Singer's Sword

by Cassandra Boyson

  Since then, she’d considered the palace her secret confidant—her only one within its walls when the prophet was not there. When he did call upon her, however, she was always reminded of why people lived in the first place. Not only was he so full of life and inspiration himself, he actually asked after her own affairs, even inquiring her opinion above others. This was a point of contention between Hazel and her guardian. Lady Nora despised the prophet for his flabbergasting ways, but that dislike intensified over the very fact that he chose to put Hazel upon such a pedestal.

  Contrarily, the prophet influenced the king to Hazel’s benefit. One very dreadful, wonderful day, the prophet had requested her appearance at a council meeting to seek her opinion on a matter of trade relations with the southern tribes (a small domain just south of Kierelia). It seemed their land possessed a certain tree that produced rare lumber that the Kierelians wished to possess. Yet, the tribes refused even monetary reward for it, not wishing to see their own forests decimated.

  Her guardian had come to her in a huff that day, vexed that they wished to see her most disappointing ward, who now might put her to dreadful shame. Hazel, too, had feared what the royal council might wish to speak with her about until she discovered it was by the prophet’s bidding. Then, she was terrified. She knew he meant her only the best, but she also understood how much interest he took in her—interest she knew bewildered all else. And befuddled they had been… except for King Zephuel.

  He had been amused but not mocking. It was in the following moments, she was certain, that his opinion of her had altered. It helped, of course, that though she had responded to the prophet’s questioning in but a few sentences, they had proved intelligent ones. “…Could we not contract an agreement for the saplings of these trees to grow ourselves? And in the meantime, might they not accept a trade for some of our great lumber, which they do not in turn possess? Kierelian lumber is one of the sturdiest in the vicinity, is it not?” The room had responded with thoughtful silence. But while the prophet had beamed, the king had studied her with newfound pride in the one who’d been birthed of his two greatest enemies.

  At last, she arrived at the landing of the long-abandoned watchtower. Since order had come to the kingdom long ago, it had been forsaken for storage space. It brimmed with abandoned oddities that she’d organized to establish a cozy home for herself. This was her true home and most private place. No one else recalled its existence, nor were they aware she did. Through the years, her guardian had asked after her absent hours when she could not be found to aid in some task. But Hazel always refused to reveal her secret, no matter how stern the scolding.

  With satisfaction, she strode to her small bookshelf. It was small in comparison with the castle library. But for a personal one meant as a secret, she was fairly pleased. It contained some books stolen from the larger library… or rather, borrowed for a dreadfully extended period of time. Others had been gifts from the prophet, while a few terribly awful but beautiful volumes had been gifted by her guardian. All who knew Hazel were aware of her weakness for literature, but Lady Nora most often attempted to steer her toward reading that would benefit her goals for the girl’s future—an attempt to make a truly compliant lady of her. Hazel kept every one given to her, for were not all books beautiful? And though the ones from Lady Nora may have been given with ulterior motive, they were gifts. For a girl with no companions to speak of, that was everything.

  Hazel took up the historical work she’d been studying for what felt like ages. Though she acquainted herself with every kind of book under the sun, she preferred fictional tales, great legends of old and tales of other worlds which none knew whether were real or imagined. Still, this volume was a better history than most, telling of the wildlands of the southern tribes where its people were claimed to have possessed uncanny voices in decades past, that had a peculiar influence on the world around them such as growing crops with greater speed and lifting heavy objects. Some could do much more, but as this was spoken of with much skepticism, she couldn’t be sure just how factual the volume was.

  A growl sounded from the bottom of the staircase: Lady Nora. Heart racing, Hazel tiptoed to the edge of the landing. The thought of her guardian having discovered the place to be hers sent her ears roaring.

  “Why can’t that girl ever be where she is supposed to?!”

  Hazel released a sigh. Her guardian was beyond the door and starting down the hall. The tower remained a secret. But she feared the lady’s mind venturing to the tower room door, so she swiftly replaced her book to tiptoe down the stairs, softly closing the door behind. The coast was clear on either side of the corridor, but she needed to have some explanation for her whereabouts or another scolding would be in order.

