| |
––––––––
"THE RED ONE IS MINE," he said.
I didn’t raise my head although instinct urged me to. Father had called me Red. He said I was born screaming, skin deep red like the beets in the garden and hair fiery like the setting sun. The man who spoke was not my father.
I glanced at him from beneath my cloak’s hood. Arrogant in his size and superior mass, his eyes picked me out of the writhing mass of captives. Early morning sunlight glinted off plain armor and an unadorned helm, yet the unwashed barbarians treated him with the respect due a commander.
The crowd of women around me parted for the soldier fulfilling his order. Mothers moved back with babes in their arms, toddlers clinging to their skirts. Their fingers clutched older children’s hands or shoulders. A living mass, their voices silenced by the army surrounding them. Their faces spoke eloquently of their fear.
The soldier, smelling of sweat and sour wine, grabbed my left arm and dragged me out from among them. I didn’t want to bring harm to the women around me. The soldier would injure many before subduing me. I allowed him to pull me toward the commander with only minimal resistance.
Once free of the captives, however, I yanked from the man’s grip in an attempt to run. Three pairs of rough hands caught hold of my arms before I managed more than a few steps. The stench of their unclean bodies turned my stomach. I gagged as I fought them. They dragged me through the dust and dumped me at his feet.
I struggled up only to be brought down again. Pressure behind my knees forced me to kneel.
I lifted my face to glare at the commander.
“Remove her hood.”
Someone pulled my cloak half off my shoulders in his enthusiasm. Red curls fell free in a wild mass about my shoulders.
Silently I cursed the color. If only I had been blessed with plain brown or even blond tresses, I could have hidden in plain sight.
“My Lady Brielle Solarius, I presume.”
He had the audacity to meet my glare. His eyes were only glimmers beneath the beaten metal and leather of his helmet. He made no bow or any show of the honor due me. I was a noblewoman. I didn’t claim the right of deference often, but still the fact remained.
“Might I know your name, barbarian?”
His reaction did not change his posture. I could not read his emotions.
“Lord Irvaine is no barbarian.”
The soldier at my left, a young man barely my senior, shoved me between the shoulders. I resisted, pressing back against his hand despite the burning in my thighs from the effort. Finally I shrugged him off.
Anger filled me, blinding my reason. Caution, a weak flicker of light in the night of anger, wavered and almost went out. The darkness like a living thing, growing ever stronger, pressed me more closely every second I lingered, waiting to hear my fate. I could not lose control. My people were counting on me. Their families were under my watch.
“By what right am I treated like this? I am a noble of Rhynan, born of an ancient house and loyal to King Trentham.”
“Trentham is dead.” Lord Irvaine lifted a gauntleted hand and pointed off to the south. “He fell in battle a fortnight past. Mendal of Ranterland is now king.”
Panic clutched my chest. Old stories of the unrest that followed a coup flooded my mind. Allegiances sifting with the wind and the death toll rising despite the end of hostilities as the disloyal were killed off and the loyal rewarded.
“My cousin, Orwin?”
“Sworn allegiance to my liege, but his sincerity is suspect. You are King Mendal’s guarantee from Orwin that he will remain faithful.”
I laughed, a bitter sound despite my efforts to quell it.
“I am a worthless pawn for that purpose. Orwin cares not for my safety. My peril will not hinder his plans a hair’s breadth.”
“Your peril is not my goal. I seek your submission.”
Before I could seek clarification, another helmeted soldier approached. This one moved like a man with a purpose. The sudden silence and tension of the men around me clearly marked his importance.
“All are accounted for, my lord, thirty-five women of marriageable age, twenty-five dwellings with potential to last the winter.”
“The lord’s hall?”
“Usable also, given time for cleaning and repair.”
Lord Irvaine nodded. “Take the quartermaster and assign wives. See to it that the men show respect and offer the women the option to purchase refusal. Give care to look up the fate of their previous mates before presenting them to the officiate for vow recording. Warn the men that I will suffer no abuse. If such is discovered, the offender shall lose his share of spoils and suffer further punishment based on the crime.”
The soldier bowed and retreated.
