After this, they performed the ceremony of rights. Blood was not drawn from her, as she’d feared. She was only made to wrap her wrist around the end of a teal ribbon as Blythe wrapped his at the other end. Then, they sang together. Though they’d had but a short time to practice a song that was utterly new to her, their voices blended in harmony that sent the hairs of her arms on end. It was resplendent. When they’d finished, the crowd both whistled and stomped their feet and even Gunther, her guardsman, applauded.
Hazel remained only another seven days, during which time she and her traveling companions were included in the everyday activities. Among these people, Hazel found acceptance she’d never experienced and it brought healing to the wounds of her past. Indeed, the longer she remained, the smaller Dianna and her cronies appeared. Even Lady Nora seemed so much less grand, someone Hazel felt she could stand up to.
So, it was with a heavy heart that she received the news she would make the journey home. As a parting gift, she was presented with a fur blanket, bow and arrows and a caged galmoira. She was grateful for everything, but when presented with her own galmoira, along with a large basket of the golden moss, she was brought to tears. To have her own glowing pet of the southern clan would be like taking them with her. Whether or not she was ever permitted to return again, she could never forget this “untamed” people, nor the love she had developed for them and they for her.
Once the carriage started off, Dorian pointed to the cage in her lap. “That, I believe, is all the proof you need that those people adored you by the end.”
She nodded, batting tears from her cheeks. “I rather liked them too.”
“Not that I desire to lose your company, but… why don’t you just stay with them?”
She shook her head. “I was not asked to. Moreover, I do not know that I could become accustomed to living as they do for the rest of my life. Though I share their blood and love them greatly, I have been raised in a completely different way of life.”
He nodded. “That is sound—perhaps even wise. But now… Lady Nora.”
7
Hazel realized she had not experienced the true wrath of Lady Nora until she attempted to say no to her. She’d often made small, hopeless efforts. But when at last she put her foot down… she found herself shoved against a wall.
“I will be speaking to my brother, the king, about this!” Lady Nora shouted, proceeding to lock the bedroom door behind her.
But Hazel’s newfound spirit was not broken. After all, she liked to be alone in her chambers and always kept a trove of books under her bed. She’d taken to doing so when her guardian had learned her fondness for them and began to remove them as punishment. Therefore, Hazel paid her cleaning maid with teacakes in order to keep them hidden under the large bed. Now, she was forced to crawl under, but coming out swathed in dust was well worth it.
Laying upon her bed, she opened the book but paused as the realization hit her that Lady Nora would speak to the king about her. Yet, not even this thought could sway her. She meant to make changes to her life and that included saying no when she felt it was appropriate. As it was, Lady Nora was only asking her to watch over her youngest daughter—“the little tyrant,” as the castle called her. Hazel had often done so and, in fact, had something of a knack for handling the child. But when she realized it was meant as a punishment for having too much enjoyed her trip to the southern region, she could not bear to give her guardian the benefit of easy compliance.
Her eyes went to the ruby bedposts. For the first time in her life, she felt them watching her, in their way. They reminded her of something… the sword Wynn had given her. She wished it was not stashed away in her tower room so she might examine it alongside them. Could it be that it was truly formed of ruby? Could it even be that it was Bashtiian ruby? After all, it had glowed in her hand. Unable to do anything more about discerning its make-up, she shrugged off the thought and started into her book.
* * *
“King Zephuel wishes to speak with you, Hazel,” Lady Nora said two days following. By this time, Hazel had not been fed since the morning she’d been locked away and her initial spirits had greatly dwindled. “He is in the confrontation room.”
With a sigh, Hazel drew to her feet.
“Tell me you do not think it appropriate to make a special visit to the king dressed in that rumpled gown,” Lady Nora reproached. “I will select something for you.”
To Hazel’s astonishment, the woman pulled out the wine-hued, crushed velvet gown. She’d been told it had been her mother’s. Certainly, she’d never thought to wear it, nor would her guardian have wished her to. Slipping into it, she realized Lady Nora by no means wished her to make a good impression upon the king. She was to be looked upon in the darkest light… the light of her murderous parents, whose blood he’d seen in her child-face that had made him decide she must be raised as a fortunate captive.
A hundred retorts entered her mind, but she found her spirits more dwindled by the last two days than she’d realized. If she had not had the company of her galmoira (which most often hung from the rope of moss she’d constructed in the rafters with the help of a manservant), she would’ve been worse off still.
Her guardian planted her before the mirror, placing hands on her shoulders. “You see what you are, don’t you?”
My, how Lady Nora detested her. Yet… Hazel was forced to conceal a smile. For the first time in her life, she liked her appearance. She’d gained color during her stay with the clan and the hue of the gown was becoming to her. She no longer appeared ill. She looked well.
“It is your mother,” Lady Nora hissed. “Keep that in mind when before my brother.”
Hazel did smile then, though her back was turned as she started for the door. She would keep in mind what she’d found in the mirror. But her thoughts raced over precisely what the king would speak to her about. Total submission to her guardian, certainly… But she had not seen him since the evening her gift had emerged. Thus far, none from the castle had spoken to her about. After all, she’d been away some time. And she was meant to be cured. But King Zephuel was one of the few who knew otherwise. She felt certain he would confront her about it… in his confrontation room.
