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| Introductory Novella: Realm of Thorns |
While Realm of Thorns, and its sequel series, Legends of the Forsaken Empire, are written as a standalone series, readers of the Books of the Infinite series will recognize those stories as a *possible* ancient history of the Syvlande Empire and future stories in Legends of the Forsaken Empire.
Why?
Because Books of the Infinite illustrates the building of a fantasy realm’s Sacred Word, while the Legends of the Forsaken Empire series portrays the political and spiritual effects the Sacred Word has upon mortals struggling to survive in a fallen world. Think of the Legends of the Forsaken Empire series as a medieval fantasy family saga inspired by Earth’s actual history.
History fanatics might recognize a few similarities between the kings of Legends of the Forsaken Empire, and some of our own, more notorious, medieval rulers. Much of this series is grounded in actual medieval accounts and traditions.
Realm of Thorns—set in their world’s New Testament era—details the Syvlande Empire’s beliefs and links us to Eliya and Valo’s descendants in a distant medieval future.
I hope you enjoy their family’s story!
Copyright 2018 by R. J. Larson
Researched and written by R. J.
Larson
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This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the
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persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Cover design by: Kacy
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Books
by R. J. Larson:
Books of the Infinite
Prophet
Judge
King
Realms of the Infinite
Exiles
Queen
DownFallen
Valor
Legends of the Forsaken Empire
Realm of Thorns (A novella)
Chapter
1
To whom can I speak and give
warning? Who will listen to Me? My people refuse to hear; they turn away. The
Eternal’s Word offends them; they find no pleasure in it.
From Books of the Prophets, The
Rone’en
Willing herself to
appear serene, Eliyana of Khelqua watched her teachers.
Seated
opposite her at the gold-inlaid amethyst table, the revered Torena’s dark eyes
glinted, fiercely at odds with her sedate wreath of silver-plaited hair, which
gleamed beneath sheer formal veils. Her opponent, the smooth-shaven
Kiyros—rotund as a subtly wrinkled tawny russet plum—waved her off
dismissively.
Shaking
his silver-curled head, he lectured Eliya. “Ignore her, Lady Eliyana. The
revered Torena forgets that insecure victors rewrote history! Queen Cyphar and
her consort, Gueron, instituted many social reforms that advanced our culture,
yet they were unfairly maligned—their reputations besmirched by the ancient
prophets and fanatics of Khelqua.”
“Unfairly
maligned?” Torena planted her long brown hands on the study table’s shimmering
surface. “Cyphar murdered
all but one of her own grandsons and, according to the Sacred Word and Khelqua’s
official scribes, Gueron was a paid assassin. How was she fair?”
Kiyros’
voice oozed contempt. “You’re certain she wasn’t? The ‘Sacred Word’, your
treasured Rone’en,
was written by those scribes and so-called prophets who scorned our Chaplet
faith and brutally executed Cyphar and Gueron.”
Torena
exhaled, a woman controlling extraordinary impatience. “Were you there? No! We
must rely on contemporary accounts. Ancient scribes and prophets recorded
events independent of each other, which testifies to their veracity.
Furthermore, your Chaplet faith is nothing but Cyphar’s self-serving pagan
creed mixed with just enough of the Eternal’s scriptures to make it inviting to
Khelqua and the continent. The Chaplet goal is to obliterate our past! Yet, to
deny and suppress the Rone’en is to scorn the faith that created and bound our
Syvlande Empire.”
“Faith?”
Kiyros snorted. “Tyranny built and bound the empire. It deserves to crumble!”
Eliya
gazed up at the palace study’s carved stone roof-beams, then at a crack tracing
it’s way along the plastered walls from a recent quake. Once per week, her
teachers contended with each other, their verbal battles so vociferous that one
or both teachers should expire at every lesson from sheer exhaustion.
Ironically, the following week, her teachers might argue the opposite opinions
with equal ferocity, until she was convinced that Torena followed the Chaplet
faith, and Kiyros harbored devotion to the Eternal Liege—and that they’d thrash
each other while defending their views. How could such behavior be proper while
training a princess? She ought to scold them both. “Sir, and revered lady, I’m
leaving.”
