Allegiance (15 page)

“Yes, sir,” Galen said with a quick nod.

Though everyone seemed a bit taken aback by the captain's intensity, no one said a word. A princess had been taken from the palace, by the enemy, who had, unbeknownst to all, been living amongst us for months, gathering knowledge, spying on everyone. Who knew what secrets the Cokyrian woman might have taken back to her homeland? Who knew how many of her kinsmen might yet be within the city?

“Similar checkpoint procedures will be implemented at the city gates,” Cannan continued, turning to the Master at Arms. “Marcail, I leave it to you to inform and assign your men.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, for the final change, I will be appointing a deputy captain as a personal bodyguard to each member of the royal family, including the former King and Queen. Destari, you will return to your post as Queen Alera's guard. Davan and Orsiett, you will guard King Adrik and Lady Elissia, and Casimir, I'm assigning you to the King.”

Steldor, who had evidently excluded himself from the royal family to which Cannan referred, sat up straight, a protest on his lips.

“But—”

“Don't,” the captain interrupted, holding up a finger without sparing a glance at his son. Steldor sank back in his chair, somewhat stunned, but he did not raise an argument.

“That concludes this meeting,” Cannan declared, rising to his feet. To Galen and Marcail, he added, “I expect to hear from both of you by the end of the day.”

Steldor and I left the strategy room first, followed by Destari and Casimir, who had already assumed their new assignments. Casimir's manner was stoic, and I knew he would try to be unobtrusive, but still I couldn't say how Steldor would deal with having someone perpetually at his heels. In the short time it took us to cross the Throne Room, my husband cast several disgruntled looks over his shoulder.

Though not as tall as his fellow deputy captain, which was true of almost all of the Elite Guards, Casimir was equal in height to my husband and had the well-muscled build of a soldier. With medium brown hair and smoky gray eyes, he was younger than Destari, London and Halias, but I did not
know him well, for he generally took care of business for Cannan in other kingdoms.

I climbed the first two steps of the Grand Staircase, then realized that Steldor had stopped at the bottom.

“I need to discuss a few matters with my father,” he explained, and I wondered if he was going to revisit the question of whether he needed a bodyguard.

I was surprised at the nervous flutter in my stomach at the thought that he might leave me. I inhaled deeply, trying to think sensibly, but I could not quash my initial reaction, and it persisted even as I nodded. He stepped forward and brushed a lock of my hair behind my ear, apparently seeing something of my emotions in my face, and I closed my eyes at his touch, trying to soak up his confidence and the security that came with it. Then he was gone, Casimir with him.

I glanced at Destari, then hastened up the remaining stairs, for the sympathy in his inky eyes was too much to bear. I didn't want anyone's pity. I wanted everyone to pretend that none of this had happened, that it was a giant charade. I hated every compassionate glance for its jolting reminder that this horror was reality, that my sister was in Cokyri where the High Priestess and the ruthless Overlord dwelled, that Miranna was at their mercy.

Destari hovered at the parlor door, uncertain whether he should join me so that I would not be alone, and I beckoned him inside. Though I was not in a mood to talk, I could not pretend that I felt no fear. Miranna had been taken against her will from our well-protected and presumably inviolable home. Who could give assurance the same would not happen to me? Was there any place that the enemy could not reach?

I retreated to my bedroom, leaving Destari in the parlor,
where I shut the door and drew the heavy curtains over my window to block out the sunlight. I stumbled back to my bed and burrowed under the covers without taking off my gown, staying there for hours, drifting in and out of sleep, wanting to lock out the world so I would cease to be a part of its complete and utter wrongness.

It was much later that muffled voices from the parlor reached my ears, and I tried to concentrate, to turn the sounds into words, with no success. I heard the parlor door open and close, then footsteps approaching my bedroom.

“Alera,” Steldor called, with a gentle rap upon the door.

I threw back the covers, eager to see him, scrambling out of bed to open the door. His eyes swept my form and the room behind, taking in my rumpled state, the drawn drapes and the untidy bedclothes.

“Have you been asleep all day?” he asked.

“Sometimes I slept,” I said guardedly. “Mostly I just rested.”

A shadow of concern fell upon him, but he did not question me further.

“I have something for you,” he said, inviting me to follow him, and I saw that Destari had left the parlor to join Casimir in the corridor.

Like a scared animal being coaxed from its den, I went to the sofa and sat upon it, reaching for the covered basket Steldor had placed on the table in front of it. He watched from near the hearth while I lifted the basket's lid.