  “There you are!” Lady Nora shouted, returning from around the corner.

  Hazel pursed her lips as she realized the woman had heard the door close after all. She cast her glance downward and clenched her hands together behind her back as her guardian approached.

  “So, you’ve taken to hiding from me in your chambers again, have you? And I’d thought I’d removed all your little hiding places when you were a wee wench.” She raised a severe brow. “Don’t tell me you’ve stooped to crawling beneath the bed now? Really, at your age…”

  Hazel’s mind raced. Lady Nora assumed she’d come from her bedroom. All was safe. “You… required me for something?”

  The woman released a sigh and started forward. “Yes, follow along, girl. It seems you’re in for a rare treat and I do hope you’ve matured enough to appreciate it. It seems Dianna and the other young people wish to begin a game of Affrontery but are in need of a sixth. They’ve requested you especially.”

  Hazel’s mind raced as her ears began to roar again. Affrontery was not so much a game as an excuse to verbally assault others in an effort to draw laughs from their audience. Whoever vacated the room first was proclaimed the loser and left to pick of the pieces of whatever pride they left with. She’d played it once before and had, after all, been the first to leave… in raucous tears. Lady Dianna and her ladies had never let her live it down. As there was no required number for the game, their desire for her was not only unnecessary but… calculated. They had a purpose in mind.

  “Oh, Lady Nora, I beg you would excuse—”

  “You beg to be excused a game with friends yet again? Really, girl, you shame me. You make no effort to find companions and now my ward is a known recluse throughout Castlehaven and expected never to marry.” She turned then and took Hazel by the arm, digging nails into her flesh. “I cannot tell you all I have done in an attempt to salvage what reputation you had left after your parents… No, no, I cannot even speak it.” She raised a brow. “Tell me I will not have to…”

  Hazel’s eyes seized the floor as she worked to rein in her tears. Lady Nora was well aware of how she hated to be reminded of what her parents had done, especially when it was spoken of so loudly with others in earshot, as many of the servants were now. This was an ultimatum for her to refuse to play the game or pay the consequences.

  “Very well,” she said resignedly.

  Lady Nora released her and smoothed the lace of Hazel’s cuff to cover the impressions her nails had made. “Show me compliance like that more often and we may just make something of a match for you after all.”

  Lady Nora picked up her pace until they approached the library door. Hazel loathed that one of her least hated places in the castle was about to be spoiled for her. Dianna was so diabolical that Hazel couldn’t seem to put it past her that she’d selected it accordingly.

  “Here she is,” Lady Nora announced. “I do apologize for the wait, but you know Hazel.”

  Hazel’s stomach dropped when she realized who was present. As expected, Dianna’s ditsy cohorts, Stacia and Rebecca, were at her side. Even Theo, one of Dianna’s suitors, often took part. But it was Armond—dear Armond—whose presence made her ill. He never played the game. Hazel was certain this was not because he coul
d not take a jab but because he hated to dish them out. Yet, here he was.

  Somehow, Dianna had conjured his presence. Unfortunately, she’d discovered Hazel’s feelings for him some time ago. This had been another point of ridicule, though it wasn’t as if every other young woman was not guilty of the same feeling. Armond was something of a lady’s man, though it never appeared to be by any effort of his own. Not only was he the childless king’s only nephew, making him next in line for the throne, but he was simply beautiful and utterly enthralling. Without effort, he lit up a room with his easy, open ways and talent for putting everyone at ease. He’d even been kind to Hazel a time or two. The fact he was about to witness her humiliation was the handsomest icing atop the Affrontery cake she’d ever been compelled to eat.

  As Dianna stared her down with that pretty, wicked little smile, agreeing with Lady Nora over Hazel’s peculiarities, Hazel raised her chin and gazed back… unflinchingly.