Obviously
not hearing her, Torena snapped at Kiyros, “If the empire falls, it will be
because headstrong spoiled
citizens rebel against common sense by calling laws tyranny, since too many
citizens are reluctant to perform honest work! If you believe your life will be
better after the empire falls, then you’re deluding yourself.”
“We
will be free!”
Enough.
Eliya tapped her fingertips on the glistening amethyst tabletop. If she
reported half of her teachers’ hot-headed utterances to her lord-father, they’d
be imprisoned or worse. Particularly if Kiyros truly wanted the Empire to fall.
Eliya abandoned her seat and shooed off Kiyros as if he were an errant bird.
“Go then! Be free. And don’t return. You’re dismissed. Permanently.”
Torena
stood, her scholar’s face calm. Mask-like. “Forgive me, Lady Eliya. I’ve
forgotten—this was your last lesson.”
Kiyros
reddened visibly, then turned flustered. “Her last lesson? We’re dismissed? And
no one told me? Lady Eliya—”
“It’s
been kept secret.” Not that she’d welcomed all the secrets. Eliya replaced her
writing quills and inkstand in her silver carrying case, then closed its lid.
“Don’t worry, good sir, you’ll be paid for the entire year’s lessons as
agreed.”
“But
…” Kiyros hesitated. “What about the year’s remaining lessons?”
Was
he worried about lost prestige? Of no longer serving in her father’s royal
courts? Eliya smiled at him. “You’re free, remember? Make arrangements with new
students at your leisure. I’m being married off. Tomorrow morning, I leave for
the northern realms as Trisguard’s future queen.”
“Well.”
Kiyros regathered some of his composure, then reached for his notes and
reference scrolls. “That was sudden. The empire’s northern realms, eh? Not
surprising. I’ve heard rumors that Ceyphraland’s rejected you, and that
Belvasae’s prince is in love with a commoner.”
Though
renowned for his discretion and keeping royal secrets, Kiyros delighted in
sharing unflattering gossip he’d dredged from other citizens. Did he hope to
enrage her? Eliya shrugged. “We’ve heard nothing from Belvasae or Ceyphraland.
Whether the rumors you’re spreading are true or not, my lord-father believes
this northern alliance with Trisguard is Khelqua’s best option. For, despite
all its talk of leading the Syvlande Empire and possessing the imperial Sun
Crown, Belvasae rarely manages its own lands competently. Unlike Khelqua and
Trisguard. Farewell, Kiyros. I’ve enjoyed our debates.”
His
face scrunched like a drying, darkening plum, Kiyros swept up his writings and
scribe-box and stalked out.
Torena
watched him go, then spoke, her voice low and tranquil. “He’s been a
sometimes-worthy opponent.”
Eliya
studied her childhood mentor. “You seem content, revered lady, being
newly-retired and no longer employed by the royal court.”
“Oh,
but I am
employed, lady.” Torena bowed her head, her sheer veils shimmering and drifting
gently. Composed as a revered teacher should be, she gathered her scrolls and
writing gear. “This morning, the king appointed me to escort the empire’s only
marriageable princess to Trisguard, then serve as your official attendant and
scribe until you’ve acclimated to your new realm.”
“Ah,
there’s another secret revealed.” Eliya rested her parchments and wax
note-tablet atop her writing box. “I should have known I wouldn’t escape you,
dear Torena. Not that I long to.”
At
least in Torena’s company she’d have a perpetual reminder of home. As they
walked through the glistening amethyst-and-gold halls of Khelqua’s royal Ariym
Palace, Torena asked, “What have you gleaned from enduring all our weekly
debates with Kiyros?”
“That
scholars can be stubborn and tiresome.” Eliya shifted her writing gear, then
teased her elder with a grin and a nudge. “And, that one teacher in particular
can be trusted with an empire’s secrets.”
“Not
the whole empire’s worth,” Torena protested. “I’d eventually be hunted and shot
down by some Chaplet nobleman who’s desperate to keep his own secrets to avoid
paying for spiritual pardons. Don’t worry, lady. I’ll serve you only two years,
and then retire. You’ll be free to appoint your future companions from
Trisguard’s courtiers.”
