by M. L. Greye
Everything smelled marvelous.
There were other items that caught Emry’s eye, but she didn’t have the hand space. Next time, she told herself – because there would most assuredly be a next time. Emry followed Trezim to the back end of the row of townhouses – toward those stairs. About twenty feet before the stairs began, the food vendors stopped, leaving an open space. Well, an open area for low tables and oversized pillows scattered across it – seating in glorious Heerth fashion. A few families filled them – mostly Heerths. Emry was surprised that there were some from her own country mixed in. Those lucky souls had been introduced to this place before she had.
Trez lowered onto a bright green pillow, faded with age, at one of the empty tables. Emry took the purple one across from him just as he gnawed off one of the chunks of chicken on his skewer. She watched him with a smile. Here, like this, it was hard to remember that Trez was third in line for the Heerth throne.
She set her biscuits on the table and unwrapped them with one hand. Using that same hand, she lifted one of the sticky, oozing, fluffy, warm, squished orbs of goodness to her mouth and took a bite that would never be deemed ladylike. Emry then moaned. Loudly. She should have been embarrassed by the noise she hadn’t meant to let out. Instead, she took another bite.
Trez laughed. “You and your biscuits.”
“I’m going to have my kitchen staff start bringing me these for breakfast,” she replied once her mouth was no longer full. “Everyday.”
“Don’t you think you’d grow tired of them?” He asked, finishing off his skewer.
“Do you ever grow tired of cake?” Emry retorted, beginning on her second biscuit.
He shook his head, still grinning. They didn’t say much else until their food was gone and all they had left were scraps of sauce-drenched paper and sticks. Emry could have gone for more, but she was more thirsty than hungry at this point.
Trez collected their used wrappings and skewers as he rose to his feet. She pushed herself up while Trez dumped their scraps into a nearby metal waste bin.
“Ready to go upstairs?” He turned back to her.
“Is there something to drink up there?” She glanced toward the green staircase. The stairs went straight up before disappearing into the ceiling, giving Emry no glimpse of where they led.
He smirked. “You’ll just have to see for yourself.”
She narrowed her eyes at him and headed to the stairs. Taking her skirt in one hand, Emry began her ascent with Trezim beside her. The din from the first floor – the rumble of voices, sizzling of stoves, calls of the vendors – quieted as she went. In its place, a steady, rhythmic, thwacking drifted to her.
Her gaze shot up to the stairs’ landing. Anticipation and excitement mixed within her. She knew that noise well. She took the last two steps in one leap and had to stop herself from clapping like a little girl.
It was just like a Turanga Squall. Brown clay rounds ran from one end of the row of townhouses to the other. Although, not quite as wide in diameter, and not nearly as many. But there were dancers on each one. Smaller groups – of about three per round. All different ages. Just like in Heerth.
Along the sides of the room, were a few smooth and dented backless benches, several racks of various sized staffs, and a table of ice cups, complete with a relaxing Pale.
Unlike the first floor, up here both the second and third floors had been gutted to form the area. Tall pillars ran from the vaulted ceiling to the floor in the center of the room where each town house would have ended, just like downstairs. The pillars separated each clay round.
Emry wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry or laugh. It was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen in Enn. “Who told you about this place?” She breathed.
“A Bronze groom in your father’s stables,” Trezim answered at her side. “He was from Prythius. When I told him, after discussing good Heerth horses, that I needed a drink, he told me to try here.”
“You’re going to have to introduce me to him,” Emry replied. “I need to make sure he gets a raise.”
Trez chuckled. “Shall we?”
“Water first.” Emry headed to the table with the familiar ice cups.
“Are you just trying to stall because you’ve grown rusty?” Trezim quipped.
Emry grabbed one of the ice cups and guzzled down its contents in one gulp while Trez dropped a coin into the donation jar. She placed her now empty cup in the discard bucket at the foot of the table. “And whose fault is that? You knew there was no way I’d find this place on my own.”
His smile turned sheepish. “I wanted to come with you on your first time. I knew I’d be coming for my brother’s wedding.”
“Yet, you let me think I could search for it.” She frowned.
“I did tell you it was in Breccan.”
“You’re so bad at explaining things.” Emry tossed her gaze to the ceiling.
“Well, now that we’re here…” Trezim let his voice trail off as he waved a hand toward the rounds.
“Yes.” She nodded and turned her back to him. “Help me out of my dress.”
“Do what?” He blurted. “Here?”
“Undo my buttons,” she ordered.
“Alright,” he said slowly as his hands began fumbling with the buttons on the back of her gown.
Once it was loose enough to slip off her shoulders, Emry let it drop to the floor, revealing a bright red and yellow training tunic and plum-colored knee-length leggings beneath. She spun around to face him again.
“You’ve had that on underneath the whole time?” He blinked.
She grinned. “I was going to make you take me here tonight one way or another. Now,” her eyes shifted past him to the rounds, “I have some freshening up to do on my Turanga.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The next morning, Emry woke to the discovery of two things. First, she’d become more out of shape than she’d originally thought. Her tight, sore muscles were the first to greet her after the sunrise. Second, she realized she and Trez hadn’t kissed again. When she’d gone to his rooms for dinner, she had fully expected him to try. It wasn’t until she woke up that she remembered he hadn’t. When she thought about it, though … she didn’t care.
