Forged

by Liam Reese

  The guards came more swiftly than she expected. Though she called for his arrest, for his treason to be punished, she was the one who was taken away.

  She was imprisoned in her quarters, with only Graic for company, and the occasional visit from Lully, who worked in the kitchens and could not provide much information.

  “I’m so sorry, my lady,” she told her. “But they know that I am loyal to you, and they keep

  me from the royal table now. I can’t even hear any chat during dinner, to know what the plan is. They must be planning, though — surely someone will say something, do something. They can’t just put you aside.”

  Days went by in silence. Irae spent them at the window, looking down on her people, waiting for them to rise up and avenge her. But there was silence from the people of the land, and the only tramp of feet in the corridors outside were those of the steward’s loyal personal guard.

  At last, they came for her.

  Her questions were ignored, but it was clear that she was being taken to the throne room. Only her uncle awaited her.

  He was dressed simply in black, as was his custom, but a silver chain hung around his chest. In his hands he held the simple silver crown belonging to the regent.

  The guards left, shutting the double doors behind her. She drew in a trembling breath, lifted her head, and walked toward her uncle as steadily as she could.

  He lifted the crown in both hands, as though about to bestow it on her. She gasped; but he stopped, and only held it between them.

  “My dear child,” he said, “I wish you would listen to reason and support me. I’ve only made these decisions for the good of the kingdom, after all.”

  There were tears trembling on her eyelashes before she knew it. He spoke so kindly.

  “The good of yourself, you mean,” she said. “I’ve been thinking, these last few days — there is precious little else for me to do. The rumors of armies in Elgodon, the rise in the activities of highwaymen and rogues. The people in the prisons, rotting away without trial or justice. You put on a good front of taking care of the country, of keeping the roads in good repair, of not raising taxes too much — but the land is fallow. You’ve sown it with salt. You were a good steward, Uncle, years ago. But now you are just an indifferent one. You may live forever, but all that will do is preserve yourself — not Ainsea.”

  He hesitated for a long moment, looking at her. Then in one swift motion, he lifted the crown and set it on his own head.

  “Today I become the December King,” he said. “Will you come to my coronation? It will make the people happy to see you there.”

  Her mind swam. She certainly couldn’t do any good by sitting in her room alone.

  She couldn’t bring herself to speak, and so she only nodded.

  The coronation was an event not to be missed, or so the nobles held. Of course, it was a bit confusing that it was the Steward being crowned, rather than the princess — but she was there, sitting alongside them in the throne room, head held high, so it must be all right.

  There was speculation, of course, and questioning, rumors, and condemnation, but still, it must be all right.

  Irae sat in the throne room with her hands in her lap, Graic on one side and a guard named Karyl on the other. She watched as her uncle made himself the new king. He kept the ceremony short, without undue fussing or displays of power. She watched with narrowed eyes narrowed as the elderly priest lowered the crown onto her uncle’s head.

  How could he get away with this? How could no one protest?

  How could he be right when he said that the people did not care?

  It was the priest himself who blew on the embers of her faith. As the newly crowned December King presented himself to the people, arms spread wide, the priest drew a knife from his own robes and plunged it deeply into the regent’s back. The priest struck true, and no mortal man could have possibly survived such a blow.

  The old man stood panting, his hand still on the handle of the blade.

  “For the Queen,” he said.

  Time, and everyone assembled, stood still.

  Irae had a firm grasp on Graic’s hand, so firm that her knuckles were white. She could feel nothing beyond her own trembling, though the old lady squirmed under her grip and picked at her fingers with her other hand.

  The December King turned on the priest, and his legendary calm was broken. He pulled

  the knife from himself, and in the same motion, stabbed the priest through the heart. Noise rushed back into the throne room as though it had been trapped in a glass decanter and the death of the priest had broken it. Gasps, sighs, and screams of the assembled nobles, all spilled out on top of one another.

  The king dropped the knife onto the body of the priest and turned back to the people. He put a hand to his chest, where the tip of the knife had come through, and turned his bloody palm out to them, to show them what had been done.

  He smiled, gently, patiently. “Fear not,” he said.

  Through all the hubbub, the fuss, and the noise of the aftermath, the king’s eyes found those of his niece, where she sat in the crowd. She was trembling and could hardly move. Her uncle’s eyes were like a pin through a butterfly; she struggled beneath the weight of his gaze, but to no avail. Was he accusing her? His direct regard did not go unnoticed by those around her.

  The guard, Karyl, took her by the hand, and stood her upright.

  “My lady,” he said urgently, “you must go now.”

  She looked at him, blinking slightly. “I can’t think of what I should say,” she said, stupidly. “I suppose the rumors must be true.”

  Karyl turned her by the shoulders, and led her out of the room, Graic hobbling along behind them. He was a large man, and the people parted before him. He didn’t stop until they were in a corridor some ways away, the noise of the crowd distant and muffled.

  He bent down to look in the princess’s eyes, earnestly. “My lady,” he said, “you must go. It is dangerous for you to stay here, now.”