An
unexpected pang nearly checked Eliya’s footsteps. Only two years? She’d miss
the revered lady. Just as she’d deeply miss her family and Khelqua. “Torena,
I’ll hate to leave Khelqua.”
“Lady,
Khelqua will hate to see you leave.”
Before
misty sentiment fogged Eliya’s gaze completely, Torena added dryly, “The
jewelers and fabric merchants will lose half their business the instant you
step out of our lands.”
If
Torena had been one of her siblings, Eliya would have shoved her. Instead she
laughed, then sobered. Tomorrow, she’d leave Ariym forever. Within days, she’d
cross Khelqua’s borders and never return. “I wish my departure could be
delayed. What if my future husband’s fanatically devoted to his Chaplet faith?
What if he asks me to cease reading the Liege’s words?”
“We
pray and trust that the Eternal Liege will shelter you, lady.” Hugging her
treasured copy of the Rone’en closer, Torena added, “As for myself, I can’t
give up the Sacred Word, no matter what the cost. If reading it means that I’m
sent onward from mortal life to the Eternal, I’ll have no regrets.”
Torena’s
composed, austere face, and her near-maternal grip on the Sacred Word, assured
Eliya that she’d indeed give her life for her faith. Eliya shivered. Could she
be as steadfast? “Don’t plan your death. I need your courage. I know nothing of
my future home. If Trisguard’s Chaplet laws tighten, and my true beliefs are
discovered and deemed traitorous … even my royal blood won’t save me.”
They
walked together, silent except for their sandaled feet clicking briskly against
the corridor’s amethyst and marble pavings. As they turned into the palace’s
main gold-and-amethyst corridor, Torena spoke, low and urgent, as if conveying
a reluctant message. “Whatever your misgivings, lady, it’s imperative that we
leave as planned. I feel the Eternal urging us away from Ariym—from Khelqua
itself. By the Liege’s living Spirit, we must depart. Do you trust Him, Eliya?”
“More
than I’d ever trust the Chaplet faith’s revered Cyphar.” Never mind that the
legendary Cyphar’s regal, golden-eyed image watched Eliya from every corner of Ariym’s
palace. Even now, the ancient queen’s cutting gaze studied her unblinkingly
from a quake-fractured mural framed within a wall’s golden arcaded stones. Was
Cyphar truly Eliya’s ancestor? Perhaps. Eliya’s eyes were the same clear gold.
Her lord-father’s eyes. The eyes of a lion sighting prey. Eternal spare her
from ever becoming as merciless. Eliya hurried onward.
Keeping
pace to her right, Torena exhaled. “If you mistrust the Eternal, then I’ve
failed you and your lady-mother.”
Suppressing
weakening memories of her gentle, ever-devout mother, Eliya murmured, “No.
Torena, you’ve not failed. And it’s not that I don’t trust the Eternal and His
son, our Liege. Rather, it’s my own family that’s caused doubts. Their
loyalties are so fleeting, that I question myself. Am I as flighty? Is my faith
a fancy? I’d like to believe that it’s not—that I’m capable of building a
substantial and useful life, reflecting my faith. But then I look at … others.”
Her lascivious lord-father, frivolous stepmother, and unreliable siblings, for
example.
Could
she trust any of them with her innermost secrets?
Torena
shook her revered head. “How distressing. Such doubts from my most excellent
student—the only one who never shirked lessons week after week.”
“Your
lessons were an escape from palatial boredom, revered lady, and they’ve given
me a thirst for truth. Thank you. But now, the lessons have ended, and I’ve
even more questions and concerns than I had when I first bowed to you as an
apprentice-scribe.”
“Your
concerns are understandable, but I trust your abilities, Lady Eliya—and I’ve
listened to many a noble-born who believes he or she could conquer the empire
with less than half of your abilities. You will become invaluable to
Trisguard.”
Invaluable?
To Trisguard’s allied northern realms? Doubtful indeed, considering that she’d
not received one hint of assurance from her future lord-king husband, Laros
Rakiar of Trisguard, that she’d be truly welcomed.
Never
mind the trinket-filled gold box his messenger had placed at her feet two weeks
past, accompanied by Laros Rakiar’s own note, filled with tributes to her
beauty and accomplishments. Every exquisitely written word obviously
paraphrased details he’d heard from some flattery-filled envoy.