“By what right do you do this?” I demanded. “We are citizens of Rhynan, not cattle to be divided and claimed. These are free women not slaves.”
Lord Irvaine’s displeasure at my words was evident in his stiffened stance. I savored my small victory.
“They, you, and this land are tribute to King Mendal from your cousin, part of his measures to convince the king of his shift in allegiance.”
“You take pleasure in raping women and possessing land not your own? You are no better than the robber barons over the border. They take what they wish without compensating us. You defile the title of noble, my lord!” I spat the title into the torn earth at his feet.
Answering anger tensed his left arm as his fingers curled into a fist. I lifted my chin and awaited the blow that would reveal his true nature. Instead, he pulled his helmet from his head. Dark, sweat-matted hair plastered his head and dirt streaked down his hollowed cheeks from dark circles around his eyes. He dropped his helm to the ground at my knees. It rolled to rest against my thigh. He stepped forward and leaned down so close I smelled his sweat. I noted the lack of sour wine on his breath.
“Look in my face, Lady Solarius, and see the truth. I take no joy from this task. But I am a loyal soldier. I do as my master bids.”
His dark, haunted eyes bore into mine. Something deep inside my chest stirred. However, anger still possessed my tongue.
“I see only a monster intent on unleashing his pleasure-seeking men on a village of unarmed women and children.”
He flinched, a barely perceptible movement in his features.
“Enough.” Rising to his feet with more grace than I expected, he strode away. “Antano!” A burly man, helmetless and carrying more visible weapons than the other men in the group, answered the call.
“My lord?”
“See that she observes the operation, but doesn’t interfere. Then escort her to my quarters by nightfall.”
“Aye, my lord.” Antano approached respectfully. “This way, my lady.”
I watched Lord Irvaine stride away among his men. As I rose from the dust, I picked up the helmet. It was heavy, but well made. The leather felt worn and supple. What kind of man hid behind its surface?
I offered it to my escort.
“Nay, bring it with you, lady.” Antano loomed over me. “You can return it to him tonight. For now, we must go. He wishes for you to see how your women are treated.”
He crossed the now empty village center toward the lord’s hall, due east. I followed him, dreading the hours to come. Despite the fleeting inclination to leave it behind, I carried Lord Irvaine’s helmet with me.
––––––––
––––––––
I SCANNED THE LOBBY of the Diamond Mine Hotel Casino in Atlantic City with growing disquiet. Dad had promised to wait. If only we could get this whole trip behind us.
Laughter wafted from the casino. Lights and lush carpeting beckoned to those lingering in the cavernous, tiled expanse of the foyer. There should have been a sign over the archway: “Beware, those who enter here, the house always wins.”
I pulled my thoughts from the dire circumstances of my father’s financial future and returned to seek him instead.
Cubic zirconia-draped candelabras guarded the walls of the lobby. Uncomfortable silver gilt benches and frail tables huddled between them, overwhelmed by their glitter. The only other human in the room was the receptionist behind the front desk. She glowered at me as though I would palm one of the ostentatious baubles overflowing from the jeweled fruit bowls.
“Lose something, miss?”
“Yes, my father. He promised to wait for me here.”
“Perhaps he wandered into the casino to pass the time.”
Please, Lord, not that. The debt from his last excursion still smothered our lives.
The elevator chimed its arrival. I turned toward the door with inane hope before glancing at the receptionist again. “Did you see him go toward the bathrooms?”
“I just came on duty, miss, and there was no one here when I arrived.”
The elevator doors opened, and a massive security guard stepped out. Black suit, strapping shoulders, and a grim face, he looked the part more than the man who escorted me out of the manager’s office moments ago.
I assessed the casino entrance with a grimace. It was the only option. Well, not quite, but there was no way I was asking the security guard to check the men’s room for me. He would give Dad a heart attack. I straightened my shoulders and entered.
Voices and harsh sounds washed over me. I flinched when a slot machine shrieked to life and announced the gambler’s winnings as it spewed coins into a bucket.
Friday evening crowds filtered through the expansive room in clusters. Their attention focused on the felt and wood tables lying like fertile islands in the sea of ebony carpeting. They promised riches if blessed by a whimsical lady named Luck.
