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Over the next week, under the guise of grieving, Veronica planned her escape. She requested extra meals daily and saved what non-perishable items she could for her journey. She studied the map of Anatolia intently, memorizing the path she planned to take from Castle Myra to The Forest of Patara, while at the same time marking the map to make it seem like she was planning to travel north to Gordion. Patara was closer than Gordion, but nonetheless, it would be a long journey indeed.
She placed another loaf of bread smuggled from her brunch into the bottom of her wardrobe and covered it with a folded blanket. She now had enough food stored to sustain her for a few days, no longer. She would need at least double this amount to make it to The Forest of Patara, and that would only be possible on the strictest of rationing. She was extremely nervous about her terrible sense of direction while traveling to Patara. She knew she could get easily turned around on her journey, which could spell death for her. To better prepare for this, she had taken time each morning and each night to study the location of the sun as it rose and set at that time of year, in relation to true north and south, so that at the beginning and end of each day she could reorient herself in the southern direction she needed to travel.
She was planning on living at the cabin for the foreseeable future. While there was a risk of her father finding her there and informing the High Council of her location, she was betting that he was now wealthy enough to have since purchased finer properties and wouldn’t visit this one often, if at all. Edward had purchased it for her before he died, which lessened the odds of Lord Amount dropping by. Veronica wished her father had fond memories of the cabin as she did, but Lord Amount was sentimental about his money and nothing else. He was a selfish man, and Veronica was not fond of him.
Suddenly, a knock came at her door. I told them not to disturb me, yet they still came unannounced. They do not respect me as Queen. She did a quick check in the mirror, then called out to the visitor, “You may enter.”
Veronica was surprised to find that it was Sir Philip, a man she didn’t see often. He looked sheepish and apprehensive to be in her presence. “My Queen, I beg your pardon, but Lucilla of the High Council requests an audience. She wishes to meet you in the Great Hall.”
Veronica scowled. She had no intention of meeting with that conspiring, hateful old woman. The memory of Lucilla openly disrespecting her during the Emergency Oration, though it had been a week, still weighed heavily on her mind. “Inform Lucilla that I decline her request for an audience.”
Phillip looked shocked. “But my Queen...”
Veronica sighed. “I will not meet with Lucilla.”
He went pale and swallowed, trying to form a solid reply, but Veronica would not have it. She felt emboldened and powerful amidst her escape planning. She knew that no one suspected she would try and escape the castle and that by doing so, she would ruin any and all of their devious plans to marry her off. Their goals to control the kingdom through a marriage would be thwarted. Meeting with Councilman Lucilla would only jeopardize her escape attempt. She turned her back to Phillip and spoke into the wardrobe. “Leave me at once.”
There was a moment of awkward silence, and then the door closed quietly behind her. She let out the breath she had inhaled to puff out her chest. In actuality, she was curious about what Lucilla wanted to speak with her about, but the curiosity was not intense enough to outweigh her hatred towards the old woman. Councilman Lucilla had been her bane since she was first introduced to King Edward, and she had dogged her every step of the way. She doesn’t deserve to meet with me whenever she chooses. I am the Queen! I will meet with her on my terms and not a moment sooner.
She sat on the edge of the bed, creaking as she sank into the mattress, and blinked some tears away. More memories—of what had been and the pains from what could have been—invaded her mind. That conflicting memory of when she had been first introduced to Edward manifested in her mind’s eye. It was a sweet memory, though tainted, and whenever she thought of Edward, the tears came, no matter what she was feeling. She could be enjoying a peaceful sunrise, randomly think about Edward, and then find herself still enjoying a peaceful sunrise, but now with tears running down her cheek. It was irritating. It was embarrassing. It was tiresome.
Will I be a teary-eyed crybaby for the rest of my life, or will the tears eventually stop coming?
Do I want them to stop coming?
Suddenly, a commotion began outside her door, and Veronica could hear Sir Richard arguing with someone; though try as she may, she couldn’t make out what was being said. The entrance to her room burst open, slamming against the wall, and Veronica jumped with alarm. Councilman Lucilla, hands clasped in front of her, stood in the doorway with a look of distaste on her face.