What did that say about her? Was it good or bad? Besides her sister, Trezim was her closest friend. Arrogant and beautiful as he was, she really did care for him. Yet, she wasn’t feeling a pull to drive their relationship further, into something more. If she were being honest with herself, she didn’t feel like she could do that with anyone right now. There was too much unrest within Enlennd. Too much Emry had yet to accomplish. Too much ground to cover. It didn’t help that Emry still felt like a failure from her useless recent travels.
At that thought, Emry moaned and sat up slowly – her muscles straining. She swore in her head as she rubbed at her eyes. Even her fingers felt stiff from holding the staff last night for two hours. Just two hours, and her body felt like this.
She’d grown weak. That fact made her want to scream in frustration. She wanted to train. She’d even asked her father for someone to spar with when she’d first returned from Heerth, but his advisors had adamantly warned him against it. Claiming that if a precious, dear princess began training in warfare then their neighboring countries would begin to mistrust them, thinking Enlennd was readying an attack. Absurd notion. All the Heerth princesses knew the Turanga and basic swordplay.
A steady rapping began on the front door to her rooms. Emry glared in its direction. That couldn’t possibly be Cit. The sun had barely risen. She doubted it was her father, either, which left just one very impertinent guest who shouldn’t be on her family’s floor.
“I’m coming!” Emry snapped, dropping her feet to the floor and sliding out of bed. She reached for the new black satin robe she’d strewn across the only chair in her actual bedroom.
Padding through her bedroom’s door and sitting room, she slipped her arms into the robe and tied it around herself. The rapp
ing still hadn’t stopped which only further confirmed the identity of the pest out in the hallway. With a grunt, she unlocked her front door and swung it open.
To no one’s surprise, Trez was there smirking, dressed for training. “I see you decided to sleep in this morning.”
“The sun isn’t even above the horizon yet,” Emry retorted. “What are you doing here? At my rooms?”
Trezim shouldered past her and plopped onto her new settee. “We did the Turanga last night, so I figured we’d do blades this morning.”
Emry blinked at him. He’d been schooled in Enlennd protocol. He knew he was clearly disregarding it by entering her private chambers. In that moment, Emry felt split. Her time in Heerth had changed her, so had her weeks abroad within her own country. After becoming acquainted with the nobility who adhered to all the societal rules and expectations, Emry wasn’t sure if she cared to be the same anymore.
If anyone discovered Trezim in her rooms … Oh, how the rumors would fly. The rumors would be spread upon the lips of the upper level nobility to her father’s advisors to her father himself. And so what?
Her country’s nobility wanted her to just stay out of their dealings. The Royals – the very people who supposedly supported her father – really only supported the way he was. So, did it honestly matter what they thought of her at this point?
Plastering on a smirk of her own, Emry shut the door to her rooms and locked it behind her. She folded her arms across her chest. “I hope you brought your blades with you because we’ll have to practice in here.”
Trezim’s smile faltered. “You don’t have your own round?”
“I’ve heard there’s one in the old arena in Breccan, but here in Enn they are few and far between.” Emry shrugged. “There are practice fields out by the guardhouse behind the stables, but I’m not permitted to join in any sort of training.”
“Well, we’ll have to fix that before I go home.” Trez eased onto his feet and cast a glance around Emry’s front room. He had to notice it resembled the room she’d kept in Acoba, but all he said was, “Shall I begin moving the furniture while you dress?”
“I take it you brought your blades?” Emry headed back to her bedroom – where the door to her closet was located.
He reached a hand behind his back and retrieved two empty hilts from beneath his tunic vest. He tossed them onto the settee. “Since our adventure in Zyntar, I don’t go anywhere without at least one.”
She didn’t blame him. “Give me a minute.”
Five minutes later, Emry emerged from her closet in another set of her Heerth training clothes – this one lime and pink and blue. Trezim had successfully dragged her furniture to the edge of her sitting room, creating a wide enough space for them to move in. He’d dragged the rug into the center of the room, providing some cushion to the hard floor.
Emry held her Perth shadow blades in both hands, having already activated them before leaving her closet. At the sight of them, Trez frowned. “You haven’t found anyone in Enlennd to forge you a new set?”
“The couple blacksmiths I questioned in Breccan stared at me like I was mad,” she retorted.
“We’ll fix that too,” Trez replied. “We can ask around at the Ranga Pit.”
“Fine.” She nodded her head at his empty sun blades he’d left on the settee. “Let’s begin.”
The number one advantage to sun and shadow blades, Emry decided, was that they were silent. The only noises in the room were their grunts and bare feet hitting the rug. It was risky sparring without a nearby Ruby, so Emry held back, just as she knew Trezim did.
With her sore muscles, that was just as well. All too soon, she was panting and sweating.
It’d been so long since she’d actually been able to use her blades with someone else. Months. It felt absolutely wonderful to fight Trezim. Liberating. Exhilarating.
