Chapter 3-4

Chapter 3. Pigsty

“Wait your fucking turn!” Tófi shouts at the same moment a guardsman pokes his head through the door of the room where Tófi is busy with a hired woman.

Tófi is working her hard from behind, breath ragged, sweat running down his spine. He keeps glancing toward the door, irritated. His curly red hair is a mess. Another face appears beside the first. Aethan Irvain.

“Pull your cock out of that hole and get dressed. Now.” Aethan does not raise his voice. He does not need to. “The commander is in trouble in the Temple of the Four Cellars. We found a Valmor node. They fight dirty.”

“Fuck.” Tófi groans and finishes. He steps away, grabs his clothes, shoves himself back into them without care. He snatches up his weapon, smacks the woman’s ass once out of habit, and moves.

The guards who were lounging and drinking in the brothel finally stir. Steel comes loose from belts. Boots hit stone. They fall in behind the Royal banner.

They run toward the temple, scattering townsfolk as they go. People jump aside, muttering, whispering. Something is happening. Someone must be dying, they think. 

As they reach the temple, they see guards already posted at every entrance.

“I want men at every sewer outlet and every catacomb exit,” Tófi yells. His rank makes it his problem. Bannerman or not, this is on him now.

As he runs, one thought claws at him. If Meino finds out he was balls-deep in a whore while he was fighting beneath the temple, no friendship and no amount of wine in the world will save him from being thrown out of the guard. And for someone whose house has already died out, that is ruinous. So Tófi of the old, long-gone House Solmar runs as fast as his legs will carry him.

***

By the time Aethan and Tófi reach the lower level, Meino is already bleeding. His face is swollen, bruises darkening his cheekbones, blood running freely from a split brow. He does not slow down.

Tófi tries to break in, to draw the Valmor’s attention, but it is clear they are not interested in anyone else. The assassins are focused on Meino alone.

Aethan worries, he sees it too. This is a targeted hit.

They move in from behind.

Four Valmor rush Meino at once, closing from every direction. He holds the center. His sword cuts, his shield snaps up, his body twists between blades with brutal precision. He kicks one masked attacker out at the knee and drives his blade straight into the gut without hesitation. With his shield arm he slams two others backward, hard enough to send them crashing into stone.

The fourth slips through and opens Meino’s ribs.

Aethan and Tófi crash into the remaining two at the same moment. Meino turns with the momentum of the hit and takes the head clean off the one who cut him.

By the time it is over, bodies lie scattered across the floor.

When the guards search them, they find no marks. No Valmor sign. They are young. Barely more than boys yet they fought well.

Tófi’s gorge rises at the sight. He orders Solvi Valemont to load the bodies onto a handcart and get them out of the temple. Solvi goes pale but obeys. By the time he reaches the main entrance, he is barfing over the cart packed with severed human limbs.

Meino staggers as he leaves the site. He is loosing blood. His men catch him before he falls and half-carry him back toward the barracks.

***

We stand over the cut-down boys. Solvi laid the bodies out on the corpse cellars' stone floor. When I think about what we did today something coils in my gut. These boys only dressed themselves as Valmor. They were not true assassins. Valmor demands an oath before training. Loyalty comes first. The mark comes before the knowledge it has been the way for a hundred years. At least that’s what we heard, the truth is a mystery.

As I examine the last boy I killed, recognition settles in like a stone. Tharos of House Morcant. Lord Morcant’s firstborn son. There is no mistaking him.

“Commander Terren,” Solvi says.

“Speak.”

“This one is Tharos. I knew him from the military academy.”

I nod. Everyone knew him. A woman-chasing loud fool with too much confidence never knowing restraint. Still, his father had plans for him. It is a sorrowful fate for a noble house when its only heir falls before his time.

“I know.”

“Sir… will this lead to war? Will House Morcant demand autonomy? Or worse, rebel against our king?”

If Solvi knew that I have already fought this war in my head in the last half an hour.

“Only the gods can know for sure.”

“Meino, this will not pass quietly,” Tófi says. “They attacked you. You understand what that means.”

I do. It is clearer than daylight.