At last, she came to the door and gave it a weak knock. Shaking her head at herself, she knocked again, solidly. At the king’s behest, she entered.
The coziness of the room was startling. She’d always imagined it like a room of interrogation, complete with torture devices. Instead, there were cushioned chairs placed on either side of a small table.
King Zephuel sauntered toward her. Taking her by the hand, he led her to one of the seats. “Lady Hazel, how well you are looking,” he said warmly.
It was all she could do to keep her wits about her. Of course, he had no recollection of whose dress she wore—not like a woman would. He was thus far treating her with more consideration than ever before.
“Good morning, King Zephuel,” she murmured.
“Please, we are cousins. When alone, I hope you will call me Cousin Zephuel.”
Her brows shot to her forehead. “Yes, your majesty.”
He smiled. “What have I just said?”
She closed her eyes in embarrassment and corrected, “Yes, Cousin Zephuel.”
Pulling his chair beside hers, he said, “Now, I’ve no wish to beat about the bush. Your Cousin Nora wished me to speak with you and so speak with you I will. Unhappily, I have heard the rumor going around… about why I chose to keep you here when you were a child.”
She swallowed. This was not the turn she had expected. Was the charade of niceties to fail now? Would she be cast into the dungeon?
“I…” he began. “Well, forgive me, but I must verify its authenticity.”
She shut her eyes to him, swallowing the pain of this moment, when her seemingly kind cousin, who’d never spoken an ill word to her, turned on her to her face. “I understand, Cousin Zephuel.”
He shook his head. “The conversa
tion that was overheard was only part of what was spoken. As it happens, I was speaking with the prophet about how proud I am to see how you’ve grown. You’ve utterly debunked my embittered expectations. You are patient, unassuming, meek.” He paused here as if to gauge her response.
“Cousin Zephuel, I… don’t know what to say…”
He smiled warmly and patted her hand. “And then there was that day the prophet summoned you to our council. The word of wisdom you offered about the lumber was not only well-spoken but the perfect solution. Truly, I must do something I very much loathe… and that is to admit I was wrong. You’ve grown into a pleasant young woman and I am proud to call you my young cousin.”
Hazel’s eyes filled. What agony she had suffered since that fateful game of Affrontery. Why, if she could have known there’d been more to the conversation Dianna had overheard, she would not have been so emotional that evening and her gift might never have emerged.
But upon that revelation, her mind hit a snag… The tears dried on her face.
“Cousin…” she began slowly, her mind racing. “You are a noble king, well worthy of the post you more than adequately fill. That such words should come from you means the world.”
With a large smile, he stood and led her to the door. “I am glad you receive them so easily. After all, I cannot imagine how painful it has been to have such nasty gossip spoken about you. I will do my best to stifle it.”
Bowing low before him, she said, “I hope you will not trouble yourself too greatly.” Presently, she strode from the room and listened as the door locked from the other side. Grasping her neck, she froze where she stood.
He was afraid of her. She turned around and stood as if to gaze through the door, recalling the generous countenance of the man beyond it. He feared what she might one day be capable of. That meeting had been his way of gaining assurances, checking in on the girl he’d always feared would one day turn against him. It had seemed a good plan to keep her about. He’d just never dreamed she might come to possess power as had been displayed in her voice.
His fear… was absolutely erroneous.
Contrary to his apparent belief, she’d always felt profound loyalty for him, stubbornly so. Perhaps it was only a kind of useless revenge against her parents and all they’d stood for in her life. Yet, she knew it went deeper than that. Despite how the castle, the kingdom, felt about her, she was deeply invested in its wellbeing. It was true she did little to contribute. But she loved the very ground they walked on, the trees of the forest, the rock from which the castle had been built—the very stone stolen from Mount Tier. She treasured the animals, even the people (though far preferring the common folk to the nobility).
Well, King Zephuel could drown in his fear for all she cared. But he need never suffer her betrayal—not even if her parents offered to swoop in and rescue her from the dreadful place. But even after these thoughts… she almost wished she’d chosen to remain in the south. Even so, there was something in her that remained devoted to this land, felt a kinship with this place, even if not with its people.
She had to wonder if anything he’d just spoken was even true. Had he noticed she’d turned out nothing like her parents, that she was truly—how she hated the word—meek? Or had that been an attempt to cover up what he’d never meant her to learn? He’d claimed he was speaking about her to the prophet. When next she saw her friend, she would inquire.
Lady Nora swooped around the corner. Seeing the state her ward was in, a smirk crept onto her face. “I trust your meeting was beneficial?”
If only her guardian had witnessed how the king had treated her. If only she knew the king was afraid of her. “Indeed, it was… informative.”
8
It was the following day when a maid entered Hazel’s bedroom with wide eyes. “My lady, I… I’m afraid your presence is required in the royal throne room.”
Hazel startled. “My presence… in the throne room? Whatever for?”