Behind the woman, Veronica could see Sir Richard being held back by four burly members of the Castle Guard. He shouted angrily at his oppressors and Lucilla, spittle flying from his mouth with every syllable. “Now see here, Councilman! It is my solemn duty to guard our fair Queen, and no one shall enter without her express permission!” He smashed one of the castle guards against the wall, freeing an arm, but was restrained once more by another guardsman. “Unhand me, traitors! Cowards! Your duty is to the Queen!”
Veronica’s heart quickened and felt like it rose into her throat. Lucilla turned and scowled at the restrained knight. “Do be quiet, Sir Richard. You do not need to guard our Queen as she is in no danger.” She closed the door, stifling the yelling from Sir Richard and leaving Veronica alone with her.
Lucilla disdainfully looked Veronica up and down. “Do you always have such bad posture? You are our Queen. You should carry yourself as such.”
The initial shock of Lucilla’s entrance was beginning to ease, and Veronica’s wits were returning to her. “Did you assault a member of the Royal Guard and trespass in my bedchamber to teach me a posture lesson? Or do you have something meaningful to justify this insult?”
“My dear Queen, I need not a reason to speak with you. I go where I please.”
What a pompous old bag. “You will not come in my bedchamber as you please. I am your Queen, and you will show me proper respect.”
“Ah, interesting word choice, Queen Veronica: proper.” She began pacing the room, hands still clasped before her, eyes forward. “You wish to receive proper respect, even while rebelling against the High Council’s desires to have you married, which is, coincidentally, the proper way. It is as if you were afraid of losing your power, a power that you only control after our King Edward’s premature death.” Her eyes glinted mischievously. “The people will wonder, of course, if you were behind his demise.”
Veronica shook her head and stood up to face off with the woman. Lucilla had been brash in the past, but invading her privacy and accusing her of murder was intolerable. Veronica gritted her teeth in frustration. “Requesting that you respect my privacy is not the same as requesting I marry whomever the High Council finds interesting. By interesting, obviously, I mean malleable. Are you suggesting that I murdered my husband?”
Lucilla ignored her retort and walked over to the large mirror that leaned against the wall next to the wardrobe and pretended to straighten her short, oddly styled gray hair and examine her skin for imperfections. “Our traditions are proper. Why do you ask me to be proper while you openly revile our traditions?”
“Stop twisting my words, Lucilla. I value our traditions. I simply will not let the High Council use our traditions against me. I will never marry a man that I have not vetted myself.”
Lucilla gazed at her through the mirror, pursing her lips. “I see. The wisdom of Queen Veronica surpasses that of ten High Councilmen. You do not trust us to make a good decision for Anatolia?”
Veronica met her gaze through the mirror. “In a word, no.”
Lucilla feigned disappointment. “If that is how it is going to be, I have nothing left to discuss with you.”
“Indeed, you do not.”
Lucilla calmly moved to the bedchamber door, gliding elegantly across the floor, hands clasped in front. She reached out to the knob, paused just before she touched it, then turned abruptly and faced the Queen. “Oh, I seem to have forgotten to mention that Prince Alabaster of Nordia will be arriving on the morrow. Since you insist on vetting the man, you should reach out to your contacts in the Nordic states at once.” She smirked and left, signaling to the Castle Guard to release Sir Richard, leaving the door wide open.
What an infuriating wretch of a woman. I know no one in Nordia, and Lucilla knows this. She was mocking me. Sir Richard was still yelling empty challenges after the Castle Guardsman, even after they were long gone.
“You treat me as a friend, then you hold me down like a dog? Come back and face me, you cowards; I will defeat you all in combat. All at once! Cowards! Traitors!” He completed his yelling, nodded in satisfaction, and made to close the door.
“Sir Richard, why were they allowed to pass?”
“I, eh, forgive me, your majesty. The men feigned friendship, then when my guard was down, seized me, allowing Councilman Lucilla to pass.”
Veronica snarled, “Do not let it happen again. Treat everyone as an enemy and ask before allowing anyone near my bedchamber door. Am I understood?”
