfric’s second son—assuming one ignored the queen’s bastard now living in Nava.

  “One,” snapped the king, “they are naturally defended by the Whitecap Mountains and the Narrow Sea. If they were as undefended as Domhain or Topaq I would have conquered them long ago. Second, when one takes over a nation via all-out war there are heavy casualties, both men and cities. Buildings are burned, crops destroyed, animals killed. When you take them over from within, the structure and economy remain. Besides, it would cost us less than mounting an army large enough to cross the Whitecap Mountains. Am I right, Pelor?”

  Pelor shrugged. “I’m no expert, but when King Middin, may he…”

  Pelor trailed off, suddenly realizing he had been about to say “may he rest in peace” out of habit. Pelor cleared his throat before continuing.

  “King Middin would always transfer soldiers in small groups to the border cities. There aren’t any valleys large enough for an entire army to camp. It’s all little dales at best.”

  Wolfric nodded as though he was storing the information for later.

  “You’d have to contact this Gilead,” said the queen with a wave of her hand. “But you wouldn’t want to let the boy know you knew about Bethany. All things considered, I doubt the girl would tell them her whole story. They might not even know she had been with us.”

  Wolfric nodded again, his eyes unfocused as his musings turned inward.

  “Pelor, what other people are in Bethany’s family? I can’t recall them all.”

  “The Queen Mother is Debowrah. Gilead is the king. The oldest daughter is Mara. She’s been married for years. To some landed lord. Then there’s Obadyah. He’s in his early twenties I think. Last I heard he’s unmarried. And lastly Bethany.”

  “Not a lot of children,” commented Arabelle with a haughty sniff.

  As the mother of eight children, and with another on the way, she considered any woman without at least six children lazy.

  “She had a few others, but none of them survived infancy,” replied Pelor.

  Arabelle gave another little sniff and focused on her embroidery.

  “What if I send a letter indicating I am interested in peace… and to enhance my offer, I’ll give him my eldest daughter as his wife?”

  “What?” shrieked Mirabelle, coming to her feet and dropping her own embroidery. “You’d marry me off to a Dothan pig?”

  Wolfric was on his feet a second behind his daughter.

  “You will marry who I say you will marry, and if this is the best alliance I can make, then you shall marry a Dothan pig, and you will give him heirs if that is what I want, or cross your legs if that is what I want. Understand?” he asked, though the entire room knew he didn’t expect an actual answer.

  Mirabelle blushed brightly as she slowly lowered herself back into her seat. Trying her best to not attract further attention, she leaned down and retrieved her work.

  “Now,” continued Wolfric, “if all goes well, I will shift the offer to pair Federic and Bethany together, leaving Mirabelle unwed… yet again.”

  Mirabelle glared at her embroidery, but kept her mouth shut. From where Pelor sat he could see the princess debating between being married to a much-hated king versus being unmarried altogether.

  The king didn’t waste any time getting a letter written and sent to the front via his precious carrier pigeons. Assuming nothing happened to the bird, it would get the letter to the front after a long day of flying. From there either General Drystan or Sir Lyolf, the queen’s bastard, would see that it was delivered into the hands of a Dothan; who would take it to Gilead. Over all it would likely take a week to arrive into the hands of the Dothan king.

  Now Wolfric has to be patient. This should be interesting, thought Pelor.

  Bethany slipped out of her room and made her way down to the main level. The castle was trying to go about its normal routine, as per King Gilead’s instructions, but most of the inhabitants wanted to watch the long-lost princess. Bethany didn’t want to be watched. In fact, she didn’t even want to leave her room.

  Early in the morning, Bethany’s mother had appeared with a young girl of fifteen or sixteen. The girl wore her long, black, curly hair down, with just the sides pulled back to keep it out of her face. Her young lips were full, overshadowing any other beauty to be found in her face.

  “Bethany, this is Cilia. Josef’s little sister.” Her mother paused, waiting for a sign of recognition from Bethany.

  She knew the girl looked familiar, and understood the connection provided to her, but Bethany couldn’t remember the girl. Josef was married to Bethany’s only sister, making Cilia a distant relative. Slowly an image of a much smaller, greatly-pimpled child came to Bethany.

  “Oh yes, of course,” said Bethany, only half lying. “Cilia, it is good to see you again.”

  “We are all so happy to have you safely returned to us,” said the girl diplomatically.

  “Thank you.”

  “Cilia has come to live in the castle some time ago, and I thought she would make a perfect lady-in-waiting for you,” explained her mother.

