King Callie: Callie's Saga, Book One (39 page)

“I don’t mean that we have to
leave
,” Eliya replied. “I meant that we would be safe there, when we visited.”

“And you still want to be married here?” Mas asked.

“Of course,” Eliya said. “But we could wait now. I would hate for my sister and mother to miss my wedding.”

“Then we will wait,” Mas said. “And we will have a proper wedding.” The words brought warmth to Eliya’s heart; she smiled, and stood up on her toes to peck him on the cheek. He turned his head, and let her kiss on the lips.

“That’s a clever trick,” she said, smirking.

“I thought so,” he replied, as he kissed her back.

As they approached Akels’ massive triple-gates, worry came to Elyia’s mind:
what if the guards don’t recognize Mas?
They were forced to sell his finery along the way for food, and warmer clothing - he refused to sell his signet ring which bore the royal seal, and that much Eliya was thankful for. It would be the only means of showing who he was. Without his more regal clothing, he looked like any other Kersikki man, save with a wide jaw and the King’s nose. “Mas,” she said, “Do you think they will know you?”

“Be calm,” Mas said, as they approached the front gates, wide open, where travelers were walking through at an even pace. Mas pulled a ring from out of his pocket - jewelry that he had kept off his hands as they traveled, for fear of it being stolen. He slid it onto his fourth finger. “They will recognize me, or they will know the seal on my ring. If they do not, the King will be furious.” He walked up to the guards, ahead of Eliya, head held high. She watched as he addressed them, and how his posture lowered as they registered confusion - and he, frustrated disappointment. They had no idea who he was. And then, one of the guards laughed.

Oh, Yom
, Eliya thought, as she sped up her pace,
Please let him keep his temper.

“I cannot say that I do, “ the first guard, a rounded man, said, as she came to Mas’s side. The other, a taller, more thick-shouldered man with a blond beard, stroked it as he regarded Mas’s face.

“He does have the King’s nose,” the man said. “Perhaps he’s a bastard.”

Eliya’s eyes widened, and she immediately grabbed Mas’s arms to restrain him. “How dare you!” Mas said, livid. “Me? A bastard? I have traveled a hundred miles to be here, and sold all my clothing, and you greet me by calling me
bastard
!
”

“
Mas,” Eliya said, “Please, calm down, you’ll only make this more difficult.”

“I demand to see your superior officer,” Prince Mas said, as he held up the back of his hand, showing the ring on his fourth finger. “Perhaps he’ll recognize the royal seal on this ring. And when he does, I should hope to Yom you are apologetic!”

The bearded guard looked at the ring. “That does look like the seal…” he glanced over at his companion. “I’ll get the Captain. Just to be sure.”

“It’s not him. You’re wasting your time. He’s down south, in Barra, with his betrothed… Princess what’s-her-name….”

“Lady Eliya,” Eliya said, in Kersikki, with a curtsy, “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” The rounder guard looked at her oddly.

“That’s a heavy accent you have,” he said, as he appeared unsure of his convictions.

“I am from Barra,” she replied, “Please forgive it.” For once, she was glad for that accent; she strove for a native’s tongue, but Caliandra was always better with language. It was then that she noticed the bearded guard returning, with a more formally dressed, square-jawed man she took to be their captain. His eyes bulged upon seeing Mas - and the ring he wore

“You idiots!” he shouted. “What are you doing, keeping them waiting here? This is Prince Mas! Can you not tell he’s the very image of the king? And look, upon his hand! Raise it, if you would, please, my Prince.” Mas obliged him, and held it up for the guards to see; the band was gold, inlaid with imported sapphires, bearing the crest of the royal family - two fish, surrounding a shield. It shimmered in the sunlight, as the Captain gestured to it. “These are the carved lines of Kersikki craftsmen of the highest order, and the stones inside cost more than the wages you’d both make for a year! Yom, are you so blind? Let them through before I throttle you.”