  3

  Armond’s thick brows were especially sympathetic as he caught Hazel’s eye. He had perceived the subtle jabs exchanged between Lady Dianna and Lady Nora at her expense. Most people either didn’t notice or didn’t care. But he had offered her these glances on occasion, proving she was not imagining the insults and that they were not acceptable. He looked away, but as one of the other girls joined in with, “Hazel is such a pitiable little dear,” his over-wide jaw flexed with the clenching of his teeth. Even his vulnerable brown eyes shone with irritation. As Hazel studied him through her peripheral, she recalled those who had described him as too handsome to be taken seriously—not a good trait for a future king. But beyond his looks, he possessed easy compassion. To her, that was something to be prized.

  Soon, the six were seated in a circle of green chairs and the velvet satchel was passed. The names scrolled across pieces of paper had already been prepared. Now, they would each retrieve one and that designated the person they must criticize. Hazel discerned Rebecca had retrieved her name when her eyes glistened merrily as she showed the note to Dianna. But Hazel could live with this. Rebecca was a petty girl who easily felt threatened. Once, she had caught Armond passing Hazel one of his sympathetic glances. Ever since, Hazel had sensed from Rebecca what next to no one had ever felt for her before: jealousy. It was ludicrous for the girl to feel so. She had wealth, upstanding parents, fine gowns. And Hazel was… Hazel. But in the end, the young lady was not very clever and Hazel doubted she could wound her very deeply.

  At last, the satchel was in Hazel’s lap, a single note remaining. She hated this moment, the moment she would discover whom she was expected to shame so deeply they would escape the room. But she was not about to let herself be utterly shamed before Armond. This time, she would survive the game. She would press someone else to leave if she had to.

  But how she loathed the notion of wounding others. She had no desire to make anyone else feel as she did on a daily basis. More selfishly, she did not wish Armond to think her as cruel as the rest. Even so, it was the game.

  With a breath, she plucked up her paper.

  Armond.

  She felt her face flush pink. How could she harm him? Could she even conjure up anything resembling a taunt about him? This might be the first time someone had lost because they couldn’t insult someone. It made it impossible for her to pay any mind to the others assaults upon one another, though she noticed Armond’s stab at Theo was really more amusing than cruel. Yet, the others acted as if he had done well.

  “Hazel, you must take your turn,” Stacia urged.

  “Very well…” she began. But she had nothing. Armond was perfect. The best jabs were the ones that made others laugh, so one usually sought to form one that would both shame the victim and send laughter through the room. She would aim merely for the latter.

  “Well?” Dianna pressed with a taunting brow. She wanted to see Hazel hurt Armond.

  Horses. He was known for his love of horses, namely his favorite gelding, Chutney. Not a very decorous name, but he’d chosen it as a boy, thinking the gelding the very hue of his favorite spread. More than once, she’d entered the stables to the sound of him chatting aimlessly with the animal, who, she had to admit, appeared to be taking an interest.

  “Prince Armond—”

  “Please, drop the title,” he interrupted.

  She went pink again. “Armond… speaks so often to his dear Chutney, one might often imagine he heard responses from the poor animal… if, indeed, Chutney can be bothered to attend his longwinded master at all.”

  Theo and Stacia chittered.

  It wasn’t very good, but it had drawn laughter from a crowd who didn’t care for her. Armond did not appear wounded in the slightest, but reading it was the best she could do, he bowed his head. “I hadn’t realized others were near enough to hear…” he murmured in humiliation. But before she felt too poorly, he tilted his head in her direction and sneaked a quick wink.

  Hazel could not conceal the smile that beamed from her, even when Rebecca glowered.

  “My turn!” the girl said a little too excitedly. “Hazel, my dearest little girl, you are so full of yourself, it is the best explanation for why your face is so very swollen.”

  Hazel raised a brow. She hadn’t expected much, but she had anticipated more than this. She knew very well her face was, contrarily, quite hollow—even sickly looking at times. Her guardian said it was a lack of sunshine and exercise. She wasn’t wrong. But Hazel was fairly certain her eternal lack of appetite had more to do with it.