  She looked up at him, slightly dazed, and fought for control of herself. “More so than before?” she said. “Why?”

  “The people will think that you have orchestrated this attempt on the king’s life.”

  “I? How could I do such a thing? Who do I know that would try to assassinate my uncle?”

  “Regardless,” said the guard patiently, “that is what they will think. And if you have not supported your uncle, that is what he will encourage them to think. And you will end up hung for treason.”

  This woke her up as effectively as a slap to the face.

  “Treason?” she snapped. “Against the one who denies me my rightful crown? Against the one who has duped the people of Ainsea into believing that he is a good steward? He’s probably been planning this from the beginning. He may even have been the one who poisoned my father!”

  “But he is the king now,” Karyl reminded her. “And if he decides that you stand in his way, that will be it for you. Anything you do against him now is treason — and you just saw for yourself that he cannot be killed.”

  She lapsed into thought, her eyes searching his.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “He lives — and lives rudely. I doubt he will have a scratch on him. The people will love him for it, for triumphing over death. Unless —” She reached a decision, her mind working swiftly. “I must find another way, Karyl. I must get to the people, and let them know the truth.”

  “Yes.”

  She reached up to put a hand on his arm. “Will you help me?”

  The big man heaved a sigh, and nodded, his heavy head.

  “I will help you, though I hang for it,” he swore. “But you must escape the castle now, before they come for you.”

  “Yes,” said the princess Irae. “Now.” She took Graic’s hand and squeezed it. “He says I will never be queen, while he lives,” she said. “And he cannot die. There must be another way.”

  “But first,” said Graic, with uncanny timing, “w
e run.”

  They ran.

  Into the dark night they ran, on foot — unable to secure horses as the castle came alive around them, calling for the missing princess. Into the dark night, with the dawn hours away yet, and with the people murmuring behind them.

  The princess was behind it all.

  Treason!

  She must be punished if found, and exiled if not.

  Treason!

  2

  Into The Woods

  There were three dead birds on her path that day. They weren’t dead when she first saw them, but it was only a matter of time. She hadn’t eaten since the morning of the day before, when she left Graic to wait for her in Deen.

  Her stomach rumbled. Serves you right, she chided herself. If she had protected her meager food supply while she slept and not let that fox drag it into the bushes, she wouldn’t be in this predicament.

  If so many things had not happened, if she had been able to prevent them, she would not be in this position at all. But there was no time to feel sorry for herself. There was no time for anything but getting on with what she had come here to do. She was alone in the woods, not for the first time. Along the way, she had taken the side roads and the paths as much as she could. It was best to avoid villages, Karyl had told her. There was no point in seeking out trouble.

  Though, of course, that was exactly what she was doing.

  The irony did not escape her. Neither did the birds.

  At long last approaching the end of her journey, Irae allowed herself to build a small fire. The summer had flown away while she wasn’t paying attention. Autumn had hit early and hard this year. There were few leaves left on the trees and plenty of downed branches, but the damp made it difficult to get a flame going. She crouched low over it, cursing quietly to herself when she burnt her fingertips.

  It was worth it to have the birds finally turning on a spit. She took stock of herself while she let them cook, dripping and spitting into the flames. It had not been easy to convince Karyl that she should undertake this journey alone. It wasn’t just that she hadn’t known the way, or that a disguise was necessary to keep her from being spotted and turned in to the authorities. It was that, even now, a month after they had fled the castle, he still treated her like something fragile, precious. What value to a deposed queen? she thought. Even those who were loyal must have their doubts about the success of this venture.

  But there was no other way.

  Anyway, she wasn’t entirely defenseless. It really was no small wonder that she had

  been left alone while on the journey. She was relatively short, but with her bulky cloak pulled around her, she thought she cut a fairly imposing figure. Training to be a queen had taught her to walk with her head up, to bow no man and to defend herself. Though more recently, she had begun to teach herself to be more aware of her body and the space through which she moved. And, of course, there was the matter of the bow slung at her back, and the sword strapped to her waist alongside the water skin. She preferred the sword, having had more training with it when she was young, but the bow had come in handy for whacking people over the head.

  All in all, she told herself, she was not a figure with whom to trifle.

  The journey had been a lonely one — she was not used to being completely on her own — but it was the price one paid to undertake such a quest.

  “Soon,” she whispered, her voice scratchy from disuse but the noise still a comfort. “Soon, I’ll find him. Soon, I’ll have an ally.”

  The woods were utterly silent. Her voice and the crackle of the fire sounded unnaturally loud. She settled with her back against a tree, her knees bent up as the birds cooled on a rock beside her. She could see the flames and the other side of the woods beyond.

  “It’s been so long,” she said, a little louder this time. She spoke experimentally, trying to put her voice back how it was meant to be. “I hope he will think kindly of me. No one else can help my cause the way he can. And who cares if he is said to be cursed by the ignorant people in the village? Everyone should know that it’s a blessing to have such an ability.” She took apart one of the birds with quick, messy movements, inexpert and awkward. She missed the most absurd things about the castle, like knives and forks. Her fingertips were tapered and delicate, not yet callused by the bow. “Everyone who knows anything, at least,” she amended.