Mas and Eliya shared a look of relief. “Finally,” he said. “Home at last.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

The arrival came with the appropriate fanfare and fuss; royal heralds and servants were dispatched from the castle, as were a horse, more princely clothing, a new dress for Eliya, and a detachment of armed guards. The prince was taken to the nearby garrison, where he and Eliya were both re-dressed for their entrance. “Nothing has changed,” Mas grumbled, even as he welcomed the change of clothing, from behind a door. “I cannot even enter the city without doing it the way he wants.”

“He does not want you to be seen as disgraceful to the throne,” Eliya replied, as a servant attended to her hair in the room on the other side of the door; her mane had not seen the luxury of a combing in some days, and a wash in far more. The garrison was heated, too; each room had a small furnace, and the heat felt as comfortable as silk upon her skin. “It is about appearances, Mas.”

“I am no less a prince because I wore hunter’s clothing, and slept in the woods,” Mas said. “We survived the woods and fled for our lives. He cares more about how we look than that we are alive, and safe.”

“He means well,” Eliya replied. “And tell me you aren’t glad to change out of those clothes.”

“I am,” he replied. But in his tone, Eliya sensed that perhaps, he wasn’t.

As they passed through the streets, she was reminded of the processions at home; the people flooded the streets, and their enthusiasm filled the air. It brought a smile to her face, but Mas disdained it. She could tell from the way he forced himself to smile, and how stiff he sat in the saddle, that he wasn’t relaxed in the least. She tried to compensate for the crowd, by waving more, and greeting the crowd as she was taught - with poise, and grace. At the very least, their focus wouldn’t fully be on him.

She saw a myriad of colors lining the streets - blues, browns, and whites, like water, sand, and sea-foam, were predominantly worn by the peasants, with the more vivid reds, yellows, purples, and greens seen on merchants and nobles, who waved at the prince from their balconies. Each house was marked by their crest, waving proudly on a flag below the balcony; she saw dogs, wolves, cats, fish, birds, and several animals from Kersikki myth, each embodying a virtue. She wished she could see all of them more closely - the crests were a kind of stylized design dissimilar to the loops and whorls of Barrish art, and fascinating to her - but the procession continued, and Mas was hardly responsive to her questions. He wanted nothing more than to be home.

They traveled through different sections of the city, and it was then that Eliya saw what Mas had referred to as “the hundred islands” - past the main part of the city were a score of smaller parcels of land, each connected to the city and each other by small bridges. Some bore houses; others, benches and merchant’s stands. The castle itself was on the furthest such island, and Eliya swore that they rode over two dozen such bridges to get there. Soon, the public’s cheers and the sound of trumpets were a distant, echoing memory, as Mas and Eliya reached the tall gates of Castle Wulfrag. It, too, was a far cry from Barrish architecture; it had none of the rigid, jutting walls of Castle Claine, which seemed carved from mountains. Their walls and buildings reminded Eliya of a boat’s hull; layers upon layers of interlocking, perfectly cut stone, all but seamless to the eye. The towers arched into the sky like proud, billowing sails, and bore the curves of the same. Wulfrag was less a building than a stone ship, forever anchored in harbor.

Eliya rode through the front gates at Mas’s side, and could see the tension ease from his shoulders. His posture slackened. “Thank Yom that is over,” he said to her, in Barrish. “I will be glad to see my brothers, and be out of these damn robes.” He did not allow himself to smile, however; he saw a skinny red-haired page of thirteen approach them, bearing the royal crest upon his canary-yellow doublet, and a look of anxiety upon his face. Eliya judged it did not bode well for them.

“His Majesty, King Valkko, wishes to speak with you immediately,” the page said in Kersikki, his eyes darting between Eliya and Mas. “Please follow me to the Great Hall, if you will.” But Mas dismounted, and walked past the boy.

“I know where to find him,” Mas grumbled. Eliya was startled; Mas was never this way with her, or her sisters. He stalked through the open courtyard, towards the Castle keep; Eliya caught up quickly.

“Don’t you think you were rude to him? He’s but a messenger,” Eliya said, as she matched Mas’s pace. “He is only doing what the King tells him.”

“So does everyone in this castle, and this kingdom,” Mas said, his voice low and tinged with disapproval. Discontent flickered behind his blue eyes. “There is no room for differing opinions.”

