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Elalia stood by the window looking out over the grounds, the hint of a garden just visible beyond the courtyard. People moved and talked as though their world were still the same. She had only just screamed at Terra again, followed instantly by a pang of regret, and she wanted to send for Meggie, but she didn’t.
In the end she had opened the window to allow the cool air to circulate in the room, blowing at the flames in the fireplace and allowing a stray snowflake to blow in. A whole year since her father’s death and she was right where she had always wanted to be. Yet it was not as she wanted it.
The heat that had flowed over her and through her had lessened somewhat with the arrival of the snow. In fear of disappointing the Silent Mother and worse, the goddess Sythia, she had said nothing. She missed it; she missed the calm focus.
She gulped in the cold air.
She wanted her mother. A strange longing, given that she had died so many years before, but she wanted her nonetheless. Someone to talk to, to confide in, to ask advice from. Her mother was a good queen, a beautiful queen, and as Elalia ran her hand over her silk dress, she felt less beautiful and less like her mother than she ever had.
She felt as though she was falling.
And then Meggie stood in the doorway looking oddly confident. “Do you have time to discuss something with me?” she asked, stepping forward.
There was something different about her, something stronger in the way she held herself.
“I want to talk to you about Kellin,” she said, hovering by the table.
Elalia cocked her eyebrow and sat down, indicating that Meggie do the same.
“Are you well?” Meggie asked kindly, reaching forward and taking her hand.
Elalia nodded, but wondered how she looked. Despite her best efforts, her sleepless nights and vivid dreams were taking their toll. “There is much to consider,” she said quietly, unsure why she shared anything with Meggie. “A lot of pressure.”
“Yes,” she said. “I imagine so. And Kellin is more pressure to consider.”
“She wishes to keep the child,” Elalia said. She knew that in some distant past, she would have wanted the same.
“She longs for Commander Rainger. I fear the longer he is away, the worse she becomes. Could we not send for him?”
Elalia shook her head. “He has his duty to do for the kingdom. He will return at some point.”
“To be sent away again,” Meggie said quickly.
“They cannot marry,” Elalia said, not trying to hide the frustration in her voice. “No matter what Kellin wants, or you. They cannot marry. We shall deal with this scandal somehow, and then we will see.”
“You cannot marry her off,” Meggie said.
Elalia gave her a levelling look. “Not to Brare, certainly,” she admitted. “Yet I cannot say what may happen after the child is born. How we do that with another man’s child, I know not.”
“She loves him,” Meggie said. “And he her.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Elalia said more sternly. “Are you spending too much time with the soldiers? Have you a lover in the barracks?” she snapped.
Meggie shook her head slowly. “It will kill her,” she said.
“Women have lived through worse. We are not like others. We have a duty to the kingdom and the people first.”
“I am aware of that. I am prepared to do as I must for Rocfeld. Yet if you allow Kellin and Rainger to marry, she may be more willing to assist as well.”
“How can she assist when she is married so lowly? She risks it all for him.” She thumped the table. “He is not worthy.”
“He would protect us all,” Meggie said firmly. “He saved your life.”
“Yet not my child’s,” she said quietly, silently cursing Meggie for dragging her back into such a memory during an already difficult day. “My son is dead.”
“Is that why you will not allow Kellin a life with hers?”
Elalia glared, but Meggie was already standing.
“There is a reason they have come together, a reason that this child continues to grow inside her. Please Elalia, as her sister, as her queen, by the gods, let her have him.”
“Enough,” Elalia snapped. “You have no right to question my actions or my directions. You are well aware of the current dangers. Despite the Tandian delegation and their empty promises of peace, their soldiers line our borders. I spend my days listening to tales of increased threat, pleas for more action and more men to save the people of Rocfeld. He cannot be spared.”
Meggie stood slowly from the table, nodded once and left the solar without another word.