  Despite the shortage of trueness to the jab, the other girls giggled beside her.

  “Oh, enough of this politeness!” Dianna demanded as she restored the name-pieces to the sack. “You all know very well this is not how the game is to be played and we will be stuck here until someone leaves the room. Now, choose again.”

  The sack was passed. Hazel withdrew… Dianna’s card.

  This could be dangerous.

  “I’ll start this time,” Stacia offered. “I got Theo.”

  The group howled in amusement. As Theo was something of a jester, he was easy to tease. Hazel had thought him amusing once, even charming. Then he’d shot a slice of beef at her face during the king’s birthday celebration. It had been sauced and had landed squarely between her eyes. Needless to say, it was too humiliating ever to find anything altogether attractive about him again. Even so, he’d grown up a decent enough fellow, though why he should so value friendship with Dianna was beyond her understanding.

  “I must admit,” Stacia began, “I thought Theo very handsome… once.” The group made humorous noises, anticipating what was to come. “That was when I was too young to know any better.”

  Laughter was drawn from all but Hazel, who took no pleasure in anything the people in this group but Armond had to say. But even Theo gave a small chuckle… unfortunately proving Stacia had not gone far enough.

  The girl gave a half-smile before opening her mouth again, “Indeed, he’s but a gargoyle beside Armond.”

  All laughed but Theo, Armond and Hazel. It was clear this was a tender point.

  Stacia was known for her bluntness. She wasn’t stupid, like Rebecca. She was intelligent—too intelligent. She knew precisely where to strike in a way Theo would feel it. She’d done the same to Hazel many times before. Where Dianna was vindictive and Rebecca jealous, Stacia truly thought Hazel an idiot… and it showed quite effortlessly.

  Hazel wished Theo would just leave the room to rescue her from the remainder of this torturous game. But though red in the face, he remained.

  Armond was next. “Rebecca, my friend…” he began jovially. “I’m afraid I must chastise you for spending far too much time flirting with the royal guard… when you are meant to be betrothed to the son of a Bashtiian noble.”

  There were intrigued “ooohs” and a few laughs. But it was clear Rebecca took little offense. She was a known flirt and proud to be. Moreover, it was well-known how little the girl liked the match her parents had made for her.
Though it was a fine one, it meant she would have to move east and across the sea, to the kingdom of Bashtii. The country was famed for its beauty and had been around longer than the Kierelian dominion, making it much wealthier in numerous respects. But it was also known for its peculiar cultural differences. For instance, the nobility often went without shoes when in the Illuminas Palace of the capital city. Kierelians were far too straitlaced to appreciate such a practice.

  “It is my turn,” Dianna volunteered smoothly. Her eyes went to Hazel, eagerness burning behind them.

  This was the moment—the calculated moment. It was the reason Hazel had been entreated to join.

  “I overheard something the other day,” Dianna began almost offhandedly, “which I would like to share with the lot of you.”

  Hazel gripped the edges of her seat. Whatever was spoken, she would not leave this room. If she was forced to tears, she would remain.

  “King Zephuel was speaking of you, Hazel,” she said lightly, as if this was a special moment for her.

  It started Hazel’s gears turning. Why should the king be discussing her of all people? And to whom had he been speaking?

  “I confess I’d always wondered why you were housed within the castle, made a burden upon dear Lady Nora.”

  Dear Lady Nora indeed, Hazel thought.

  “As it happens, it was the king’s idea.”

  A few gasped. Hazel had always known this, of course. She’d been made to show her appreciation for the favor as often as possible. But the gasps revealed that others had actually questioned her presence in the royal fortress… had wondered why the daughter of the king’s would-be-assassins was welcome.

  Already, this was beginning to ache.

  “Yes,” Dianna continued. “As it happened, seventeen years ago, he gazed upon your wee, child-face and was certain he saw your parent’s blood burning through your veins… that murderous desire for his head.”