“It means the houses are waiting,” I say, scrubbing blood from my hands. “They are waiting for the ruler of the Nightward Kingdom to die. The princess is no recognized heir; her claim would be brushed aside. After the king, the claim falls to me. My father’s house would unite the lands. Firstborn or not, I was pushed from succession, but the north would still need a governor. Of course I am a target. The north would never stand a southern house ruling it.”

I nudge Tharos’s dead hand aside with my boot.

”Fear does not need to be rational to be useful. House Morcant controls the most fertile lands in the Nightward Kingdom Cormac Morcant knows his power. House Valemont holds salt fields and stone. You know this, Solvi. Not to offend your house but the main source of crops is Morcant, Caelron land barely feeds the citadel.”

I turn toward the cell door.

“If somebody is preparing strikes, then the Caelrons are target. And so am I.”

I leave my men behind. I trust few, but I trust Tófi. His house was erased by the Land of Night during the last axial shift. Only the name remains. I do trust Aethan too, he has no reason to try to eliminate me.

Soon the envoys will arrive to identify the bodies. I will have to report this to Romuald. It is time to walk into the headless boar’s den. I travel east today, see how Morcant reacts.

Whether it is wise does not matter. We must know if war is approaching, or if it has already begun.

What do I expect? I almost laugh.

They have one daughter. Lady Brigit. They will not wish to marry her to bind House Morcant to another, or they will rise and name their own ruler.

They will not submit.

***

I arrive at the gates of the Headless Boar with a hundred men from the Crown Host. I left the Royal Guard and the citadel to Aethan and Tófi, one has the brains the other follows. I am not arriving here among friends, so I tell myself I would do well to remember that.

Lord Ansegar, the Chamberlain, accompanies me. Every contract that holds the Nightward Realm together passes through his hands. As a matter of fact, he is the one most entangled with the Sunward lands as well. That alone would be reason enough for concern if Lord Morcant were to see him with us. But King Romuald would not listen to me. Helmi opposed sending Ansegar as well. Her objection was answered with a short “keep your mouth shut, abomination.” I cannot believe Romuald still clings to that story of his daughter's origins, about the creature he lay with in the North, about Helmi's blood being tainted. Delusion. The talk of a man not right in the head.

“Well now, Lord Terren. Just look at this abundance. The orchards are heavy with fruit. Old Cormac Morcant’s wine is drunk even in the south. I negotiated an excellent price for it with your good father. Royal tithe wine straight from the Morcant cellars.”

Ansegar never addresses me as commander. He always makes sure I feel like a demoted royal bastard. My father, however, shall be treated with the respect kings owed.

“Ansegar, I suggest you refer to the ruler of the Sunward lands as king.” I press my heel into my horse’s flank and ride ahead. Patience has never been one of my virtues and Ansegar is an upstart turncloak dancing on my nerves. No surprise there, coming from a merchant family. I never trusted him. Romuald never cared about his power increasing. He fills the royal coffers. Nothing else matters.

The Headless Boar’s “barn,” as Morcant’s keep is called, is an ancient structure that looks more like an indestructible fortress than a residence. Endless fields, vineyards, and orchards surround it. The peasants on these lands breed quickly. They have many children, and those no longer needed in the fields all march under Morcant’s banner. Even now, many of them are stationed around the keep. This land raises frightening numbers. Romuald should have worried far more about diplomacy. But I think that ship has already sailed, and I may have torn its sails myself.

Cormac did not have many children. Neither did the king. Though the king swore against himself when he decided never to marry, Cormac went through a dozen wives and still produced only two heirs. Tharos, now stiffening in the citadel’s cellar, and Brigit, the young Lady of the keep whose beauty is known far and wide.

***

Evening greets me inside Morcant’s keep. My men are stationed outside. I sit instead in the great hall at a long, richly laden table where what remains of House Morcant, their most loyal landed lords, and Ansegar have taken their places. I know exactly where I belong, surely not here among posturing men.

Despite preparing to bury his firstborn son, Lord Cormac Morcant is in an unsettling mood. Not cheerful, but far too energetic. I hope he is not planning something.