The girl appeared concerned. “I’m afraid a lad has been found guilty of thievery and treason… He claims you will speak for him.”
Hazel couldn’t imagine who would make such a claim, but a terrible possibility came to her as she made her way through the halls. She had always known in the back of her mind that Dorian was often up to no good… even illegal activity. But to have been found guilty of treason? She couldn’t imagine it of her friend. She moved faster, hiking up her skirts as her heart began to pound. There was none other who could claim her loyalty. It had to be him.
At last, she strode through the double doors of the throne room. She had but a moment to cast her eyes upon her gown and be grateful she had dressed in a finer one than usual. If one was to come before the king on his throne, one must present themselves accordingly.
These thoughts proved inconsequential when the fears toiling in her stomach were validated. Marching past the incarcerated Dorian, who looked to her with bright, pleading eyes, she stood before King Zephuel.
“Your highness,” she said breathlessly, bowing low before him.
The warm nature he’d possessed in their meeting of the day before had turned cold. “Lady Hazel, what is the meaning of this?”
“King Zephuel, I-I am not aware of why I have been summoned.”
“Aren’t you? Then you are not a friend of this vagrant?”
“Er… yes… I am.” The room was suddenly buzzing with gasps and whispers. “But I am in no way familiar with why he should be found here,” she added quickly.
The king bent forward. “It has been discovered he is part of a conspiracy against the crown. This very day, he was found stealing from the royal coffers, along with those whom we have recently been made aware were storing up weapons to use against me. Do you know anything about this?”
Hazel’s head was spinning. She had never been the fainting sort but feared she was about to become it. “I do not,” she said through a strained throat.
“His group is part of an underground organization which seeks to remove the current royal line from rule.”
She shut her eyes to these words. It simply could not be. It was a lie. First, her parents. Now, supposedly, her dear friend. She turned to Dorian.
Stepping toward him, she murmured, “Dorian… is this true?” It came out in a sob.
His eyes, which moments before had been pleading, fell to the floor. His head hung low. This was her answer.
“Oh, how could you?” she whispered. “How could you?”
He offered no response.
“Lady Hazel,” the king spoke, redirecting her attention to him. “This young man is due a lifetime in prison for his part in this treason but says you will speak for his character… that he is redeemable.”
Hazel was sinking through the floor. This was a test of loyalty. King Zephuel assumed she was part of this underground conspiracy. Defending Dorian in any way would paint her guilty. In the end, her heart chose her response. And it was bleeding.
“Your highness…” she gasped. “I have known this boy for some years only as a friend from the forest. I… confess to loneliness.” She swallowed and stood straighter. “I am now of the opinion this has clouded my judgment. I cannot speak for him. Indeed, I discover I do not know him at all.” It cut her to speak it as tears pooled down her face.
Astonishingly, the king’s eyes softened ever so slightly toward her. “I thank you for this insight, Lady Hazel. You are free to go.”
He believed her. She was saved. But Dorian’s destiny was set in stone and she had made no attempt to save him. She worked not to look at him when she turned to leave, but her peripheral told her he watched after her, trying to communicate something. Did he hate her? Of course he did.
Racing through the castle corridors, she cared not who saw her. She could not see them through tear-filled eyes anyway. At last, she found where the door to her tower room stood that day. Rather inconveniently, it was just outside the passage to the dungeons. She glanced a moment down that dark stairwell,
utterly terrified for Dorian to live out the remainder of his days in such a place. She’d been there but once, having sneaked down in curiosity. It had been desperately cold, dirty and filled with the howls of prisoners. It was true, the kings of Kierelia ruled justly, so there were no torture devices to her knowledge and it was not so foul as it might have been. But it was a something in the atmosphere that did one in. It was demoralizing.
Shaking her head at the compassion that wrung her heart, she thrust open the tower door and raced up the stairs. It had been some time since she’d visited and a soft cloud of dust was illuminated in the sunlight that shone through the window. Though she had always found such a sight attractive, she took up her dust rag and began to clean with more vigor than she had in her life. No matter what chore Lady Nora had put to her, nor how angry she’d been with her, she’d never abused furniture and floor the way she did in the time it took her to set the room to shining. Once finished, she hurled the cloth against the far wall.
Dorian… more than a criminal, a traitor… just like her parents. All three were traitors to the very land she so loved, though she could never say just why. She supposed loyalty was in her nature in a way it was not in theirs.
For Dorian to have supposed she would speak for him, save him? He had outed her before the court within her home that was already full of those who looked down on her. Had he not considered how it would look? What danger he might put her in? He knew of her struggles to overcome her history, to get past the rumors about why the king had allowed her to stay. But he had been selfish.
Yet, the extent of his self-interest could not be discerned until she’d spoken with him. And speak with him, she must. She could not rest until she’d gotten some answers. First, she must settle herself. This endeavor required a clear mind. She must be prepared to read his face. She had no idea if she’d receive any truth from him the whole of their friendship. She had no idea if he’d ever been true. Her mind raced over the years she’d known him. Some of it had to be real… didn’t it?
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