Apparently,
the lord-king of the northern realms didn’t contemplate her, his future wife. She was a pretty
formality. A trade agreement. A costly ornament to be stored away in dim
apartments within his palace, unaccompanied by anyone from Khelqua except
Torena and, perhaps, her personal maidservant, Vaiya. Her own friends, ladies,
and even her relatives would be regarded as interfering interlopers within
other royal courts. Father had emphasized this grievous detail more than once
during Eliya’s childhood. It didn’t matter who married her—she must become a
citizen of her wedded realm and not drag packs of ‘foreigners’ with her from
Khelqua.
Yet
she dreaded the isolation.
What
if no one in Trisguard’s court befriended her, or could be trusted? What if
Laros Rakiar secretly scorned her? What if he never loved her as Father had
loved her lamented late-mother? Worse, what if Trisguard’s ruler was so
strictly bound to the Chaplet faith that he ultimately persecuted her for
trusting in the Eternal Liege?
To
the Eternal, the Lord of all Sacred, she formed a silent prayer. “Defend me, I
beg You! Protect me from my future enemies as I enter Trisguard.”
Particularly
if her most noble enemy should ever be her own husband.
His
silence unnerved her.
***
Her
dark curls tamed and held back in a golden mesh caul, her rare purple robes in
perfect order, Eliya knelt on the cold, smooth amethyst tiles before her
father’s gilded throne and her step-mother’s honored bench, situated within
arm’s reach of the throne. “My lord-father … I beg you … let me stay in Khelqua
one more week.”
Her
father, Rodiades,
tetrarch of the empire’s western realm of Khelqua,
hid a yawn, smoothing his puffy face and silvering beard with one gnarled,
ring-weighed hand. Sounding like a man longing for a nap, he grumbled, “Eliya,
you’ve had the last nineteen years to visit your family and Khelqua. What use
is one more week? Don’t lose courage now—too much depends on your ability to
captivate the northern realms. Trisguard’s cavalcade is already traveling to
meet you at their border, beyond the mountains.”
What
were her father’s plans? Why did he need this alliance? She studied his bored
visage and faded-gold eyes. If only she could read his mind. Or call upon
insights from the Eternal, as prophets had done in the past. But—according to
the Chaplet priests—the prophets were dead. And she was a mere princess whose
royal father couldn’t be bothered to speak her full name in a formal audience.
Unless he thought Eliya was
her full name.
Her
stepmother, Amara—Rodiades’ second wife, elevated from a league of royal
darlings—leaned forward. “How I wish your royal mother had lived to see this
day! She’d be so proud of your beauty—your dignified presence. Dear girl,
believe me when I vow we’ll miss you. But you must leave tomorrow as planned.”
“Don’t
disgrace us with tears,” her father urged. “Now … your brothers and sister are
in the courtyard, anticipating your farewell banquet. Don’t keep them waiting.”
He
wouldn’t attend? Eliya willed gentleness into her words. “My lord and father,
because it is my last night, would you visit us later? After you’ve rested?”
“I
cannot promise. I’ve letters to write to Belvasae and Ceyphraland tonight,
announcing your marriage and formally inquiring as to why our correspondence is
so sadly diminished. Not that I blame Belvasae and Ceyphraland for neglecting
Khelqua. I’ve neglected them for Trisguard’s concerns, and yours.”
She
bowed, then departed from the echoing amethyst throne room.
Willing
herself to ignore the sting of tears.
***
In
the arcade-framed courtyard, Eliya smiled as her siblings cheered her arrival.
The eldest, twenty-year-old Lord-prince Iscah, strode toward her, sun-bronzed
and more vital than their father had been in years. Iscah held out his hands,
drew Eliya near, and kissed her cheek. “You look sad. Don’t brood, El. If you
hate your husband, then I will gather an army and chase him from the northern
realms.”
His
clear yellow-gold eyes sparkling with a seventeen-year-old’s restless mischief,
Eliya’s second brother, Valo, joked, “I’m with Iscah. I say that Rakiar’s
gotten off too easily. He should wage an all-out battle for you. In fact,
you’re leaving months too early!” He waved at the courtyard’s blooming fruit
trees. “Spring is the time for war. Summer’s
end is the time for treaty brides.”