“Ansegar, how does this year’s wine please you?” Lord Morcant asks.

“Oh, my lord, magnificent. I have only tasted its equal perhaps in the Sunward lands.”

“I doubt their grapes have ever been touched by frost, Ansegar. They are incapable of producing such a thing. The southerners think that because they were born into a pleasant warm hemisphere they may idle away their days, that grapes require no care and simply turn to wine on the vine. Lazy peasants.”

The whole table laughs. I find myself wondering when Cormac will ask whether my father abandoned me out of laziness as well, or because he drank himself into the dirt on our frostless southern wine.

“My son.” His eyes are already on me. “Come now, my son, do not take offense. You have served the Nightward Realm for so long that perhaps you no longer remember your southern roots. Romuald taught you diligence. He did well.”

My blood boils, but I cannot cut his throat. It takes everything I have to restrain myself. I almost wish the Valmor would take his daughter and drag her away into the dark. Then I remember that it was his son I beheaded this morning.

I remain silent. I do not laugh. I do not turn my anger on old Cormac. But neither will I sit through this event with a smile.

“Tell me, my son. Who finally took Tharos’s head?” He turns to me again. “I understand my half-witted boy fancied himself an assassin and attacked you. But who struck the blow?”

The air in the hall freezes. I do not mind. Let us see how diligent the southern people truly are.

“I did, my lord,” I say without blinking, drinking his wine while stuffing my belly with his headless pigs.

I see the words lodge in his throat. His daughter looks over sharply as well, though until now she had not been able to take her eyes off me. Little whore.

“My son,” the old Cormac finally says. “I am an old man now. Still, if you looked about outside, you saw that I can muster hundreds of young men much like yourself.”

Ah. Here comes the threat. Perhaps I should remind him that it is the throne he threatens, not me.

“Perhaps there is a way to make amends for this terrible misunderstanding,” the lord says.

It truly confuses me. I have no notion how one compensates the loss of a child. Perhaps he will demand my surrender from Romuald.

“What do you have in mind, my lord?” I do not apologize. His son was a posturing ape; he should have known his place.

“Eat, Lord Terren. You will understand later.” He calls me Lord Terren. He is thinking of my father. My stomach tightens.

“I insist on hosting you tonight, Lord Terren. My house, my humble keep, shall be your lodging. I find it unacceptable that the Commander of the Crown Host sleeps outside in a tent.”

I raise an eyebrow. I sense trouble. Ansegar smiles into his wine. I think of Helmi. I want to see her again.

Still I nod. What else can I do? I will not be accused of cowardice as well.

***

It is late. The ‘pigsty’ is finally settling down. I can hardly wait for them to crawl back into their filthy quarters. The ‘frost-bitten’ northern wine has gone to my head already. Maybe they poisoned me. I see double.

I collapse into the room prepared for me. Boots still on. Filthy. Damn these peasants and their disrespect. I am a king’s son. My father has ruled the Sunward Kingdom for fifty years. Not a single uprising under his reign. The people of the south are content. Of course one could say it is easy to be content where one does not wait for the dark in fear, where a man’s cock does not freeze solid when winter comes.

So who is right? The old fool Cormac? Or me? I hate my father to be fair. I never understood how he could give me up. I respect him, but my heart resists him.

The room spins as sleep takes me. I think of Helmi. This is one of those nights when even thinking of her voice makes blood travel south. Not that I am one to bed women endlessly. If I were not here, I would take care of it myself.

I close my eyes, I see little Helmi as she was when I first met her. I see Helmi again as I carried her up into the great hall of the citadel in her torn clothes. My blood still boils when I think of what they did to her. 

I am a disgusting man. My blood boils even at the memory of my hand touching her back. Of how her body pressed against mine. Her breasts.

I must have fallen asleep.

To my greatest surprise, someone knocks softly at my door.

Who in God’s name could it be at this hour? Perhaps the true Valmor has come for me. That small, quick wraith I have been chasing through the pinewoods for months. God help me, if I ever catch it.

I drag myself upright. Let come what must. Where in hell is my sword?