As she watched the closed door, Elalia realised that Meggie spent more time in the Hall than she did and would have heard just how little threat Tands was in fact posing. There was constant talk of their presence at the border, but the main trouble still appeared to be on their side of it, amongst their own people. She didn’t want to discuss Tands with the Lords of Rocfeld, but it kept Commander Rainger far away.
Elalia needed the Silent Mother. Sythia had declared that the child should not live, and she would need her help to ensure the goddess’s will was carried out.
Meg marched down the stairs and away from the solar. Despite the cool air and the threatening snow, she changed quickly and headed towards the yard to work out her frustrations. She walked into the yard expectant but found very few around. She couldn’t see Kiam or Brent and decided to head into the practice herself. As she moved through the warm-up, she noticed a couple of young men moving over to the fence.
She shook herself off and focused on her movements. She could hear them whisper amongst themselves, but not what they said.
“Want to practice with a real man?” one asked, scaling the fence without waiting for an invitation.
An uneasiness gnawed at Meg’s stomach. “I haven’t seen you in my practices before,” she said quietly, ensuring the sword continued to move in a smooth, even motion.
“Well, we are not sure that you should be practicing with the real men.”
“Because I am just a lad?” she asked, and then caught the second man in the corner of her eye moving up behind her.
“Because you are a girl,” he sneered.
“A princess,” she said, her voice stronger than she felt.
“Not in these yards, is what we hear.”
Meg’s stomach flipped. Her eyes darted around the doorways behind the men and across the yard. Where could everyone be?
“We work hard at what we do,” the one behind her said.
She searched her mind for a name. But they were unknown to her, not men that had been at the Keep.
“I work hard,” she said, feeling the sting of their words rather than the threat they were.
“They humour you. As you said, you is a princess—they must do as you ask.”
“Kiam asked me,” she said.
“Kiam,” one laughed, “with his ointments and potions.”
“You haven’t needed him then,” she said. “They don’t do me any favours. I am expected to train like the rest of you.”
“Hardly,” the third said from his seat on the fence.
“Show us what you can do,” the voice behind her said. Too close and too quiet, and the sharp end of the blade dug into her skin.
Meg stepped forward and turned on him, only to realise this put the other man at her back. The cut was quick and stung as it sliced into her arm. She squeaked involuntarily and then eyed the third man, but for the moment he was staying put. She tried to slow her breathing to concentrate, but so far she had only been working one on one, and she didn’t think these men would offer her a hand if she landed on her seat in the dust.
Another nick caught her thigh.
“We do not think this is the right place for a lady,” he said. “Or is it that you are not a lady at all? That you want something else from all these men?”
Meg turned on him quickly, her sword raised, but he blocked her easily. Another slice caught the back of her shirt; it missed anything vital but it opened up the cloth enough that the air moved against her skin.
“We could show you what it means to be with a real man,” the one at her back offered. And she saw the grin on the face of the man before her as he moved his sword back to take another hit. She quickly flicked her sword across his chest, and he stepped back as the blood seeped into the cloth.
He looked down in dismay and then back at her with narrowed eyes.
“You keep saying real men,” she said. “I do not think you know what a real man is.”
“Well lucky for you, that cut were not deep enough,” the man before her said. “But I will be only too happy to prove you wrong.”
She expected another cut from the man behind but instead he grabbed her around her chest and pulled her tight against his body. It was difficult to breathe, difficult to determine exactly what was happening. Despite her pinned position, Meg flicked the sword with her wrist and managed to catch the end of it across the face of the man leaping down from the railing.
He screamed as the man behind her loosened his hold at the sound and the man before her thumped the pommel of his sword into the side of her head.
As Meg came to, still lying in the dust of the yard, she sat up quickly, only to push her hand to her head.
“Slow down,” Kiam said, leaning over her.
“It ain’t right,” she heard someone call out, a voice of one of the men, and she shuddered.
“Did they hurt you?” Kiam asked, his voice as dark as the man’s eyes when he had hit her.
She shook her head.
Kiam took her arm to help her up, his hand closing around one of the cuts, and she yelped. He looked her over seriously. He growled and then led her towards the royal commander’s room. She stumbled a little on the way, still feeling woozy, and the realisation of what could have happened closed in on her.