“Surely, the King recognizes the wisdom of his children?” Eliya asked. “You, and your brothers?”

“He does not like to listen, unless it’s the sound of his own voice,” Mas said. He clenched his jaw as they approached the keep, and walked under a set of spiraling stone arches that mimicked a cresting wave; beyond it, an open door, that they walked through, into the marble floors and wide halls of the Castle itself. Mas walked with fists balled, as if he expected a fight. Everything about him in that moment worried her beyond measure. She had seen him angry, but… towards his own father? “Most likely, he wishes to blame me for something.”

“What could he possibly hold you accountable for, now?” she asked. The answer, she learned, was just that: everything.

King Valkko excoriated his son for many things, several of which were not his fault - the hiring of the Nest agents, and the new insecurity that the King felt now around all of his men was directed at Mas. The exile of the man responsible for hiring the servants who were secretly Nest agents, too, was a frustration unduly channeled towards Prince Mas. But the King had saved his greater anger for Mas’s true fault: running away, when Marrol had blamed him for the Sparrows.

“Do you know how close you came to bringing our country to war with Barra?” Valkko demanded, his pale blue eyes bulging from behind the unkempt, graying beard that roamed wild across his face. He sat forward on his silver throne like a wolf, prepared to pounce on his prey; Eliya hoped Mas would lower his gaze, and submit to Valkko’s dominance. Anything to make the King be lenient. “Do you?”

“I felt Marrol would not give me a fair trial, and then come for Eliya soon after. It saved our lives.” Mas said, looking him square in the eye. Eliya noticed he said nothing of it being her mother’s idea; she wondered if this was deliberate, and that he chose to fight.

“When you are a Prince, you do not decide what is done with your life,” King Valkko growled. “
I
do. You represent
my
kingdom.
My
country. You are my son, my flesh and blood, and if you are thought of as guilty, you sit in that prison, and you wait until I intervene.
If
I choose to intervene. When you gave into cowardice, and fled Barra, and left so many of your servants behind.” Valkko said, as he leaned forward in his seat, his eyes squinted with anger, “That was the difference between
causing
a war, and having
cause
for a war.”

“You care so little about my life that you’d throw it away, just to be in the right when you attacked?” Mas said, stepping forward, undaunted. Eliya was shocked at Mas’s directness, and at how boldly he disparaged his father. Even if he’d stood up for her.

“I expected you to fulfill your duty, and do what is right for your people,” Valkko said, hostile. Mas seethed, and seemed ready to spew flames, when Eliya interrupted.

“Your Majesty,” she said, with great exaggeration, and a deep curtsy, “My sincere apologies. We have not eaten or rested well in the past few weeks, and we are both very much in bad humor because of it. If you would be so kind as to dismiss us, it would be greatly appreciated.” The King looked at her oddly, and then, at Mas.

“If you intend to marry this girl,” Valkko said curtly, “Be sure she knows her place.”

Eliya was shocked into silence. Mas spoke for her. “You don’t know yours,” Mas replied. “You’re not a king or a father. You’re a tyrant.” Before his father could say anything, Mas stormed out. Eliya was quick behind him.

“Yom above,” Eliya said, incensed. “What were you thinking, saying that?”

“Don’t tell me how to deal with my father,” Mas said, as he clenched his jaw. “I’ve had enough of him.”

“That wasn’t you back there, Mas. That was a man who chose to fight, when he could have been diplomatic. You are better than that, which worries me.” Her words stopped him in his tracks. “Mas,” Eliya said, as she lowered her voice to a whisper, “You do not need to deal with him so stubbornly.”

“He attacked what I did to keep you safe,” Mas said. “I do not care what he thinks was right, or what he wants for his damn kingdom. Our safety comes before his needs, always.”

Eliya was warmed by his words; he’d fight his own family, for her sake. But she knew what trouble they’d cause. “He is difficult, but you mustn’t make things harder for yourself,” Eliya said, softer. “Pick your battles. Let him simmer. He may act like a tyrant, but he is still a father,” Eliya said. “Perhaps you should consider that.”