The moment there was an opening, a tiny gray-and-black tabby kitten poked his head out and mewed at me with surprising volume, his gray eyes round with curiosity. As he struggled to escape the basket, I saw that all four of his paws and his stomach were white. Before long, one back leg found its way over the basket's lip, and the tiny fur ball tumbled
into my lap, where he mewed again and got unsteadily to his feet, arching his back so that the roundness of his tummy was even more apparent.

I took the kitten into my arms, nestling him against my neck until he squirmed onto my shoulder, balancing precariously. He buried his head in my long hair, batting at it with his miniature paws, apparently thinking it some kind of strange prey. Steldor came to my side and picked up the fluffy baby, which fit into his palm.

“It's going to be chaotic around here for some time,” he said, scratching the kitten behind the ears before placing it on my knees. “I don't want you to spend too much time alone and thought perhaps a companion, even such a small one, might be a good distraction.”

“Thank you,” I said, gazing at him gratefully. In the midst of all the military activity, Steldor had thought of me, not wanting me to feel abandoned, trying to offer reassurance. Although he had never said the words, his actions affirmed that he loved me.

I spent the next few days in my quarters with my new pet. I did not want to venture out, my usually insatiable curiosity for palace politics having vanished with my sister. I took my meals in the parlor, knowing that if I went to the family dining room, Miranna would not be there. I stayed away from the corridors, since there was no possibility of bumping into her. It was easier to contend with my guilt and sorrow when I did not have to endure reminders of her absence.

Steldor would come and go, but I knew from snippets of conversation he had with Destari that my self-imposed isolation bothered him. He was, however, somewhat placated by the fact that my bodyguard kept company with me in the parlor rather than standing guard in the corridor.

One week after Miranna's abduction, in the afternoon, my mother came to see me. The dark circles beneath her blue eyes gave me reason to think she had not slept since this ordeal had begun, and I wondered if I showed signs of the same fatigue. I had not given my appearance much thought over the past few days, and apprehension and grief seemed to have taken over as my only emotions. She sat next to me on the sofa, smiling slightly at the kitten gamboling at her feet, and then took my hands in hers.

“How are you doing, my dear?” she asked, her voice bleaker than was customary.

“I'm trying, Mother. Steldor is doing what he can to help me.” I motioned to the kitten, then added, “He doesn't want me to be alone.”

She nodded, but I knew the worry on her face was for me. The thought that I was causing her additional distress was almost more than I could stand, and I scrambled to find words of reassurance. But before I could think what to say, she spoke once more.

“I'm going to make a request of you, Alera, one that will be difficult for you to undertake, but that is important for you to attempt.”

“Yes, Mother, anything.”

“Until and unless we learn, God forbid, that your sister is dead, we must act as though she is alive. We must not give in to despair, and even when we do, we must not let it show in our actions. Our guards and military leaders must know they have our confidence, and the people of the kingdom must believe that we are strong.”

Her tired eyes had a spark of determination in them, and I could feel an unexpected fortitude within her.

“Alera, I am asking you to resume your normal routines,
to carry out your duties. I am asking you to try to live a normal life.”

“I have not given up hope,” I assured her, then softly added, “but I do not know if I can do what you ask.”

She gazed out the window for a long moment, as if trying to decide how to convince me that I was capable of ac complishing the impossible. Finally, she returned her attention to me, her eyes melancholy.

“I have been through trying times before. That does not make these circumstances easier to bear, but it does make them easier to survive. You have long known that my family was killed during a Cokyrian raid when I was a young woman and that I came to live in the palace until the time came for me to wed the King's son. While I lived here, awaiting the wedding, I fell passionately and irrevocably in love with him. What you may not know is that I was betrothed to the Crown Prince, Andrius, and not to your father.”

I sat mutely beside her, my heart rate increasing, both shocked and intrigued by the information she was sharing. I had always known that my father had ascended to the throne upon the death of his older brother, but I had never considered how my mother had come to be his wife. Had she, like me, suffered the loss of the man she loved, only to marry another out of duty? The thought of the tragedies she had endured was enough to overwhelm me; yet the strength she was showing was awe-inspiring, and I waited to hear more.

“You never knew your uncle, but he was much like Cannan,” she added with a fleeting smile, and I thought a glimmer of longing crossed her face. “Only with a more ready sense of humor.”