Eliya
swiped Valo’s arm. “I forbid you and Iscah to attack my future husband. What if
you defeat him? He’d hate me.”
“Then
we’d oust him and every other petty king from the empire and give Belvasae’s
sun-crown to Iscah.”
A
Khelqua prince wearing the emperor’s sun crown. Such a marvelous feat hadn’t
been accomplished in three generations. Eliya smiled but shook her head. “You’d
risk Khelqua.”
“We’d
guide the empire to its greatest glories.” Iscah’s lowered tone warned Eliya
that he’d seriously considered the matter. “The Syvlande Empire is fading.
Isn’t this what the prophets warned? We must reunite the realms and strengthen
our grip on the continent!”
Twelve-year-old
Jesca, the youngest, and Eliya’s only sister, laughed and edged into the middle
of their conversation, her golden-brown eyes not as bright as Valo’s or
Eliya’s, but afire with her love of schemes. “You should. We should! The empire
would thank us, and future citizens would praise our names.”
“If
they don’t kill us first.” Valo goaded Jesca out of the circle, then followed
her, calling over his shoulder, “Enough small talk! We’ve a feast to attend,
and Eliya doesn’t want to discuss warfare all night.”
Just
beyond the courtyard’s entry to the palace, bells chimed, warning of
approaching company—a dignitary they weren’t permitted to ignore.
Iscah
scowled at the entry, annoyance darkening his smooth-skinned bronze face. “Some
highborn foreigner’s intruding upon our feast.”
Indeed.
Eliya muted a sigh. Naturally, their last evening together would be consumed by
formalities. Probably some finicky elder-diplomat from Belvasae’s southern
realms, who would complain about his difficult journey, bad food, and the fact
that correspondence between the realms had dwindled to an insultingly meager
level. Well, her lord-father could voice the same complaint against Belvasae
and Ceyphraland. If either country dared to—
Her
indignation froze as a tall, black-clad young man strode into the garden, his
full mouth subtly pursed as if wary of the unexpected feast. Surveying
Khelqua’s royal siblings, his dark eyes gleamed. As he glanced at Eliya, he
lifted one commanding eyebrow, countless unspoken thoughts hinting in his gaze.
She held her breath, staring, listening as the servant called out, “Lord-king
Danek of the Walhaisii.”
Eliya
blinked. Had the old Walhaisii lord-king died of his lingering illness earlier
this year? Apparently so. Yet, no one had cared enough to mention it to her
within her secluded court. But why should they? What was a minor upstart
highland king compared to Khelqua’s ancient lineage? Yet Lord-king Danek was
certainly imposing. Even Iscah seemed impressed, his grim displeasure replaced
by courtesy. Though Iscah’s civility could just as easily be inspired by the
fact that this Walhaisii king could undoubtedly throw him aside with a careless
swat.
As
Eliya stepped back, clearing a path toward the table, Jesca gripped her arm and
whispered, “I’m so glad he’s not your husband! I want to marry him. I’ll ask
Father.”
“Our
lord-father would say you’re too young.” And giddy. Jesca’s thoughts flitted
from one idea to the next, her lively infatuations usually fading by sunset.
However,
the Walhaisii lord-king provided plenty of reason for infatuation, from the
sheen of his dark hair, to his understated, perfectly fitted gold-edged black
robes, polished boots, and the wide leather belt emphasizing his warrior-worthy
physique.
Iscah
led Lord-king Danek to the feast. As they relaxed around the table, sharing
soft bread, richly spiced simmered meats, dried fruit and cooled wine, the Walhaisii
king said, “I’d no intention of barging into your feast uninvited, but the
servants brought me here after sending word to your lord-father. He answered
that he’d greet us later this evening. I owe him the Walhaisii’s pledge of
loyalty.”
And
a tribute, undoubtedly. Eliya swallowed her bread. Only the promise of some
other king’s rich gift would bring Khelqua’s king out of hiding this evening.
Even she had been unworthy of Father’s notice. How unjust and—
No.
She must not be angry with her lord-father when she departed in the morning.
Rodiades had also obliquely insulted Lord-king Danek by not greeting him
immediately. Above all, she must remind herself that her lord-father was
even-handed in dispensing signs of arrogant indifference.