  “Oh, thank you. But really, Mother, I don’t think I need a lady-in-waiting. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time,” Bethany added, thinking of the two women Queen Arabelle had assigned to her, more to spy on her than to assist her. Bethany began to wonder if that was her mother’s goal too.

  “Not have a lady-in-waiting! Don’t be silly. I’ll do what I can do to find you another couple ladies.”

/>   Bethany let out a resigned sigh. She knew her mother, even after a year of separation, well enough to know when the battle was lost.

  “Of course, what was I thinking,” Bethany said with a forced smile.

  “And we must see what we can do about replacing your wardrobe,” the queen said, eyeing the robe Bethany was currently wearing. “I doubt any of your old dresses will fit. You’ve lost so much weight.”

  Bethany didn’t respond. Anything, aside from a lie, would upset her mother.

  “I can take in my old dresses,” Bethany said after the pause grew too uncomfortable.

  “I can do that for you, my lady,” said Cilia, excitedly going to Bethany’s wardrobe and pulling out a dress at random.

  Bethany tried to hide her cringe from her mother. Such terms of respect had lost their charms on her over the last year. Each time she heard someone call her “my lady” or bow to her, Bethany felt a wave of guilt. She didn’t deserve such respect.

  Bethany had to give credit where credit was due. Cilia was very efficient and skilled. Within an hour she had taken in the simplest of Bethany’s old dresses, with the promise to finish as many as she could before the day was over. She even arranged Bethany’s hair in an intricate braid.

  Finally, Bethany escaped the confines of her room and scurried down the hallway. She reached the large bailey having only encountered a few servants. As she stepped out into the sunlight she breathed a sigh of relief. Her intention had been to sneak into the stable and check on Galindo. The large warhorse was all she had left of her time with Erin.

  A few feet from the stables, she heard a voice call out her name. Bethany turned to see her oldest brother, King Gilead, striding purposefully toward her.

  “How did you sleep?” he asked as he patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

  “Fine,” she said, lying once again; she had been doing a lot of lying.

  “Where are you off to?” he asked, looking around as though nothing outside might interest a woman.

  Bethany hesitated. “I wanted to go check on my horse.”

  “Your horse?” asked Gilead, his soft features wrinkling in confusion.

  “The horse I rode in on.”

  “That’s a warhorse, little Bethany. Hardly the horse for you,” chuckled Gilead condescendingly.

  Bethany ground her teeth together, feeling the anger build up inside her gut.

  “I spent enough hours on it in the last month to make it mine,” she said, trying to still sound gentle and submissive.

  “Tell you what, little sis, I’ll get you a pretty mare.”

  “Gilead,” Bethany sighed, losing what little control she had. “I have spent months on that horse. It saved my life numerous times. It is my horse.”

  The king stared down at her as though she had just sprouted fur.

  “Perhaps we should discuss this with Mother,” he said softly, taking her arm and leading her back to the keep.

  Luckily, the Queen Mother was just exiting the keep. She smiled down at them, not realizing their smiles were hiding their first fight.

  “Mother, I think Bethany is struggling to adapt back into family lifestyle. Might we have a little chat?” he asked through his teeth, nodding toward the keep doors.

  Debowrah frowned at her two children before following them into a small room just off the main entrance. Bethany felt her hands ball up into fists and forced herself to relax.

  “Now, what’s the problem?”

  “It seems Bethany wants a horse,” Gilead began.

  “What’s the problem with that?” asked their mother.

  “Wrong,” growled Bethany. “I want my horse. The horse I rode for weeks and weeks. The horse that kept me alive. I will not see another on it.”

  “Bethany, that is a warhorse. It is not proper for a young lady to ride a warhorse. Besides, it is much too energetic for you to control,” said Gilead. “As I recall, you never were a great horsewoman.”

  “Control? You really think after riding that horse across the Whitecap Mountains in early spring I can’t control it?”

  Gilead avoided her gaze, keenly aware that he had only ever crossed the perilous mountains within the protective confines of a royal caravan.

  “Let me make myself clear,” continued Bethany, eying both her mother and brother. “That is my horse. No one else’s. This is not up for discussion.”

  Bethany watched her mother’s eyes flit to her son’s face for a second before settling back on Bethany.

  “Okay sweetheart. No need to make a big deal out of this. That’s your horse.”

  Bethany nodded once before turning to march out of the little room. As she left, she heard her mother quietly say, “She’s been through a lot. This isn’t worth upsetting her over.”

  The princess marched away, uninterested in what else her mother had to say. No doubt, the queen was informing her son of what Bethany had revealed the night before. Bethany didn’t need to be reminded that she had been a slave.

