by M. L. Greye
Her palanquin rounded one last bend, and she saw the end of the road up ahead. The finish line was an immense, thick wall of stucco, brilliantly white, and a double gate of twisted iron framed by a mosaic of blue, green, and orange tiles. The archway above the gate wasn’t quite an arch. It was more like the bottom half of a rounded heart, or a teapot without a spout and handle.
Through the iron fencing, Emry could make out lush, expansive greenery and a line of blue. A pond or lake perhaps? She craned her neck, but she couldn’t see much because the glimmering blue in the distance was mostly blocked by the sparkling stone of the sprawling palace.
The gate was pulled open by four black-eyed servants on either side. The iron had to be heavy – probably weighed as much as a house if four Blacks were needed to drag it open. Emry wouldn’t be able to so much as budge it an inch.
Her procession passed through the archway, and Emry wished she was closer to the wall. She would have liked to have run her hands along the tiles. She’d never seen such smooth, bright workmanship. In Enlennd, tile tended to be bland, usually plain – made of grays or browns.
Once the gate was too far back for Emry to ogle without looking like a gawking child, Emry turned her attention to the palace grounds. It was a garden. One spacious, grandiose, magnificent garden. It went as far as she could see, encompassing the entire top of the hill. It had to go on for miles. Plush, green grass. Pathways of that same dark red brick of the road, intertwined with flowers and shrubs and trees. It was bright, colorful, and intoxicating.
Peacocks of deep blue and purple wandered across the paved paths and grass – their feathers fanned out in a shimmering array of vanity and splendor. Flowers in varying shades of purple and pink lined the walkways and the front of the palace itself. Skinny, tall trees with long, wispy fronds jutted out above the flowers along the palace.
Palm trees. Emry had seen a painting of them once as a child at the estate. The merchant selling the painting had told her they only grew in Heerth, Perth, and Oceana.
Around the back of the palace – taking up a good portion of the property – was the lily pond she’d seen earlier. It was a cross between a pond and a lake – not quite large enough to qualify as a lake, but definitely too large to be deemed a mere pond. Reeds of cattails and manicured grasses lined the pond, while lilies of white, pink, and purple floated over its top. It was picturesque and inviting, and Emry wanted to explore every inch of it.
Then, there was the palace itself. Made from gleaming white marble, it was taller than her own palace and just as wide. Hundreds of windows arched in the same style as the gate – an elongated circle with a pointed top, like an upside heart turned rectangle – dotted the stone. The first floor was encased by a sweeping covered porch that appeared to wrap all the way around the palace – held up by thick, rounded pillars. Emry could have hugged one of the pillars and her fingertips wouldn’t have touched – they were that wide.
At the very top of the palace, like an enormous cherry on top, a giant golden dome came to a point – the tip of a tower. It was rounded and curved like the arches Emry could see everywhere she looked – ornate and ostentatious. It was stunning. Emry found it hard to look away.
Eventually she had to drop her eyes, though. When she did, she noticed the royals of Heerth standing on the covered front porch. Although, really, porch was much too common a word for it. Veranda came closer, but it still didn’t seem an elegant enough word.
The king had been married six times and had close to twenty children. Clearly, only the older ones were part of the greeting party – there were seven of them standing beside their father on the veranda. Trezim was one of them, leaning up against one of those marble pillars.
Trezim was smirking at her. Emry wasn’t sure how long he’d been watching her, but he wasn’t looking away. Emry brazenly locked eyes with him – the man who had invited her to his country and promised to teach her all those months ago.
His handsome features were quirked up in an amused smile, his gold eyes bright. His golden hair contrasted with his rich, dark skin. From the almost wicked gleam in his eyes, Emry had the feeling he knew exactly how striking he looked in his royal blue pants and sleeveless orange, red, and blue tunic-vest. Heerth clothes. The tunic-vest went to mid-thigh and buttoned down, but unlike in Enlennd, Heerths wore nothing beneath. It allowed Emry a clear view of the corded muscles of Trezim’s chest and arms. Trezim really was a beautiful man, if she were being honest with herself. Not that she’d ever let him know that.