  She lapsed into silence, apart from a slight repetitive humming. It wasn’t until two of the birds were gone, with only bones and hearts left to show that they had ever existed, that anything happened.

  A voice came out of the woods, from behind her. She jumped a little, knocking the bones from where she had collected them in her lap.

  “I assume all of this is for my benefit.”

  She stood up, further scattering the remains of the birds, and whirled around. She stepped back towards the fire. She wasn’t afraid — of course she wasn’t! — but it was just common sense to have something at her back to protect her. She swallowed hard before she spoke, to control her unpredictable voice.

  “That depends on who you are.”

  The voice from the woods did not respond. She clenched her fists at her sides and took another step back. Her bow and arrows were nearer the fire, and her sword was under her cloak. She pushed the heavy folds out of the way.

  “Show yourself!” she cried.

  A hand dropped onto her shoulder. She yelped and spun around. He was a tall, thin young man of indeterminate age, somewhat stooped. He let her go instantly and dropped both of his hands to his sides.

  “You were about to step into the fire,” he said mildly. “I didn’t think you would want that.”

  She pulled her sword from its scabbard and pointed it at him. When he reacted only with an expression of mild surprise — barely a reaction at all, really — she loosened her grip and dropped it to her side.

  He shrugged. “I was only trying to help.”

  “You startled me.”

  “I don’t see how I could have, given that this entire performance seems to have been for my sake. You must have known I was there.”

  “I knew you were there,” she said. The ebbing of panic left her irritable in its wake. “I just didn’t know you were there.”

  “Yes,” he said gravely, “it is all becoming clear to me now.”

  He stood for a moment and let her look at him, so she did. Apart from his height, she noted that his dark hair was long and shaggy, almost unkempt. It covered his ears, framed his face, and reached nearly to his shoulders, so that the fundamental impression was of a certain type of cattle that were common in the area. It was impossible to tell his eye color in the fading light, but they were hooded and shadowed, and looked strangely sleepy.

  She straightened up and squared her shoulders. “If you’re quite done making fun of me,” she said, “you could at least let me sit back down.”

  “No one is stopping you.”

  She sat back down. The episode had flustered her more than she wanted to admit, and she took her time arranging herself

  “Are you hungry?” she said at last, gesturing to the remaining bird. “There is one left.”

  “It’s probably gone cold now,” he objected.

  She bristled.

  “I would think that someone who lives in the woods would be happy to have what he could get.”

  “You should think that a person who lives in the woods is perfectly capable of catching his own dinner, without needing to rely on the unwanted handouts of others.”

  The words were sharp, but the tone was as gentle as anything else that he had said. She gaped at him for a moment, then rallied.

  “You know that I came here for you,” she said. “You were able to tell — how?”

  He shrugged and squatted down on a rock not far from her, shoulders hunched. He reached his hands out to the fire, turning them this way and that.

  “It was obvious from your manner,” he told her. “You were making a show of everything. And your lit
tle commentary — all clearly on account of someone, and who else would be out in the woods like this?”

  “Surely there are more strange, lonely men who wander the woods.”

  “Not here,” he said deliberately. “Not in my woods.”

  “Well, then,” she countered, “I know of one certain way to tell whether or not you are the one whom I seek.” She leaned forward, looping her arms over her knees, and dropped her voice to a whisper. It sounded a bit more natural by this point. “Do you have any special abilities or talents?”

  He stared at her for a moment, then leaned forward, mimicking her. His voice, too, dropped to a whisper.

  He said, “I can juggle.”

  Their eyes locked and she couldn’t fight back her smile. He didn’t smile at all.

  “Fair enough,” she said. “I won’t beat any further around the bush. There have been tales told of one of the Forged living in these woods, keeping isolated from other men. He struggles against the decree calling his power a curse. He lives as an outlaw, and is treated as human by no one, waiting for someone to take up his cause.” She hesitated, fearing that she had gone too far. “Are you the one of which they speak?”

  He paused, and then shot to his feet up. “The edict is flawed, and partial. The steward himself consorts with a magess and calls his immortality a blessing from God rather than a curse.” He snorted. “Hypocrites. It wouldn’t be the first time, I suppose, that God has been dragged into the argument and used to defend one side or the other. It’s not his fault, poor thing. The rulers of the land are only interested in what the people can do for them. If a noble ever took up our cause, it would only be to satisfy their own greed.”

  She stood up as well, quickly. “I agree entirely! There has been too much misuse of the power of the Forged. And too few attempts to understand it. Why, think of how many things could be done using those abilities — and instead, petty noblemen thought only of themselves, and kept the Forged to do their bidding, like pets. Meanwhile, a corrupt and disloyal steward sits on the throne of our kingdom, while the rightful queen hides in obscurity, unable to overpower him.” She licked her lips, finding that her own earnestness was making her mouth dry. “She knows of your struggle, you see — she believes in the Forged. She believes they have rights just like any other human should.”