He lowered his head like an ashamed puppy. “Yes, my Queen.”
“Now close the door and let me grieve in peace.”
This is not good. I will be under constant scrutiny if Prince Alabaster arrives before I can escape, and I will never be able to flee the castle. Our budding romance will be the gossip of the Castle Myra, and the High Council will have interviews scheduled until they can weasel me into a marriage with him.
She paced the room nervously. I’m not ready for this. I don’t have enough food to last even a week, and I haven’t laid enough false trails to keep them preoccupied. I haven’t worked out which routes to travel to avoid being recognized. I haven’t even figured out how to get past the castle gate! Leaving now would be foolish, and I would surely perish before completing the journey.
She went to the bedchamber door and opened it, revealing a disgruntled Sir Richard. He looks completely miserable. “I am going into the Altar of Cybele to worship.”
He nodded and made to follow, but Veronica stopped him. “I wish to be alone.” He grimaced, but this time, he did not protest. His failure to guard the Queen was still fresh, and Veronica wasted no time in sweeping past him, headed down the grand spiral staircase. Her skin crawled with the eyes she knew were on her, suspecting her, watching her. She checked over her shoulder to see if Sir Richard was following, and as far as she could tell, he was not. I need to be swift. He could be waiting to follow until he thinks that I will not suspect him. Sir Barbarossa let her out of the keep without a word.
#
The Altar of Cybele stood tall in the castle courtyard. Veronica needed to think, and her favorite place to do so was here at the Altar of Cybele, and at the small chapel that sat fifty yards from the large “T” shaped altar. She had already worshiped since Edward’s death and had felt comforted by the familiar motions–she wasn’t here to do that again. When she had worshiped, the joy of Cybele had filled her heart and had reminded her of the foundation she had with her faith in the Mother Goddess. Just like she knew it would. Just like it had every single time she had worshiped. But today, confused and unsure of how to approach this arranged marriage to some man she did not know, she had decided that the chapel would provide a quiet place to contemplate her options.
She turned the handle to the small wood door attached to the small brick chapel and pushed it open. Inside were rows of pews, all empty, as it was midday, and the rest of the castle seemed to have better things to do than go to church. Along the front of the chapel–otherwise as bare in its interior as it was on its exterior–were grand ornate statues of the gods, goddesses, and The Mother Goddess Cybele in the middle of them. The figures struck awe into her heart as she stared up at them, reminding her that she was only a tiny piece in the majesty that is life and creation, and that she, a faithful follower of Cybele, had gods themselves on her side.
The statue of The Mother Cybele was depicted with such beauty, such perfection, that it was she who drew patron’s eyes. She was depicted in the nude, with green emeralds for eyes and long vines for hair. Her arms were spread wide like she was offering her followers a hug. She represented creation in its entirety, and throughout the Scrolls of the Gods, she was loved by all and reciprocated that love perfectly. Around her feet were sculpted wildflowers, with each blossom encrusted by a random colored jewel. So much time had been spent by the master masons and sculptors of Anatolia in creating her image that the Mother appeared lifelike, the jade she had been carved from polished to a beautiful sheen.
On her right was the humanoid goddess Rhea. She had amethyst quartz for eyes, the purple, symmetrically cut jewels glimmering in the torch light. She was taller than the Mother Goddess, and her head was bald. She was also not depicted in the nude like her Mother, but had a thin dress draped about her body, tight enough to be revealing. On her head, she had a crown with jewels arranged to look like the sun. She held several shafts of wheat in one of her hands, and in the other, she held a bag. Veronica knew that if she got close enough to the dais to peer into the bag, it would be full of coins, made from solid gold. Rhea was the goddess of the harvest and of fortune. She was spoken of as ambitious and prideful, with good reason, as her blessing would bring a good harvest, the surplus of which would bring the harvester wealth and fortune. If you had crossed the goddess Rhea, you could expect famine and suffering in your immediate future.