The black-eyed women carrying her palanquin lowered her to the ground as the men did the same for her father. They then backed up – their eyes on the ground, heads bent, hands clasped in front of them. Devoted servants. Emry and her father turned to the veranda – to the waiting king of Heerth and his children.
As they approached, Trezim’s father, Krynto Jinco Niroz, greeted them in his rich baritone – his Heerth accent making him sound all the more regal. “Welcome to Zyntar, King Onyx and Princess Emerald of Enlennd. Your journey was long. Come, please refresh yourselves with my family.”
Onyx inclined his head with a smile. “We would be honored. Thank you, King Krynto.”
Emry followed her father up the three steps onto the veranda. She ignored the sweat dripping down her back and kept her head held high, her back straight. Her old governess would have been proud. Krynto stood beside the nearest pillar. When Onyx reached him, he fell into step, and they headed through the curved front doors – doors that were twice Emry’s height and arched in that pointed round she’d decided was typical Heerth. The king’s children followed after the two kings, one after the other. Emry held back for a moment. She could still feel Trezim’s eyes on her.
As his siblings moved inside, Trezim pulled up alongside Emry. He gave her a silent dip of his head and extended his hand. She slid her hand into his. Both bent their arms at the elbows and held their hands aloft as they made their way to the doors – the usual regal stance taken by royalty escorting one another.
“Thank you for sending the invitation,” Emry said, breaking the silence. “Zyntar is lovely.”
Trezim didn’t turn to look at her. “I don’t know what you mean. This was all the work of my father, the king. He wishes to foster positive relations with your nation. To take advantage of your glorious export markets and whatnot.”
“Right.” Emry nearly laughed. That was hardly a reason. Especially not after she’d just gone through most of Zyntar. Heerth didn’t need the paltry Enlennd markets. They both knew the real reason Krynto had sent the request was to foster positive relations between Emry and possibly one of his sons. But Emry didn’t feel like pointing this out with her own father in earshot, so she bit the tip of her tongue to stop herself from saying more as they walked through the doors – into a terrace oasis.
Palms, potted ferns, flowers, and citrus trees were everywhere. Four trickling tiled fountains sat in each of the four corners of the spacious courtyard. High, high above was the massive gold dome. Except it wasn’t made of gold, like she’d originally thought, but of golden glass. A skylight fit for a king.
Countless doors faced into the courtyard. Even though this palace was almost twice as tall as her own back in Enn, it still only had four floors. The doors for all three floors above them opened onto balcony-hallways with intricately patterned wrought iron railings, looking down on the massive solarium below.
Furniture was everywhere – scattered in tasteful locations, spread out amid the vegetation. All was meant to spark comfortable conversation among various groups within the entire space. Extravagant, brightly colored rugs and pillows were tossed invitingly throughout. Some pillows were on the furniture, while others were on the rugs for those who preferred to be closer to the ground.
Emry’s breath caught at the beauty of it all. Trezim noticed. He glanced at her then. His smirk shifted into something warmer, and in a quiet voice, he whispered so that only she could hear, “Welcome to Zyntar, Emry.”
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Declan Sharpe rubbed his hands down his thighs, trying to rid them of their clamminess. It had been six months since he’d sat in this office. Six months since he’d given his resignation. Six months to the day. Declan knew because he’d been counting.
The man across from him hadn’t changed in the last six months – not that Declan had expected him to. Commander Sid Jaymes, the head of Declan’s former garrison, observed him warily beneath his thick, dark eyebrows. Jaymes was a base green with large brown flecks. Rumor was he’d been a spy before happily settling down in Anexia as the overseer of a border control garrison.