She reached out to brush a lock of hair off my forehead, perhaps reading some of my reactions in my expression.

“But we were at war, and all the young men went off to fight. Andrius convinced the King to let him join the effort. He lost his life, and I wanted to die, as well. But I gradually recovered and was betrothed to your father, for I had, after all, been raised to be a queen.”

My thoughts flew in another direction. Andrius had been raised his entire life believing he would be king; my father would have known it only upon his brother's death. He would have been like Miranna, who as a second-born was more carefree, having been raised with fewer expectations. While he had proven himself to be a good king, I wondered, would Andrius have been a
great
king? Although I was now almost bursting with questions, I forced myself to listen, knowing there was a reason my mother was sharing her history with me.

“I tell you this because tragedy comes to everyone at some time. What separates people is how they handle it. You remind me of Andrius—that's why I know what strength lies within you. What I am asking of you will be grueling, but you are Hytanica's Queen. The people look to you for faith and courage, the same as they look to the King. And each time you show it, whether you truly feel it or not, will make the next time a little easier.”

I examined my beautiful mother, appreciating for the first time that much of her grace had been born out of tragedy. My father's tendency toward paranoia was in contrast to her calm, and I gathered my pride, wondering how truly I resembled the first man she had loved.

“I will try,” I promised, and she took me in her arms, clasping me close just as she used to when I was young, letting some of her determination flow into me.

INTERRUPTED BY A KNOCK ON MY PARLOR door, I glanced up at Destari from where I was sitting on the sofa, waggling a ribbon in front of my kitten. Having coaxed myself into making several appearances with Steldor in the few days since my mother's visit, I had returned to my quarters to rest and was not expecting any guests. In response to my nod, my bodyguard pulled the door open, granting entrance to a sergeant in the Elite Guard.

“Your Majesty, I've come to replace Destari as your bodyguard for the time being,” he said with a bow. “The captain needs to speak with him and did not want you to be left unprotected.”

I sprang up, my anxiety level vaulting at the mere suggestion of Destari's departure. I examined the man Cannan had sent as a substitute for the guard so tall and well-muscled that he made me appear child-sized. After taking in the sergeant's lean stature, his height just a couple of inches beyond my own, and his youthful appearance, I knew I could not feel safe with him. I needed Destari, whom I trusted, whom I
had grown up trusting, whose skill and ability were unquestionable.

Destari took note of my expression and spoke up on my behalf.

“The Queen and I would both prefer if I stayed here. Did the captain say why I'm needed?”

The sergeant's eyes darted toward me, uncertain to what extent he should speak candidly in my presence. Then he pulled Destari aside.

“The scouts found a horse,” he confided in a hushed, but nonetheless flawlessly audible, voice.

“A horse?” Destari repeated uneasily, and I frowned, unable to fathom the significance of this information.

“One of ours, riderless, roaming the countryside. Caked in blood.”

“Could they identify it?”

At the sergeant's grim nod, Destari's heavy black eyebrows fell as though he had learned the worst.

“Whose horse was it?” I demanded, besieged with dread.

The guard glanced between Destari and me, wondering if he should answer, but my bodyguard was too lost in thought to pay him mind.

“London's,” the sergeant answered, not bold enough to ignore his Queen.

My stomach roiled, and I fought back the urge to vomit. My knees threatened to give out and Destari put a steadying arm around me, but I pushed against him, knowing he would leave me if he could.

“I'm going with you to Cannan,” I choked.

Destari gave a brisk nod, and we left my quarters to descend the spiral stairway to the first floor, the sergeant following. Entering the Throne Room through the King's Drawing Room, we saw Galen, Casimir, Cargon and several
other Elite Guards grouped near the dais, talking rapidly among themselves. Steldor occupied the throne, looking weary, while Cannan stood beside him.

Surprise flicked across the King's face as he saw that I was with Destari. Though the other men frowned at my presence, they resumed their discussion until Steldor held up a hand to stay their talk.

“Alera, I know you are concerned about London, but these are military matters. I can either have someone escort you to your drawing room or you can wait for me in my study.”

I examined him, hardly believing my ears, for I had expected that he might force me to leave. Instead he was giving me the opportunity to eavesdrop. As our brown eyes met, I knew that this had been his purpose.

“I will go to your study, Your Highness,” I said with a curtsey.

I moved to the right of the dais and into the King's study, leaving the door half-open so I would be able to hear every word that was spoken. I dragged one of the padded armchairs away from the fireplace and settled in to listen.