The next on her right was the goddess of Death Nurtia, a goddess without body or shape. She was represented by a single column to represent the Halls of Nurtia, with a large, deep blue sapphire carved in the shape of an hourglass, mounted at the highest point on the column. It was known that all mortals were pulled to The Halls of Nurtia after they died, their spirits to dwell there in perpetuity. She was the goddess that most men feared, but Veronica didn’t see her as an enemy. On the contrary, she viewed Nurtia as merciful. Nowhere in the Scrolls of the Gods are The Halls of Nurtia clearly described, but what little was said about the resting place of souls wasn’t bad. A mortal’s fear of death made the Halls seem dark and grim. Veronica imagined them to be white and full of light, with grand marble halls and columns where you could reunite with your loved ones. It was a place of hope, not fear.
On The Mother’s left was the War god Urartu, carved out of red stone into the likeness of a leopard. His eyes were that of red rubies, his maw wide, with sharp teeth chiseled into the rock. He was the god of the warrior, and all those who took up the sword to defend against or attack their foes were numbered among his children. Veronica never felt much of a connection to Urartu, as she was not a warrior.
I don’t have the fortitude to even stand up to the High Council about this arranged marriage.
The next god on the Mother’s left was in the likeness of a bull, Tarhunna. Technically, he was a Minotaur, but that was a modern word that the followers of Cybele had created to describe the difference between Tarhunna’s likeness and that of a real bull. He was carved to be a fountain, with water trickling out of gold eye sockets, a gold ring in his nose, and massive muscles. His body was imbued with ripples of gold to represent the storms he controlled. He stood on two legs, hooves for feet, with his human hands held high above his head, and in one hand, he held a small globe with storms etched into its surface. He had massive twisting horns. He has been known to erupt a volcano to create fertile lands or send a hurricane against an evil foe. He looked terrifying, but out of all the gods and goddesses, Tarhunna was by far the most amiable of the deities.
As Veronica admired those that she worshiped, a small and hunched priest emerged from a side room and, when he realized who had graced his little chapel, grinned warmly. “If it isn’t Queen Veronica!”
Veronica turned and greeted her old friend, crossing the distance and meeting the old man with an embrace. She pulled back from him to admire her old friend Paivo Clearfall, head priest at the castle, as well as her old priest from her childhood in The Great City Patara. His head was nearly bald now, with a ring of white hair around the crown of his head, grown long in the back and pulled into a white ponytail. His blue eyes glittered with happiness to see her again, his gray robes falling even more loosely around his aged frame than the last time she had made time to visit him.
Veronica took the old man’s hands in her own, “It’s so good to see you, Paivo.”
“Look, Veri, I’m so sorry about King Edward.” He patted her hands, eyes glistening, filled with sympathy. “You had a real good thing going for ya with him. Sick. It just makes me sick.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and she wiped them away, smiling weakly at Paivo. “I know. I wish I could have spent more time with him.”
His warm smile turned to a frown, and he began wagging a finger at her while he spoke. “Queen Veronica, you can’t be thinkin’ that way. You spent time with him when you could, and, well, isn’t that all any of us can do? I mean, come on, he was King for smeckin’ sake. King’s are busy.”
Veronica stared at the floor, downtrodden. “I would trade anything for five minutes more with him, Paivo. Anything.”
Paivo grimaced and hugged her. “I know, and I guarantee in The Halls of Nurtia, your Edward waits for you. But he is at peace while you are still in the struggles of life.” He pulled her chin up so she would look down into his eyes. Her chin didn’t move far, considering how much taller Veronica was than Paivo. “Just live a good life. You’ll see him again. He wants you to live a good life.”
“That’s what I came to talk to you about.”
He frowned and started wagging his finger at her again. “Those High Councilmen better be treating you well in that dusty old keep of yours.”
“Well, they’re not.”
He nodded decisively, “Come sit down over here and tell old Paivo all about it.”
That’s precisely what Veronica did. She shared everything about her clashes with Lucilla, the other High Councilmen, and the looming arrival of Prince Alabaster. While she told her tale, Paivo sat quietly, nodding his head as she spoke, listening intently. When she finished her account, Paivo stood without a word and hobbled over to the dais. He paused in front of Rhea, hands held behind his back, looking up into the goddess’ face, mulling over what he had just heard in his head.