This was the second time Declan had ever spoken to the man. He’d only ever dealt with Commander Jaymes’s underlings prior to his resignation. The only reason Declan now sat beneath his scrutiny was because of Declan’s plea to rejoin his old squad – to reverse what he’d done six months before. After Ewan's death. After being attacked not along the border, but within Anexia.
Now, in order for him to return to his post, he needed Jaymes’s permission. At first, Declan had wanted to stay away from the garrison. Shock from the murder of the closest thing he’d ever had to a brother had made him want to get as far away as possible. But then it became anger – anger at the very institution he’d worked for. They hadn’t been able to keep out the villains who’d attacked. After a couple months of his anger, though, he realized he had no idea where those attackers were from or where they’d crossed into Anexia. It was foolish to blame his garrison. But by then, he’d already been away for four months.
Up until the week before, he’d simply worked with his father in the forge – until Levric had told him it was finally time for him to go back to doing something he actually enjoyed and stop looking miserable with every swing of his arm. It was true … Declan was no blacksmith. He could do the work, but he didn’t like it. At all. It was one of the reasons he’d stayed with the garrison following his required time in the first place. So, here he was, waiting for Commander Jaymes – hoping he’d agree to let Declan back in. Because, really, it was the only thing Declan was good at.
Declan was a fine fighter. As a Teal, he’d been born with natural above-average speed. He picked up practically anything physical quickly. Before that awful night, no one in the garrison had been able to best him, not even Ewan who had apparently been learning swordplay since he was a child. It wouldn’t be Declan’s abilities that concerned Jaymes.
“If you were to be reinstated, you would be required to go through the physical test again,” Jaymes warned. “You would be back at the bottom again. The lowest rank.”
He had guessed as much. He nodded, wiping his still sweaty palms over his thighs again. “I understand, sir.”
Another moment passed. Then, “Most don’t make border patrol into their careers. You sure the life of the soldier wouldn’t fit you, boy?”
The idea of becoming a soldier was almost as funny as Declan being called “boy” by the twenty-something commander. Declan had no desire to fight for the Royals as the soldiers did. Protecting fellow Anexians, though, from ruffians like the ones who had murdered Ewan … That felt right. Heroic, even. Besides, patrolling a border with a friendly nation was hardly dangerous. He most likely wouldn’t be put into harm’s way, which would please his mother. True, he had no aspirations to become a commander like Jaymes, but he didn’t see himself doing anything else right now. So, yes, this was the career he wished to pursue. For now, at least. Out loud, all he said was, “It does, sir.”
The commander gave Declan another long look, but then he finally dipped his head once. “Very well. We’ll see you at dawn.”
It was the usual start for a new recruit. Declan held in a sigh of relief as he pushed himself to his feet and saluted in Enlennd fashion – left arm crossing the front of his body, his fisted hand tapping in front of his right shoulder as his right hand covered his left elbow. “Thank you, sir.”
Jaymes waved him out with one hand. “Until the next, Sharpe.”
Declan didn’t exhale out his tension until he’d exited the grounds of the garrison. As he made his way to the inn where he’d be spending the night, he couldn’t help but recall the last time he’d wandered the path to the village with Ewan. He missed his friend and hoped Ewan’s little sister was recovering fine.
Emry DeLune had vacated her home to live with other relatives, or so he’d been told by her butler or whoever it was that had answered her door not long after Ewan’s death. The pretty girl he’d only encountered a handful of times was gone from her family’s estate to some other region. She’d taken off before he’d been able to say goodbye. It unsettled him. She’d seemed so small and afraid that night. He was upset he hadn’t been able to offer his condolences. To see how she fared.
But at least she was alive. After the tragedy of that night, at least Emry was alive, able to grow up. He hoped she was doing better than he was, because Ewan’s death still had him aching every day.
CHAPTER THREE
Onyx had returned to Enlennd over three weeks before. He’d spent a week at the Solar Palace and departed with Prince Nakomis in tow. Emry had not had a full conversation with another living person since.