Narrowing my eyes against the glittering mirrors and crystal, I searched for a familiar face. I spotted him over at the blackjack tables, a head of pure white hair between a dyed brunette and a salt and pepper. Keeping my eyes on him, I worked my way through the crowd. I tried to recall if he had any money on him to lose.
He had promised to never do this again.
“Hi, Dad.”
He looked up at me and smiled absently. His rheumy blue eyes lit like a child’s. “Ah, Willow, you finished already?” His fingers clutched and released the chips rhythmically.
“How far are you down?” I scanned the empty table.
“Only $300.”
I took a breath. If we were careful, we could recover from that. I could work extra hours at the bank.
“Dad, we need to go.”
“Just one more time, sweet.” He smiled. “I can make it back in one ...”
I shook my head. “No, Dad, we need to leave.” My eyes fell on the security guard from the lobby. He was watching us. We needed to leave the casino area before someone recognized Dad.
“Remember, you aren’t supposed to even be in here. If they recognize you, they will throw you out.”
“Why?” Dad stared at me as though I had gone mad.
“A month ago, you gambled over the limit and then caused a disturbance when they wouldn’t give you more credit. Don’t you remember?”
His only response was a blank gaze. The dealer behind him carefully ignored our conversation but dealt my father out of the game.
Another memory lapse added to the tally. That was three today. I glanced over at the security guard. He frowned. Even from across the room he looked intimidating.
“We are going now.” Then taking the chips from Dad’s hand, I linked my arm with his. “Let me help you.”
Dad didn’t usually need help. However, my hale and vibrant father was growing unsteady and forgetful. He fell frequently, misremembered instructions, or simply stared at me in confusion at least once a day when I brought up recent events. I feared Alzheimer’s disease or something worse.
He stumbled. Please, God, not here. Leaning heavily into Dad’s side to prop him up, I pulled him forward. If we could just reach the lobby, it would be better than the casino floor. The receptionist’s scrutiny trumped the crowd of gawkers he would attract here.
“One foot at a time, Dad,” I coached. “If we make it to the lobby you can rest before we walk to the bus. Come on. We are almost there.”
“Do you need assistance?”
The rumble of a deep voice sent chills down my spine. I knew it was the security guard before I looked up. Well over six feet, he loomed over Dad and me. He assessed us sternly, but I took hope from the fact he didn’t block our way.
“We are leaving,” I assured him.
“It looks like he needs help. Do you want me to clear the way?”
I shook my head. We didn’t want more attention than the unavoidable curiosity of the people nearby. “We were heading to the lobby. He needs to rest a moment before we leave.”
“Then allow me.” He slid an arm under Dad’s other forearm and started forward, half-carrying him and dragging me.
I scrambled to keep up with his long strides and managed to hold up my side of the burden. A protest died on my tongue when I realized Dad sagged limply between us, head loose and eyes closed.
“Dad?”
His head lolled as the guard lifted him into his arms. My heart sank. With surprising agility, the guard navigated the rest of the way to the lobby and deposited Dad gently on one of the benches. He checked his pulse with the expertise of habit. Dad’s shallow breaths reassured me, despite my fear that something was very wrong. The guard rose to his feet and turned to the receptionist.
“Nicole, call an ambulance.”
“But ...” The protest jumped out before I could stop it.
The guard turned to regard me with raised eyebrows.
“I will get him there another way.” But what do I do instead? No answer came.
“He needs help.” His azure eyes studied my face, a strangely beautiful color set in the grim lines of his face.
I looked down at my father’s white face, frighteningly still. Suddenly, I was a child lost without my parent.
“I know, but we don’t have insurance.” They might turn us away at the door. Too many others already had.
“The casino will pay for it. Nicole, make the call.”
I stepped toward him to object, but nothing reasonable came to mind. Our money woes were none of this man’s business.
“I understand.”
My head snapped up at that. Encountering sympathy incongruous with the rest of his demeanor, I stared. “Thank you.” I offered a wobbly smile.
He didn’t smile in return. Pivoting back to Nicole on the phone behind the desk, he spoke to her in low tones. I stared at the broad stretch of his back for a few moments as my thoughts scrambled to catch up. Finally, I realized there was nothing for me to do but to comfort my father. Kneeling on the cold tile next to him, I stroked his hand and talked.