Impetuous
as ever, Jesca smiled at the highlands’ king. “My sister, Eliyana, has been
ordered to leave tomorrow for the northern realms—Trisguard. Tetrarch Laros
Rakiar’s pledged to marry her. You should have spoken for her instead. Then
we’d have her just beyond our borders.”
As
a stinging blush warmed her face, Eliya shook her head at Jesca. But Iscah
grinned, and Valo joked to their guest, “What kept you from asking? Have
stories of her bad temper reached you in the highlands?”
Lord-king
Danek laughed, so good-natured with her teasing siblings that Eliya forgave
Valo. Danek met Eliya’s gaze, admiring her even as he jokingly quoted, “‘The
king of brambles and thorns said to the king of oaks, ‘Give me your daughter
that my son might marry her!’ But the next morning the brambles were hacked to
pieces and the thorns burned to ashes.’” Lowering his voice self-mockingly,
Danek said, “I must preserve my realm, minor as it is.”
Iscah
lifted a gilded goblet of wine. “Are you saying the empire’s remaining leaders
would turn upon you? Don’t you trust them?”
“The
Syvlande’s kings and lords haven’t given me reason to mistrust them yet.” Danek
nodded at Iscah. “What’s your opinion of the empire’s future, Lord Iscah?”
Iscah’s
golden eyes shone over his goblet’s gilded rim, and he paused before drinking.
“The empire needs a strong ruler, not a league of quarrelsome kings.”
“Or
the empire needs to dissolve,” Danek countered mildly. “Cooperation between the
allied realms is breaking down—and if one tetrarch lord-king attempts to rule
the others, we’ll have open warfare from Khelqua’s shores to the far beaches of
eastern Ceyphraland.”
Was
Iscah going to choke on his ill-timed gulp of wine? Eliya watched her brother
swallow hard, then set down his cup.
And,
when Danek glanced away, Iscah’s scowl toward their guest held promises of
daggers.
***
Masking
his disdain, Danek swiped a fold of bread into his portion of tender spiced
meat, then ate it. Agree to one all-powerful Syvlande emperor? Never. Marry a
princess of Khelqua? Not in a fit of madness, much less cold sanity.
Clearly,
the young Lord-prince Iscah fancied himself mature and capable of managing an
empire. The Syvlande’s remaining tetrarchs would wipe him out in a single
battle, then hold a banquet over his grave—just before they turned upon each
other.
As
for marriage … Danek pitied the sad, golden-eyed princess. Beauty
notwithstanding, Lady Eliya was a mere game-piece for the allied northern
realms. Their leader, Laros Rakiar, tetrarch of the north, undoubtedly
envisioned himself as the next emperor. Only the Eternal could help the
princess if she failed to bring the western realm’s armies to his side.
And
with this Iscah as her brother, she’d ultimately fail, for Iscah would
obviously help no one’s cause but his own.
Yet
…. Danek mastered a frown. Was he being too harsh with these sheltered,
inexperienced royal younglings? He was
six years older. At their age, he’d also been overconfident. Convinced he could
rule. Now, after governing the Walhaisii for only three months, his own
mistrust, doubt, and cynicism darkened his judgments of others.
Nevertheless,
Khelqua deserved scorn. The royal younglings’ lord-father had betrayed the
Eternal Liege twenty years past by bowing to adherents of the Chaplet faith,
who’d clamored for the guiltless Liege’s death. True, the Eternal Liege had
returned to life among mortals—just long enough to prove He’d conquered death,
but Khelqua’s Tetrarch Rodiades was
guilty of collusion and causing a wrongful death of the highest order.
How
had Rodiades
of the western realm failed to comprehend the Liege’s significance—His Eternal
Spirit within humble mortal form? All the Liege’s miracles and the fulfilled
prophecies had meant nothing to Rodiades. To preserve his own mortal wealth and
power, Rodiades condemned an innocent man to die for teaching the truth of the
ancient Word—the Rone’en. As a result, the Sacred Word was scorned and
suppressed by factions devoted to the legendary figures of Cyphar and her
consort, Gueron.