“We have to assume from the amount of blood staining the animal that London was bleeding profusely as he rode toward Hytanica.” Cannan's full voice carried into the study. “It's likely that he fell from his mount on our land, for the horse had almost made its way to the city. Cargon's men have since scoured the area where the animal was found, but they saw no sign of London. The question before us now is whether or not to send out a search party.” The captain paused before resuming his analysis. “Frankly, it is probable that London is dead.”

Cannan's words felt like a kick in the stomach, but I forced myself to continue listening.

“He must have been seriously injured, and it is impossible to say when his wounds were inflicted, for we do not know how long his horse wandered. Dispatching a search party might needlessly put the lives of our men in danger.”

It was Steldor who reacted first to Cannan's assessment of the situation.

“But if London is alive, his information could be vital in dealing with Miranna's abduction or in defending against a Cokyrian onslaught.”

“A search on our side of the Recorah could be done with little danger to our soldiers,” Galen pointed out.

“True,” said a man whose voice I did not recognize. “But if he is not found on our lands, is it wise to send men into Cokyrian-held territory?”

“That would put them at significant risk, and I'm against doing so when there is such a small chance that London is alive,” Galen answered.

“It seems we should at least search the lands on our side of the Recorah,” Steldor determined, closing one issue. He paused, then seemed to address an individual. “You have not yet voiced an opinion on the matter of searching on the other side of the Recorah.”

“That is because I will search for him there, regardless of whatever decision is made,” Destari said, displaying the unreserved loyalty he'd always had for his best friend and comrade. “I don't ask that you send anyone with me, but I must go, simply because nothing would keep London from looking for me were our circumstances reversed.”

“I suspect there are others who would willingly accompany Destari,” Cannan noted. “Is there anyone here who would choose to do so?”

A chorus of voices arose, prompting Steldor to again close the discussion.

“We have our resolution then. I will not order men to cross the Recorah to search for London but will not prevent a small number of volunteers from doing so.”

“I would require only one or two men,” Destari declared. “The smaller our number, the better our odds of passing unnoticed into enemy territory.”

“Then let me go,” Galen said unexpectedly, and I imagined that in the silence all eyes had shifted to the Sergeant at Arms. Indeed, when next Galen spoke, he sounded defensive. “I have the training necessary for this assignment, I am young enough to believe we will be successful and, if the plan is indeed for me to become Captain of the Guard someday, I ultimately cannot expect men to follow me as they do Cannan unless I have some frontline experience.”

“Then it's decided,” Steldor decreed, taking the side of the friend whom he had always viewed as a brother.

Cannan left it to Destari to organize and deploy a search party for the Hytanican side of the river. If London were not found, the men would return, and only Destari and Galen would venture into Cokyrian lands to continue the effort.

The discussion having ended, I returned my armchair to its original location just as Steldor pushed the study door fully open.

“I assume you heard,” he said, stepping across the threshold.

“Yes.”

He seemed exhausted, even though he'd lately been returning to our quarters at a reasonable time to talk with me and then go to bed. I supposed that, though I had been sleeping an excessive amount of late, his workload had dramatically increased, and a measure of guilt to add to all the rest swelled within me.

“We probably won't hear anything for a few days. You'll
be given a new bodyguard, or three, or however many you want. Whatever you need to feel safe in Destari's absence—”

“I want a weapon.”

This escaped me without real thought, but as I pictured the slim guard who had been sent to replace Destari and thought of the incident a year ago with Narian at the river, when Tadark had been too far away to prevent him from cutting off the bottom of my skirt, I knew that this was the only way I could feel secure. Bodyguards were effective only to a certain extent. Had Halias gone with Miranna to the chapel but waited in the corridor, she still would have been alone to protect herself. If someone near me drew a dagger with the intent to harm me, I would need to be able to do more than scream.

“A weapon?” Steldor repeated, eyebrows high, a bit of the condescension that had of late been so delightfully missing from his manner creeping into his words. “Really, Alera, I know you're frightened, but you'll either end up causing yourself harm or having the weapon turned on you. You don't know how to handle…”

He trailed off, and I cast my eyes to the floor. I knew his mind had gone to my short-lived self-defense lessons with Narian, which he had somehow discovered. I was by no means well learned in the art, but I did know the proper way to handle a weapon, which should have negated Steldor's main reason for objection. Even so, anything to do with Narian was a touchy subject, and I wasn't sure what to expect from him now.