“Don’t worry. We will find out what is wrong. Just remember ‘Do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.’ He has a reason for this. ‘All things work together for good for those who love the Lord and are called according to his purpose.’”
I rested my forehead against Dad’s shoulder and started praying.
––––––––
THE SUN PEERED OVER the rosy horizon and stretched its golden arms. The goddess’ city glowed dusky pink in the early morning’s embrace. I couldn’t help appreciating its architectural beauty as we approached by the main road. Positioned in the center of the plain atop the great plateau, it rose strong and sprawling amidst the low brush, tall grasses, and sparse trees. The walls, when not painted by the sun, marched about the outskirts of the city in gray regality. The few buildings I could see beyond the walls boasted of red clay roofs and whitewashed walls.
“Beautiful, isn’t it.” Hadrian’s rich taste filled my mouth as his words unfolded in my mind. He slowed his mount to walk along side mine. Considering his rank as Sept Son, second in rank to the high king, he was exceptionally personable.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Too bad it is for the glory of a nonexistent goddess.”
“Why do you attend the Caelestis Novem when you do not honor the goddess? Isn’t it hard to go through the motions when there is no truth in them?”
He didn’t look at me, but I could sense his sadness. My sensitivity to his emotions seemed to grow the longer I remained in his presence.
For the past week of travel, I had barely seen him because I kept to the company of my brother Blan and his small family. My sister-in-law, Donata, and I became instant friends in the brief time. I reveled in the family time with my one-year-old niece, Ardyne, despite the constant travel.
However, yesterday, the Sept Son called for me and explained that I would be traveling with his company into the city. We left the larger portion of his entourage encamped at the base of the plateau in the pre-dawn hours and moved onward to the city. I had only been three hours in his company, but it was as if I was touching his emotions and feeling them with him.
“I must. It is my duty.” He frowned. “I try to avoid what I can. The ceremonies grow more difficult each year, but I cannot be absent. It would give those who wish me thrown out another complaint to bring before the High King.”
Errol had told me of those who opposed the Sept Son, but the threat seemed suddenly real when the Sept Son spoke of it. Perhaps it was the concern in his voice. “Is there a chance of them succeeding?” I asked.
Hadrian, for he kept insisting I call him Hadrian in private, smiled at me. “Are you planning on changing sides if they do?”
“No, I just want to know what the situation is. Aren’t they going to be suspicious of the camp we left at the base of the plateau?”
“I brought a company with me last year. It is widely know that I am on progress, something that requires a large entourage. It is more likely that they are relieved that I am not expecting them all to be housed and fed by the High King.” He slowed his horse even further as Renato approached.
“The envoys report that the preparations have been made for your arrival, Master,” Renato announced. “It appears that the Kings have all arrived and are in attendance.”
“Isn’t that unusual?” I asked. We were arriving a day earlier than most celebrants were scheduled to arrive.
“It is,” Hadrian agreed. “Is there an official explanation?” he asked Renato.
“The High King called a special meeting to discuss a matter of great importance. Supposedly you were sent an invitation as required by law, but our correspondence is so delayed, we still haven’t received it.” Renato grimaced. “Sounds like the work of the Mesitas.”
“Don’t be so quick to judge,” Hadrian admonished. “We don’t know what exactly it was about yet. When we know, then we will deal with it. All is still in the Almighty’s hands.”
“I hope it is,” Renato commented, “because the goddess has been working with the enemy. Have you briefed Zez on the procedures?”
“Not yet.”
Turning in his saddle so that he could address me, my brother began spouting a list of rules. “Do not discuss anything of confidential nature with anyone outside of the Sept Son’s inner apartments. When within the inner rooms, don’t discuss anything without first requesting that the room be sealed. Speak to no one other than those in the Sept Son’s entourage beyond what is absolutely necessary. It would probably be best for you to not speak to anyone without us.”
Hadrian interrupted. “Stay close to either Renato or me. Your father and many others are going to want to speak to you once they see you.”