For a while all she did was spin and twirl and parry and slice. She probably wouldn’t have said anything at all if Trez hadn’t asked, “How were your trips around Enlennd?”
“Useless,” she let out a short, bitter laugh.
“Useless?” He repeated, sounding surprised. “What makes you say that? In your one letter you sent me, you seemed to be looking forward to it.”
“I wrote you more than once.” She ducked a swing at her neck – a slow swing for Trez, to make sure she’d avoid it. “Not my fault you never got the others, which is more than I can say about yours. The only note I received from you was directed to my father.”
“It’s unfortunate how unreliable the post is between countries,” Trez commented, twisting away from a blade at his side. “Now, tell me why your travels were useless.”
“I just spent the last four months touring and buttering up the lords and ladies of my country for absolutely nothing,” Emry spat out. “They like having a weak king. They like that my father does nothing – leaves the ruling up to them. They want the power and control.”
Trez frowned. “Why were you trying to get on their good side anyway?”
“I’ve thought it all out,” she told him. “I have to end The Feud.”
“And you need your nobility to like you because…”
“Because they control Enlennd’s military,” she retorted. “Each region has their own branch and is run by the nobility of said region.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And you need the control of the military to end your Feud because…”
Emry rolled her eyes. “That’s not what’s going to end The Feud. I need the military to appear united and strong so that other countries won’t think we’re weak.”
“Then what does that have to do with ending The Feud?”
“Nothing.”
Trezim stared at her. “Have you talked through this plan of yours out loud yet? Because right now it’s not making much sense. Why is this Feud still going on?”
She groaned and handed him her blades to free up her hands. The moment the hilts left her fingers, the blades turned to wisps of shadow, having lost their source of power. “Let me walk you through it.” She raised one hand in front of her so it was even with her head. “Up here we have the Jewels. Me. I’m a Jewel. Under the Jewels,” she placed her other hand below her first, “we have the lords and ladies of the five regions. They make the decisions for all the commoners that we have here,” she waved both hands in the space below where she’d placed her hands a moment before. “Now, the commoners dislike the Jewels because there’s some sort of disconnect between my father’s ancient advisors who rule in his place and the lords and ladies who actually put laws into action.”
“Why would the commoners care what your father does if the lords and ladies are the ones making the actual laws?” Trez frowned.
“Because he’s a weak king. He does nothing to keep them in check,” she explained, “Since the nobility control the military, they feel like they can do as they please, upsetting the commoners.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Which was why you were trying to butter them up. You’re trying to catch two rays of sunshine with one basket. End the Feud, and prevent an attack on your borders.”
Emry grimaced at the Heerth expression, but she was glad she’d made enough sense for him to get it. “Yes, except it didn’t work. The nobility don’t want to involve me in anything. They like the way things are – overseeing the commoners with no one to challenge their decisions.”
“Why not just be the person who challenges them?” Trez asked after a moment.
She blinked. “What?”
“You’ve tried being their ally, and you were rejected, correct?” He didn’t wait for her response before he went on, “Why not simply become the person who challenges them?”
“Challenge the nobles – my father’s Court?” Emry stared at him.
He extended her empty hilts back to her. “You’re going to be their queen. Won’t you be challenging their reign of power anyway?”
A knock sounded on her door. “Emry?” It was Cit.
She pulled a face. “Yes?”
“Are you coming down to breakfast with the Heerths?” Her sister asked through the door. “Father will expect you.”
What time was it? Emry tossed a glance at one of her windows. The sky was definitely brighter. She needed to shower first. “I’ll be down in a little bit,” Emry called back, offering Trez a wince.
“Is someone in there with you?” Cit’s voice was lower, as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear.
Trezim grinned, and Emry rolled her eyes again before crossing to her door and unlocking it. She swung it open, giving Citrine a clear view of Trezim. Her sister gasped, but it wasn’t at seeing him with her.
“You’ve been fighting?” Citrine blurted.
Trez, the annoying man that he was, decided it was time for him to leave. He slipped past Cit into the hallway with a wink. “I’ll see you lovely trynpyIas at breakfast.”
Emry didn’t bother saying goodbye. Instead, she simply shrugged to her sister and said, “I’ll be down when I’m done cleaning up.”
With that, she closed the door on Cit’s still stunned face. She’d explain later.
After breakfast with the Heerth nobles, Citrine followed Emry outside into the gardens. Specifically, to the maze. Emry didn’t want any eavesdropping ears to happen upon their upcoming conversation. The maze was small enough that when they sat in its center, the short hip-high hedges allowed for them to notice anyone approaching. It was the perfect place to chat about things she wished to remain private, and no one would question their whereabouts.
Cit, recognizing Emry’s plan immediately, didn’t say a word while they wandered through the bushes to the intricately carved stone bench situated at the center of the maze. She didn’t try to hide the angry, pinched look on her face, either. Emry wasn’t all that eager to discover the real reason behind her sister’s scrunched up face. Yet, onward she went, twining through the maze with Cit at her side until finally they reached the bench.