Veronica got up and followed him, standing quietly next to him. It was important to refrain from interrupting Paivo while he was deep in thought, or else he would get distracted and forget the problem in the first place. He didn’t used to be so forgetful, but old age does that to a man.
Finally, Paivo spoke, “So you want to know if you should marry this Alabaster character, huh?”
“Something like that.”
He put a hand on her shoulder. “And you want to know if you would betray Edward and your people by doing so?”
“Yes.”
Paivo sighed, climbed up on the dais, scurried behind the representation of Nurtia, and pulled a fine bottle of wine from behind it. “I hid this baby away for a special occasion.” He blew the dust off the bottle and slowly climbed back to the floor. Veronica put her hands out to steady the old man if he lost his balance, but he got down just fine. He held it out to her, “You want to crack this open and share it with me?”
“Something’s telling me I won’t like what I’m about to hear.”
Paivo let out a raspy old laugh, “Now, I didn’t say anything like that, not one syllable. Can’t a man offer a pretty woman a drink anymore?” He ducked into a side storage room, looking for a corkscrew and a couple of glasses. “Oh, give me a break,” the sounds of him fumbling around in some crates drowned out his peeved mutterings. “Where is that goram corkscrew? You leave a smecking thing somewhere, and you expect to find it.” He fumbled around in the storage room some more, eventually crying out in frustration to no one in particular. “Fine! Fine! I’ll just cut the smecking bottle open.” Veronica heard him grab a couple of glasses, but when he emerged, he also carried a long saber. Why there would be a blade in the storage room of the chapel was beyond her. But she noted it wasn’t a cheap blade either–it was a Damascus blade. There was no way an old priest living off church stipends could afford an elaborate sword like that.
Paivo carefully handed Veronica the two glasses, then grinned mischievously. He placed the blade’s edge on the neck of the bottle, then, in a fluid and quick motion, sliced up the side of the neck, taking a small piece of glass off the bottle and popping the cork in a single slice. He laughed giddily, “Can’t find a corkscrew, like, who cares, right?”
Veronica clapped at the man’s display. “Bravo Paivo! Every time I visit you, you teach me something new.”
“Ha! You think that’s something, you should have seen my Mother do that. She did it with her eyes closed and could hit any of us misbehaving brats with the cork every time. True story.”
Laughing, the pair sat on the front pew again, and Paivo poured them a nice tall glass each. They each sipped their wine, swirling it in the glass, smelling the aroma, and sipping some more.
“This wine is fantastic, Paivo.”
“Ha! You can thank my Mother. She sent it in her last ‘cheesy care package.’ Turns out my father claimed to be the cheese maker, but my Mother was actually the brains behind the whole operation. Impeccable tastes, my Mother, impeccable tastes.”
“Agreed! Next scroll you copy and send her way, make sure to thank her for me.”
“Oh, she’ll love that, she really will. Say, you want to see the story I’m copying for her now? It’s a doozy, half Phoenician and half nomadic script. Written during King Demetrius’ reign, Edward’s predecessor, a crazy time it was. But it’s a lovely story, just lovely. It’s about a woman who runs away from her problems and hides out in the woods. She stays there until her family gets in trouble with a neighboring tribe. Real nasty guys. Then she sacrifices herself to save her family.”
“Sounds lovely.”
“It is, it truly is.”
Veronica took another sip of her wine, then set the glass on the bench. “Okay, enough stalling. I’m filled with fine wine and ready for whatever you have to say to me, Paivo.”
Paivo took another sip and muttered into his glass, “I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
“Oh, come on, Paivo, you were like a father to me in Patara. Mom could always talk to you when she needed some advice. Now I want to do the same.”
He sighed, set his glass aside, and took her hands. “I think you should do it.”
Veronica’s heart skipped a nervous beat. “Do what?”
He replied slowly and deliberately, “Marry this Alabaster guy.”
Veronica yanked her hands from his and stood up defiantly. “Are you serious?”