I nodded. Already, I had seen a foreshadowing of what was to come. Once I donned my uniform for the first time that morning, everyone in camp began to treat me differently. The non-talents that had ignored me or welcomed me in the days before suddenly held me at a more formal distance. They were respectful, but I was no longer seen as one of them.
I also attracted some interest among the talent also. Their attention was more motivated by curiosity. Just walking from Blan and Donata’s tent to the Sept Son’s tent, I received at least five mental nudges as different talents tested my barriers. I didn’t react, but I noted their tastes. For other talents, their probings would have been undetectable, but my increasing sensitivity made it so I couldn’t completely ignore them.
“What if father wants to speak to me?” I asked.
“Don’t speak with your father.” Hadrian’s face fell into grim lines; his eyes studied my face. “Promise me that you will not speak to your father.”
“Isn’t that a little harsh?” Renato asked.
Hadrian ignored him. His eyes didn’t leave mine. “Remember our conversation from before?” “He will try to make you leave me and your training. He will try to use you.” A wave of hesitancy washed over me with the intensifying of his taste. “I promised your mother that I would not let your father have you. She believes he would use you without regard for your wellbeing. She is afraid for him.”
Slowly I nodded. Since Renato had not heard Hadrian’s sending, I had to grasp around for a reply that fit both the spoken question and the sent explanation. “I understand. I will not speak with him.”
Hadrian nodded and turned away to look at the road before him, but Renato didn’t accept the hint to drop the subject. “Hadrian, I can’t take care of things if I am not completely informed about what is happening.”
“You don’t need to know this. Just keep her away from your father. If he wants to discuss her future, refer him to me. I am her guardian. She is no longer in his care.”
Renato looked stormy, but he accepted the instructions without protest. Instead he continued to prep me for the upcoming events. “Your quarters should be adjacent mine and Hadrian’s. You are now part of the Sept Son’s escort. We accompany him to all formal dinners and wait upon him.” Carefully he outlined the exact procedures and protocols that I was to follow. Thankful for Errol’s training, I committed them all to memory.
“I don’t want her serving me,” Hadrian commented. “She will take Anton’s place at my left hand.”
“But what about Anton’s position as your Defender?”
“She is trained for it and it will keep her close. You don’t seem to understand what her presence is going to mean to those that follow the Mesitas. She is going to cause a small sensation just by being female and a trained talent, but when they realize that that uniform is more than honorary, she is going to be seen as a tool that they can use against me. That is why I want you always at my side, Renato. If she is in my company, you are to be there also.”
Renato nodded. “With me as chaperone you cannot be accused of...” His voice dropped away.
“Impropriety,” I offered with a slight smile. My manly big brother was blushing slightly.
“You should also avoid your father,” Hadrian told Renato. “Remember what he is entrenched in before he sways you with references to fatherly allegiance or entreaties of fatherly advice. He almost had you last time you spoke.”
“Will you never let me forget that?”
“No. Learn from the past so that we can build a better future.”
“Sept Son?” A young man in Defender uniform approached. “We need to form the procession, Master.”
Hadrian nodded his approval. Within moments we were surrounded in a sea of blues of all shades. The light blue of the Trainee to the dark navy of the Defender’s uniform, they formed ranks around us.
“Stay at my side.” I turned to find Hadrian watching me.
“I understand.”
“I know...”
I raised a hand to stop his thought. “I do understand, Hadrian. Stop worrying.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
“Tell me what to expect.”
He smiled at the change in topic. “First, there is the procession into the city through the eastern gate. We will proceed down the main avenue and then turn onto the royal approach. When we reach the steps of the High King’s Palace, High King Marcellus will offer the traditional greeting and we will be escorted to our chambers.”
As the last of his words flickered through my thoughts, the great doors of the Eastern Gate were beside us. I gazed in appreciation at the foot thick wooden doors as we passed. Just beyond them, the iron portcullis’ tips hung suspended over our heads, each the width of my wrist. On my one journey into the goddess’ city with my family, we had entered by the southern gate which wasn’t as well fortified or as impressive.
The avenue beyond lay wide and gaily decorated. Garlands of ferns and deep red garshroses draped from window to window. The blood hue of the blooms honored the goddess, but I couldn’t help noting that by noon they would be wilting in the summer sun.