Everyone here in Heerth exclusively spoke Heerth. Naturally. Unfortunately for Emry, she hadn’t known a word of it until three weeks ago, when she’d been given a private tutor. Since then, she’d spent most of her days immersed in the language.
Krynto had decreed that she wouldn’t be permitted attendance to social functions or access to the world beyond the palace walls until her Heerth was deemed passable by her tutor. So, to save herself from prolonged boredom, Emry had thrown herself into her studies – from dawn until often late into the evening.
Heerth was hard. Its construct was completely foreign to her. Currently, all she knew were basic phrases said in greeting, numbers, colors, and some food names. That was just what she could say out loud. Reading Heerth was something else entirely, and she was terrible at it. She had yet to recognize the full alphabet, let alone full words. It wasn’t very encouraging. At this rate, she feared she’d still be confined to the palace at her half year mark. It was infuriating.
She understood why the king required her to learn Heerth – for her to actually learn the culture and for her own safety. How else would she be able to submerge herself in the Heerth court without being able to understand what was being said around her? Having a translator follow her everywhere she went was limiting, but learning it was turning out to be so tedious.
It didn’t help Emry’s mood, though, that she should have been taught Heerth years ago. As a child of royal birth, she should have been schooled in the language of her neighboring country. Like the Heerth and Quirl royal children were. Like Ewan had been. Because Emry had spent the first decade of her life in exile with her mother as a forgotten princess – a spare heir – some of her education had been glossed over. Emry was now suffering for it.
At least the gardens of the Solar Palace were extensive – much larger than her own in Enn. It had to be almost twenty acres. Still, it wasn’t large enough to get lost in. Emry had traversed the grounds ten times over in the last couple weeks. They were lovely, truly. Yet, Emry couldn’t help but feel like a caged bird when she was eventually greeted with a wall wherever she went.
She was beginning to question her logic in agreeing to come here. Krynto had ordered his entire court not to speak anything but Heerth with Emry – as a sort of motivation for her to learn quickly. The princes and princesses she shared the palace with had been obedient to their father. Well, the younger ones – the children – didn’t know enough of her own language to speak with her anyway.
As for the king’s adult offspring, the ones Emry would count as her peers, they were rarely at home. They had many social and political obligations Emry was not yet permitted to attend to keep them busy. Or so, Emry was told by her tutor. She didn’t know personally since she never saw them, or when she randomly did pass them, they woul
dn’t speak to her since she had yet to learn their language. It had made for some lonely weeks.
So, Emry spent a great deal of time studying in quiet spots outdoors. She’d found a few favorite haunts, like the one she now sat in. She was on a bench beneath a pergola of dark mahogany, draped in fragrant jasmine. A Heerth primer was laid across her lap – the book was meant for children, but it was all she could currently stumble through in the language. Instead of doing any actual reading, she kept finding herself staring at the bright geometric design of her skirt rather than the book.
Female Heerth clothing was not quite as liberating as Anexian leggings, but it was much better than her Enn gowns. Her attire in Heerth consisted of various combinations of colorful skirts and short tops.
Her skirts sat snugly just below her waist and belly button and fell to the floor. They were made of thin fabric in many different colors and geometric designs. On the right side of her leg, a slit went up from the floor to mid-thigh. Her tops were actually bright, colorful scarves wrapped around her body. They swept over her left shoulder, as she was unmarried, and wrapped beneath her right, leaving her right shoulder bare. Had she been married, it would have been reversed – going over the right shoulder. The scarves wrapped her snugly but didn’t drop to the top of her skirt. About a palm width of skin between her top and skirt was left uncovered. In the Heerth heat and humidity, the lack of heavy layers was lovely.
Her footwear had changed drastically. She no longer wore shoes. Ever. Since she wasn’t permitted outside of the palace grounds, she wasn’t given the sandals that everyone else wore outside the gates. Sandals were a new concept for Emry. The flat-soled shoes revealed the entire foot and were held together by straps of leather. They looked comfortable. Emry had yet to try any on.