Kiam slipped an arm around her and almost carried her towards the doorway. She gasped in momentary panic and he set her down quite quickly inside the dimly lit room, then pushed the door closed behind him.
Meg stiffened, watching him closely.
“What did they do?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Your arm,” he said, stepping forward. She leapt up from the chair before she realised what she’d done, and he stopped. “Meg,” he said, his voice soft. “I will not harm you.”
“I know,” she said, her voice catching in her throat.
He nodded slowly. “Where else are you hurt?”
She motioned the other arm and her thigh. He stepped closer but did not touch her. “My back as well, but I think he missed the skin.”
“May I look?”
She turned slowly to allow him to see.
“Your undershirt might have saved you,” he said. “Although that is as damaged as the shirt.”
She took a ragged breath, then jumped as the door burst open and hid behind Kiam.
“I am sorry,” Brent said, sadly.
She shook her head and sat again in the chair.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I will go for the ointment,” Kiam said, but Meg took his hand as he moved away.
“Please stay,” she said.
“I will not hurt you,” Brent said, his voice hurt.
She swallowed and gave him a little nod. “I understand, but I would prefer you both close. Although it appears I am too often in the company of soldiers, for they thought I was...”
“That you were what?” Brent asked.
“They said a girl did not belong here. That you were humouring me because I was a princess and because of...” She motioned with her hand, unsure how to say the words the three men had alluded to.
“The men respect you,” Brent said.
“We all do,” Kiam added. “And not because you are a princess. Because of you.”
She smiled up at him. “Thank you,” she said, giving his hand a warm squeeze. “But not everyone thinks the same. Perhaps I should not visit as I do,” she added quietly.
“I will go for the ointment,” Kiam said, pulling away from her.
Meg looked around the room rather than at Brent.
“Did they...?” he asked softly.
She shook her head. “Where is the royal commander?”
“Dealing with the scum,” he said, his voice hard again.
“I am sorry,” she said, looking up at him.
“It is not your fault. They were trouble from the start, those two, and the other was too quick to join in their games.”
“They were not at the Keep.”
“No, not men I would choose to take anywhere. The royal commander will determine the best course for them now.”
She sighed.
“They attacked the Princess of Rocfeld they are sworn to protect, and they attacked a fellow soldier.”
“Another soldier? Who?” she asked, desperately hoping it wasn’t one of her friends.
“You,” he said softly, sitting beside her at the table. “They have often been derelict in their duties, and they spend much time at the Bucket.”
“But the others will be angry with me for their punishment.”
“Never,” he said with a shake of his head.
“I do not fit,” she muttered, looking down at her hands.
“Meg...” he said softly, then looked up as Kiam and the royal commander entered the room.
“Are you well, lad?” the royal commander asked.
She nodded and allowed Kiam to look again at the slices in her skin.
“At least they are not deep,” he said.
“What of the face of one of the men?” she asked.
“More than the scratches they gave you,” Kiam said, then looked down again as he made eye contact with the royal commander. “You are quite good with a sword.”
“Good teachers.” She smiled at him and then winced as he wiped ointment over the scratch in her leg.
“You will continue here,” the royal commander said. “If it gives you comfort, you seek me out before you start, but you will not have that trouble again.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said quietly. “I should return to my rooms. I have intruded on you long enough.”
“Nonsense,” he said, pouring out a cup from the pitcher on the table. “I quite like your company.” He pushed the cup across the table.
She gave him a nod and took a large gulp, then coughed.
“That is a real man’s drink,” he said with a wink.
She took another slow sip of the strong ale. It warmed her whole body as it travelled down her throat.
“You had best see to the boy’s face,” the royal commander said to Kiam, and he gave a short nod. “Although I think it might scar somewhat.”
Kiam saluted and left the room. The royal commander poured another cup and passed it to Brent. Meg took another sip, finding the warmth comforting as it filled her body and the clarity of the earlier events slipping away.