My energy-sight picked up the golden brown of my brother’s energy and the richer brown of Hadrian’s mixing into a screen around the three of us. Hadrian’s energy field seemed to be thicker around me than himself and Renato. Renato’s focus seemed to be Hadrian. I quickly added my own energy to the mix. Green flooded around us thicker than either of their fields.
“You don’t have to lay it on that thick.” Hadrian’s taste flooded my mouth with a strong undercurrent of amusement. I glanced over at him. He was still looking straight ahead as though nothing had happened, but my brother shot me a look of surprise. I quickly thinned the field to match theirs.
We were approaching the opening to the royal approach. It was guarded by two towering pinnacles shrouded in gowns of garshroses, one on each side of the road. Vague memories of approaching a similar entrance to the royal grounds flickered, but they were soon replaced with the beauty that spread out before us as we turned onto the white gravel road. On the left, towering ash trees rose in a magnificent host stretching from the public road to the high royal palazzo in the distance. To the right, the green grassy carpet covered the hillside falling away from us and down toward the widest of the many rivers and streams that wound through the grounds. The great open expanse of green called to me in a strange way I had not felt before. Something within me wished to wander barefoot across the lush living carpet and nap in the sun like a contented cat.
“Luxurious, isn’t it?” Hadrian’s voice slipped through my thoughts as though it were one of them. The natural feel of its presence made me almost forget to reply.
“How do they maintain it? It must take hours to trim every week.”
Hadrian’s laughter flooded through my mind. It took me a minute to realize that his laughter was for me alone. I glanced his way only to find him still staring straight ahead and looking slightly bored. “Only you would think of that,” he sent.
“So how do they do it?” I couldn’t help wanting to keep him distracted. He was dreading the ceremonies ahead.
“A team of fifty gardeners work constantly to care for all the grounds. The High King’s gardens are famous throughout the kingdom for their elaborate beauty.”
“I personally love the willows best,” I commented. “I have spent a great deal of time among them and found they are wonderful company.”
Hadrian’s warm agreement was interrupted by a greeting party appearing on the wide raised terrace that spread before the main entrance. I recognized the arches and columns behind them from my one previous visit. Hadrian straightened his shoulders and Renato sent me instructions on what exactly to do as we drew up. Stiffening my own chest beneath my new uniform, I composed my face and raised my mental guard. From now on, Hadrian and Renato’s lives were my main concern.
By the time we were within hearing, the welcoming company had arranged themselves across the top steps of the terrace. Each king, with their chef advisor at his side, stood stiff and formal. My father was on the far left, the position of the house that hasn’t had the high throne the longest. Ten generations of kings had passed since the Ilars had held the highest kingship. As I lowered my guard slightly toward my father, I was almost paralyzed by the hatred that radiated from him. Instinctively I raised my guard again. Then, more cautiously I tried to see the object of his displeasure. Despite the warnings of Hadrian and Errol, I was stunned to find that it was Hadrian. I was even more disturbed to discover that the other kings near my father also seemed to share his emotion.
On the other end of the array, the former High King Honorus’ son, Cayphis Honorus, planted his feet firmly on the marble beneath them. A sensation of relief seemed to come from him aimed toward Hadrian. He alone among the lower kings appeared pleased to see the Sept Son arrive.
“Welcome Sept Son Aleron,” High King Deucalion Marcellus called out to us from his place standing before the kings. Surrounded by six armed, formal guards and wearing the elaborate robes of the High King, I almost didn’t recognize the childhood friend of my brothers.
Janus and Deucalion trained together, fought together, and for much of their childhood were inseparable. I remembered him as a gangly teenage boy from the summer I first tagged along with my brothers. While Janus, Clovis, and Blan all ignored me or told me to go away, Deuc always found time to distract me with a game or prank idea. Even now, there was kindness in his saddened, weary eyes as he stepped forward to greet Hadrian as he dismounted.
“Welcome to my estate. May you be blessed while you stay beneath my roof and bless my household with good things.” It was the formal greeting demanded by ceremony, but I could see that he truly meant it as he grasped Hadrian’s left forearm and saluted with his right hand.