  Bethany crossed the bailey at a fast trot, just shy of a run, and slipped into the stable where she breathed a sigh of relief. She inhaled deeply, holding her breath and enjoying the smell of horse, dust, and hay. It made her feel safe, safer than the tall walls surrounding her home. After months with Galindo and Éimhin around her, the smell of a horse had become the usual. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t been able to sleep last night: No smell of horse around her.

  She found Galindo stabled in a large stall at the far end of the stables and ducked inside, wrapping her arms around the horse’s neck. The animal nuzzled her gently, giving a little splutter of contentment.

  “How’re they treating you?” she asked the horse as though he might answer back.

  “Very well, I hope,” said a voice from behind her.

  Bethany spun around, surprised to find herself being watched.

  “You came home with quite an animal, my lady,” said the stable master as he eyed Galindo from head to hoof. “You give ‘im a name?”

  “Galindo.”

  The stable master, being familiar with Dothan folklore, burst out laughing. Galindo was a monster who had threatened a princess’ life. A normal person would have named their horse after the hero that saved the princess rather than the monster. Bethany didn’t feel the least bit normal.

  “Good choice. He looks like he’d be full of life.”

  “He plays up,” admitted Bethany. “But don’t tell the king that.”

  The stable master threw her a wink.

  “Will you saddle him for me?”

  “Going somewhere?” asked the stable master rather boldly.

  “Just thought I’d go for a little ride.”

  The stable master stared at the ground, the toe of his boot making a little hole in the dirt that continually lined the floor of the stable.

  “Forgive me, milady, but is that such a good idea? You just returned, I mean. Won’t the family want you close by for a bit? They might worry that something’d happened to you.”

  Bethany frowned at the old man. There was more to what he was saying than his words suggested. Bethany suddenly realized he had been given orders not to saddle a horse for her. She was trapped in her own home.

  The princess nodded. “Of course. Wise words,” she said, allowing him to save face.

  The stable master breathed a sigh of relief before turning away. Bethany gave Galindo one last pat before trudging back out of the large stables. She picked up the skirts of her dress, feeling uncomfortable in the gown. She had grown rather accustomed to trousers.

  Bethany looked around the bailey, wondering where she could hide now. Overall, home had not proven as comforting as she had expected. Bethany felt her face pull down into a sad frown as she slipped behind a building.

  Chapter Three

  Lyolf marched out of keep. It may have been small, and in great disrepair, but it was his. He had the papers to prove it. His so-called father had signed the estate over to him in full. And more than the keep, the pr
osperous coastal city of Nava was his too. Or at least it would be prosperous if King Wolfric would ease the taxes.

  The ex-prince wondered if the king was doing it to him on purpose, as punishment for Lyolf forcing them to discuss the prohibited topic of Lyolf’s real ancestry.

  Lyolf rubbed his hands together as he glanced around the bailey, trying to remember what he had intended to do today. The bailey, while still a little pathetic looking, was a vast improvement from what it had been when he arrived. In the month and a half since his arrival, the stable had received an entirely new straw roof and the walls had been patched. The healer’s hut had also been replaced.

  Brid, the wife of the family who had joined Lyolf on the road to Nava, had already begun transforming a small swath of land next to the kitchen door into a large garden. After much persuasion, Brid had convinced Lyolf to part with a few more precious coins for her to purchase seeds, claiming that she would be able to harvest next year’s seeds from the crops of this year, and that the crops would greatly reduce the cost of feeding the castle inhabitants.

  His home in Tolad had not had a kitchen garden. It wasn’t really feasible with a population of thousands. The castle was stocked by the farms and plantations surrounding the large city. His little keep was a different barrel of fish altogether.

  Brid had also whipped the women of the keep into order, mothering them in her own way. No longer were the women found sneaking out of the bed of a soldier or worker late in the night. The feisty middle-aged mother hen would not allow the women to set such horrible examples for her young children, or any new woman who came to work in the castle in the future.

  Lyolf smiled as he thought of Brid, who was becoming more of a mother to him than the queen ever had been. Her husband, Cred, had taken over the soldiers of the keep and whipped them into shape, much like his wife had done to the women. Now, the soldiers practiced every day, stayed awake while on duty, and left the keep only on their day off. Cred was even beginning the lengthy process of coordination with the city guard, with the hopes of joining the two forces into one. Lyolf liked Cred’s idea of one fighting force to defend the city as a whole but knew it would take more than a month and a half to win the Captain of the Guard over to their idea.