“You should continue with your day,” he said, his voice carefully controlled.

I left the room without further comment, grateful to have escaped unscathed, to be joined by two Elite Guards who
had apparently been assigned to me by Steldor. I departed the Throne Room, leaving Casimir to await the King.

 

Over the next few days, my hope and whatever happiness I'd managed to reclaim decayed. I longed for the sound of my sister's voice, the flash of her smile, the sight of her strawberry blond curls bouncing upon her back; but now thoughts of London, who, if alive, was alone and grievously injured in the wilderness, also haunted me. On top of it all, fear clung to me like a second skin, always with me, as were the two bodyguards who every moment failed to make me feel safe.

By this time, Cannan had granted Destari and Galen permission to cross the river into Cokyrian lands to search for London. With the likelihood of locating him continuing to lessen, my constant worry shifted into premature mourning. London had risked and evaded death many times, but his luck could not last forever. Perhaps he'd been given all the chances fate was willing to allow. I struggled to accept the fact that he might never be found, might never be buried by those who loved him, the tale of his demise never to be known.

In my present frame of mind, I yearned for Steldor's company in the evenings, as I felt protected when I was with him. He was, however, steadily growing more irritable, worry and the pressures of his position taking their toll. Even though I understood this, I couldn't prevent a small flare of indignation every time he lost his patience with me for no apparent reason, especially when it came to Kitten, with whom he had one recurring problem.

“Will you just give it a name?” he said in exasperation one night as he hung his weapons on the hook by the hearth.

“What's wrong with calling a kitten Kitten?” I demanded
from where I sat on the floor, playing with the cuddly fluff ball.

“It's emasculating, that's what,” Steldor informed me, moving to the sofa where he rested his booted feet, ankles crossed, on the low table. “The cat needs a
name,
before he becomes a milksop.”

“I don't think
Kitten
cares about being a milksop, since he literally is one,” I pointed out, scooping the little animal into my lap. “Why does this upset you so much?”

“I'm not upset,” he snapped, running a hand through his dark hair. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he stood and, despite the fact that he had just returned to our quarters, retrieved his weapons.

“I need to go,” he said, without looking at me. “I need to work off some energy.”

I nodded, and he went to the door, intending to leave, but when he opened it and saw Casimir waiting for him in the corridor, he growled in aggravation and slammed it shut. He withdrew instead to his bedroom, closing that door with the same brutality.

“Someone's testy,” I muttered under my breath, but a measure of concern for Steldor's state of mind had taken hold.

 

Two nights later, I was drawn awake from the strange dreams that had become my nighttime companions by a muted yet repetitive pounding. I rose from bed, slipping on my robe, and opened my door to see Steldor talking with an Elite Guard, his bare chest telling me he had also been roused from sleep. The guard departed, and Steldor spun on his heel, catching sight of me.

“Destari and Galen have returned,” he said as he crossed to enter his room, reappearing a moment later fully clothed.

“Is London with them?” I asked, my heart hammering.

“Yes, although I do not know his condition.”

“But he's alive?”

Steldor nodded, strapping on his weapon's belt, and instantaneous relief warmed me like sweet tea.

“Where is he? Can I see him?” I exclaimed, the pitch of my voice rising along with my elation.

“He's been taken to a guest room on the third floor, but Alera…” He trailed off, and his demeanor was grave. “He won't be well, Alera. You need to understand—just because he's been brought home doesn't mean death can't claim him.”

I nodded, then repeated my question, determination in my voice. “Can I see him?”

I had no idea how horrible his wounds might be or how I would handle his condition. But I knew I had to go to him.

Steldor evaluated me as he weighed the options. “I advise against it but won't forbid you,” he finally said, moving toward the door to depart.

I thanked him and retreated to my bedroom to dress. I then hurried to the spiral staircase used by the royal family, trailed by my two bodyguards, and climbed to the third floor. As I reached the top, I heard voices and saw dim light emanating from an open guest room door at the rear of the palace, on the opposite side of the floor from my parents' quarters. I approached and stepped inside without knocking.

Cannan, Galen, Steldor and Destari were talking a few feet from the injured Elite Guard, blocking my view of the bed where he lay, which was perhaps fortunate in light of the severe injuries that afflicted him. Hearing my approach, Steldor turned and ushered me to an armchair next to the roaring fireplace on the other side of the room, from where
I could see Bhadran, the longtime Royal Physician, leaning over the bed.