Danek’s
family, sheltered in the highlands, had refused to enter Khelqua for years
after the Liege’s death, fearing persecution for their beliefs. Even at age
five, Danek perceived his parents’ turmoil. Refugees from Khelqua unfailingly
arrived with fresh stories of imprisonment, torture and death, inflicted upon
the Rone’en’s believers by adherents of Cyphar’s worldly Chaplet faith.
The
charming pre-adolescent Princess Jesca beckoned Danek from his reverie.
“Lord-king Danek, how long will you visit us?”
“Only
for a short time, lady.” Tonight only, if he dared to be rude. This palace, in
fact all of Khelqua, set his flesh a-crawling with an agitation he couldn’t
explain. “I’m needed in the highlands.”
“Your
kingdom of thorns.” Young Jesca’s lighthearted laughter offset any offense.
As
did the Princess Eliya’s defensive rebuke. “Jesca! How can you be rude to our
gracious guest?”
Still
smiling, Jesca leaned toward Danek. “I apologize, my lord.”
“No
need, lady. I appreciate your concern.” He included Eliya in his glance. She
looked away. Toward the sound of distant calls and bells echoing from the
palace corridors beyond the arcaded walls.
Prince
Valo stood, his pale eyes brightening in his tawny face. “Our lord-father’s
visiting us after all.”
Four
guards entered the courtyard, unnerving Danek with their mask-like coldness as
much as the swords and javelins they bore. A flicker of a story opened within
his memories—accounts of an ancient queen-mother slaughtering her
grandchildren. Danek stood, one hand relaxed alongside his gold-and-gem-decked
courtly sword.
His
hand twitched to draw the weapon as Rodiades himself entered the courtyard.
But
not even the Eternal Liege would condone this proud tetrarch’s murder. Danek
subdued his loathing and bowed his head toward Rodiades. “Sire.”
“Welcome,
Walhaisii.” Rodiades’ golden eyes shone like old gilt in the afternoon
sunlight. “How long will you stay?”
Or
how soon could Khelqua be rid of him? Danek smiled. “I’ve come to pledge
loyalty to you and pay tribute, though I can’t delay—I’m needed in the
highlands, and I’m in mourning for my lord-father. Apart from my tribute, I
won’t bring much joy to your courts.”
“Understandable.”
Rodiades eased himself into Prince Valo’s empty chair. “My condolences for your
father’s death.”
“Thank
you, sire. As for the length of my stay … if you wish, as a favor to Khelqua
and Trisguard both, I’ll pay tribute and pledge loyalty tonight, then depart in
the morning to lead your daughter’s cavalcade safely through the highlands.”
He
almost regretted the offer the instant he voiced it. He’d be weeks guiding the
sad princess from her home toward a realm that might not appreciate her, and
this marriage was an imperial matter he’d no sane reason to take on. Rodiades
grinned, genuine warmth turning his tired gaze from worn gilding to shimmering
gold. “Thank you, my lord. I’ll remember your kindness and repay you in the
future.”
Danek
bowed his head toward Rodiades. Good deeds too often provoked unfortunate
rewards.
Why
had he offered?
Nevertheless,
he’d keep his word—particularly if it meant leaving this quake-cracked old
palace and Khelqua’s scheming king.
Vocabulary
In General Order of Appearance:
Eliyana El-ee-AN-ah
Eliya El-EE-ah
Khelqua Kell-KWAH
Torena Tore-ENNA
Kiyros KEE-Ros
Cyphar SEE-far
Gueron GYEH-ron
Syvlande SEEV-land
Ceyphraland SEH-fra-land
Belvasae BELL-vas-ay
Trisguard TRICE-guard or TRISS-guard
Ariym ARE-eem
Rodiades RO-dee-Aids
Rone’en RONE-en
Laros
Rakiar LAY-rose RAY-kee-are
Iscah ISS-cah
Valo VALL-oh or VALE-oh
Jesca JESS-cah
Danek DANE-ek
Walhaisii Wall-HAY-see
Vaiya VAY-ah
Aretes AH-ree-tees
Aniketos An-ee-KEY-tos
Adalric Ad-AL-rick
Belkrates Bell-CRAY-tees
Belkian Bell-KI-an
Valeria VAL-ere-ee-ah
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