Paivo held up his hands and leaned away from her. “Now look, Veri, you’re a woman.”
Veronica’s temper flared. “And?”
Paivo sighed again, “Now I told you that you wouldn’t like it, but here it is. I’ll lay it all out there. You’re a woman, right? Like, who cares, right? But you’re not just a woman; you’re a queen. Not just any queen, a green queen. You never got fully trained up before Edward got called away by Nurtia. Now, this Alabaster guy, he must have been recommended to the High Council as a man of value. If you marry him, you could be well taken care of. Ya ain’t getting any younger, Veri, and you need to produce an heir. This Alabaster guy might be Rhea blessing you with fortune. There, I said it, you happy now?”
Veronica stood quietly, temper blazing, digesting the painful advice she had just received. “What about if the High Council uses him to gain control of the power of The Crown?”
He waved the idea away like it was nonsense: “Not going to happen.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He stood up then, wagging his finger up into her face. “You ever heard the saying, friends in high places? Well, I got a couple of good friends in the High Council. Good friends and good people.”
“Who?”
“Councilman David and that new Councilman from Turhal.”
Veronica smirked, “What’s his name?”
“I told you, Councilman David.”
She felt her temper lose its grip on her mind as she teased her old friend. “No, the Councilman from Turhal. What’s his name?”
Paivo groaned. “Alright, fine. Fine! Just Councilman David. So I’m not as political anymore, like, who cares, right?”
Veronica took her turn waving her finger as she spoke, “You don’t know the Councilman from your own Great City?”
Paivo scowled, then grinned up at her. “Veri, you could always get me stuck on my words. So could your Mother, ya know.”
Veronica flushed, happy, and embarrassed to be compared to her late Mother, whom she had loved dearly. “And you could always turn the worst news into a happy moment, just like you did for my mother.”
They sat back down and took up their wine glasses again, sipping casually like their fight had never occurred. Veronica leaned over to Paivo, “You called your queen old.”
Paivo choked on some wine, sputtering and coughing. “See? Just like your Mother, putting words the shape of a foot into my mouth. Sick. It just makes me sick to think about it. You? Old? I said you’re not getting any younger; I never, ever said old. Not once. Never.”
Veronica laughed and gave her old friend a side hug. “Don’t worry, I forgive you.” She finished her wine and set the glass aside. “What about,” she said mockingly: “Councilman Lucilla.”
“Lucilla isn’t a friend of mine. She’s one tough cookie. Real tough.”
“Well? How should I handle her?”
Paivo took his last swallow and set his glass aside as well. “Handle Lucilla? One does not simply handle Lucilla.”
“Fine. What would you do in my shoes?”
“Honestly?”
“Mmhmm.”
He balled his hands into fists, then snarled, “I would deck her in the smecking face! That’s what I would do.”
“I don’t think I can do that.”
He leaned over to her, put his arm around her neck, and used his other hand to gesture wildly, like a team captain talking to a floundering teammate. “Veronica, when the Phoenicians came and ransacked our little cheese factory outside of Turhal, you know what I did?”
Veronica sighed, having heard this story a hundred times before. “You hid like a coward while your friends were beaten, killed, and/or enslaved.”
His chest deflated a little bit. “Hey now, you don’t have to be so polite, ya know. But yes, that’s exactly what I did. Then what happened?”
“You were eventually found out, and you too were drug off into Phoenicia and enslaved.”
He nodded grimly, “I was enslaved. If I could go back and talk to little sixteen-year-old me, I would tell me what I’m telling you. Punch the smecking jerk in the face. Every time I’ve done it since, it has felt so good, and I mean, so good.” Then he hugged her and whispered, “You’re stronger than you realize, Veri. Don’t sell yourself short.”
Veronica sighed, “You really think I should marry Alabaster?”
“Come to think of it, I don’t know. Is he a pretty lad?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t met him.”
He groaned. “Just like in Patara, you come to me expecting me, little old Paivo, to solve all of your problems, and you haven’t even done your own research. You haven’t seen this guy’s mug, and you expect me to tell you if you should marry him.”
“Oh, come on, Paivo, he’s a prince. He can’t be that ugly.”
Paivo gave her a sideways glance, “You can’t be serious with me right now? Princes can be just as ugly as the rest of them.”
She slumped back on the bench, holding her face with both hands. “Then what should I do?”
He snickered. “Get a painting of the guy, and then I’ll decide.”
Veronica groaned.
“Hey, you’re a catch. Can’t let you get married off to some greasy prince.”
“Paivo! I’m being serious!”
He smiled, got up, and helped her to her feet. “So am I. You should marry this Alabaster Guy.”
Veronica smiled, “You rhymed.”
He shrugged, “What can I say, Veri? You inspire my best work. Now get out of here and build a new life.”
She nodded, gave him another hug, then made for the door.
Paivo called after her, “Oh, and Veri?”
She turned back to him, her dress moving out dramatically around her. “What is it, Paivo?”
He beamed at her, “Whatever you decide, I promise I won’t hate you for it. If you don’t marry him, I mean.”
She laughed, “Love you, Paivo, thank you for caring about me.” Then she turned and pushed open the door into the sunlight. She still wasn’t sure of what to do, but her preparations were already underway to flee. She had to decide soon, or her mind would be made up for her.
The idea of marrying someone so soon after Edward’s death made her sick. But Paivo had never steered her wrong. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Sir Richard, keeping his distance but following her all the same. The sight of the knight helped it all snap into perspective for her, and in that moment, she knew that escape was the only option.
She was a prisoner in her castle, and if she didn’t escape soon, she would be a prisoner to a foreign prince she did not know, a foreigner, and a pawn of the High Council.
The time to flee was now. The morning was nearly over. She felt unprepared, and she hesitated. Would escaping an arranged marriage be worth dying for? She was ashamed of even considering it. Yes. Freedom and happiness are worth dying over. May the goddess Rhea bless me with good fortune, and may Nurtia reserve the time of my final breath until I find my happiness.
The goddess Rhea had power over the harvest and fortune, good or bad. With Rhea’s blessing, she would undoubtedly succeed. Nurtia was the goddess of death and time, and most Anatolians feared her. But not the Queen. She knew that Nurtia was a loving goddess, though death brought grief. She knew her Edward was well taken care of in the Halls of Nurtia. She viewed it as an end of mortality, and though she did not know or understand the form of life after this one, she knew it was not endless torture but infinite calm. She cleared her mind and offered a sincere prayer to both mighty goddesses for support in the coming task.
I cannot allow the fear of death to dominate my life and my decisions. Death is nothing to fear.
Back in her bedchamber, she took one last look around her home. It was decided in her mind to leave, not a moment too soon. The sun began falling in the sky by the time she could fully commit to her incomplete and risky escape plan. Veronica silently prayed to The Mother Goddess Cybele, lit a candle at her desk, and put her half-formed plan into motion. She stripped and put on the hardy blue work dress that she had lifted from the servant’s laundry, still dirty from whoever had worn it the day prior. It was in good condition and would serve her well. She stepped back into her formal dress and pulled it up over her shoulders, concealing her work dress underneath. The thick fabric from the work dress made the fit awkward, but with some smoothing and a few adjustments to hide seams, it wasn’t immediately noticeable.
She swung the wardrobe doors wide. In the back of the wardrobe, hanging on a nail, was the leather satchel she had brought to the castle years prior, which was already partially stocked with needed supplies. She went to her jewelry box and emptied it all into the bag to use as trade along the way, and then filled the top of the satchel with her stored bread. There was no room for tools for her stay in The Forest of Patara. She would have to fashion some from forest materials once she had arrived.
Maybe my father left an axe or something after one of our family vacations.
#
She felt very conspicuous and became hyper-focused on how she must look to the people she passed. She knew that she had a single chance to escape, and if she failed, she would be placed under lock and key until her wedding day. She briskly made her way towards the castle gate, intending to try and pass by the guard tower, gambling that they wouldn’t bother to stop everyone coming to and from the castle. But, while passing by the village, she was reminded of the nomadic tribe selling their Damascus blades. She looked to the gate, heavily guarded, then back to the nomads, poor yet knowledgeable.
She casually turned and entered the nomad’s camp, seeking out the oldest-looking member of the tribe, who turned out to be an ancient-looking woman. She was sitting with legs crossed on the ground, eyes closed. The other nomads watched her carefully as she approached their tribe elder, and Veronica walked on, ignoring them all. She stopped directly before the old woman and waited patiently until she opened her eyes to look up at her.
Veronica cleared her throat. “I would like to hire your people to guide me to The Forest of Patara.”
The old woman studied Veronica, eyes glinting with profound wisdom. She did not move nor speak.
Veronica hastily opened her satchel and pulled out a handful of her jewelry, holding it out to the woman. “I offer this in trade.”
She still stared, not even glancing at the jewelry. Finally, she spoke, her speech burdened with a harsh foreign accent. “What does a mighty Queen need of us? Have she no servants to tend to her needs?”
Veronica thought she wouldn’t recognize her. Flustered and at a loss for words, she fumbled out a reply, “Your tribe is knowledgeable of the land beyond the Castle Myra, and I wish to travel without my servants. I wish to travel in secret.”
“It is unwise to claim so much land. The Queen knows not her own land.”
Veronica wasn’t sure if this was a question or a comment, but she decided to answer with an awkward nod.
An unspoken message was delivered to a nearby tribeswoman, much younger than the tribe elder, who accepted the jewelry from Veronica with a deep bow.
“Does that mean you agree to take me to The Forest of Patara?”
The tribe elder gave a slow nod. “Elder Aeccea agrees. The Steel-blade tribe will take you to The Forest of Patara.”
The young tribeswoman returned with an armful of furs and gave them to Veronica, who looked to Elder Aeccea questioningly.
“You wear expensive dress. Steel-blades know the land, but we know no magic. If you want to go in secret, you must change.”
Veronica blushed, looking over the young tribeswoman. I have never shown that much skin in my life. Embarrassed though she was, the Queen still consented. She was led to a tent, which was not empty, where she could change without anyone at the castle seeing her. She tried to ignore the stares of the tribe as she changed, but she couldn’t keep her face from burning. It’s just like at the dressmaker Veronica. You have to be bare there, too, right? She pulled the top over her breasts, a mesh woven from rabbit pelts, the fur tickling her skin. A man passed, staring, wearing a partially toothless grin.
Of course, no men were present at the dressmaker’s shop.
She pulled the long leather pants over her bottom half and tied them tightly against her. She wasn’t used to feeling warm down there, as she wasn’t accustomed to wearing pants like a man would. She decided she didn’t like the feeling and missed the feel of her skin rubbing against her legs as she walked. The leather pants itched in some parts and chaffed in others. Hopefully, I’ll get used to these soon. She folded her blue work dress and forced it into her satchel, which was then bulging.
She turned to return to Elder Aeccea, but her breath caught. She let out an undignified peep and grabbed her chest in surprise. Elder Aeccea was already there, standing silently in front of her. Her eyes were like deep, dark pools, drinking in everything around her.
“A Queen who opposes fortune, an enemy of Rhea. From where you flee is the happiness you seek.”
Veronica cleared her throat. “I’m sorry?”
Elder Aeccea smiled. “Urartum will guide you. He is strong. You need not fear.” A massive man entered the tent as if waiting for his Elder to announce him before showing his face. He looked wild, formidable, and built like an ox. He had long, brown, dirty hair, a long face, a prominent chin, deep green eyes, and a deep scar that ran down his left cheek. Across his back was the largest broadsword that Veronica had ever seen.
Urartum gave a small smile and bowed low. “I look forward to our journey together.”
Veronica gulped and gave a brisk nod. She wasn’t sure if she felt relieved that such a force would be her escort to The Forest of Patara or terrified. “I, um, I look... to you to guide me.” Veronica almost slapped herself on the forehead. I look to you to guide me. What does that even mean?
Elder Aeccea nodded. “You leave now.”