***

I open the door slowly, cautiously, as if caution still mattered. My head is pounding, I barely know which land I am standing in. I am still drunk. A small, almost ghostlike figure slips through the narrow opening, trying to squeeze into my room. My breath catches. What in hell has gotten into this girl?

I drop my sword into the corner. I do not wish to frighten her. This will not end well, no matter what she thinks she is doing.

“Lady Brigit,” I say, utterly stunned.

“Commander, great Lord Terren,” she replies. She cannot even address me properly. Young and stupid, and about to bury me alive.

“Lady Brigit, all due respect, but leave this room immediately! I will not wear the mark of a dishonourer as well!” I barely finish my perfectly reasonable sentence when the girl is suddenly naked. She lets her scrap of nightwear fall to the floor.

I stand there like an ox, stunned. Her hard nipples stare at me as she touches herself in front of me. How old can she even be? Gods in heaven, I will never be able to explain this.

“Commander Meino, my father encouraged me. And of course I wanted it myself.”

Gods above, I can already see where this is going. Old Morcant wants to bind himself to the next king. He believes my time is coming. Southern filth or not, he wants his daughter mounted by the stronger beast. But at least I know he was not behind the attack.

“Brigit, stop this at once. The commander of the royal guard does not marry. You know that.”

She crawls on all fours across the bed, spreads her legs as she kneels. Weakness washes over me. I think of Helmi. Of how she can never be mine. And this, here, means nothing at all.

“Come now, Commander. Even my father knows your command lasts only as long as Romuald lives. The old bastard is already half-dead, and Valmor is at work as well. The terror, his daughter, is of no use to anyone. And even if she were, no one would accept her. She is a bastard. Not just that, but a mixed thing.”

My mind snaps. I would gladly kick the little naked slug spreading herself on my bed.

“Her being a ‘mixed thing’ is a foolish rumor meant for half-wits like you. It shows you have never seen Princess Helmi. As for her bastardy, I cannot speak to that. She is still the king’s only acknowledged heir and you should show respect. I have nothing to do with the throne.”

I grab her right arm, drag her off my bed, shove her into the corridor, and throw her rags after her. I am done with this farce. I gather my things and climb out the window. If by morning they wish to announce that I slept with the girl, they will find only an empty room.

I go down to the Crown Host, let everyone see me tonight. Let them know this is a lie.

Unless someone truly believes I would finish with a woman in five minutes.

I hope they think more of me than that.

***

Fortunately, morning came quickly.

I ordered my men to pack up. I want to disappear from here as soon as possible. I have insulted House Morcant. I rejected their carefully raised whore of a daughter. I do not expect much goodwill after that.

Unfortunately, House Caelron will likely become their enemy today. I am not even sure whether my soldiers’ word will carry as much weight as that of a girl who will claim I dishonored her. Who knows, perhaps the story will reach the court before the day is over. What would Helmi think?

As I mount my horse in the courtyard Ansegar approaches from among the ancient walls. A broad grin spreads across his face.

“Lord Terren, you are up early. The servants found your chambers already empty.”

“No surprise. I spent the night outside with my men, where I belong.”

“Come, Commander. Let us speak privately for a moment.”

Gods above. I think this scheming bastard has already sold me for a chest of silver.

I step aside with him and we walk to the edge of the orchards. A prickle runs up my spine. When I glance back toward the yard, I see Lady Brigit and her father watching us.

“Commander,” he says, then continues more sweetly, “Meino.” He looks me straight in the eye.

“This is not a bad bargain. A neat, well-kept young mare. The old man’s son is gone; only the daughter needs to be bred. When Romuald is nothing but a pile of bones, who do you think the South will support? That is an entire continent. They will stand behind your father, or your brother when the time comes. The whole known world could be concentrated in House Terren’s hands.”

I am stunned. This pig has been planning to replace the Caelron dynasty. He places bets against the players, and I am nothing but a piece on his board.

“Give me one good reason why I should not have you hanged today for treason.”

“Perhaps because I would then testify that I saw the girl leave your chamber in tears, and that I also saw you climbing out the window around midnight.” He scoffs.” You see, Meino, in the end this is only my word against yours. Whom would all our allies believe? A soldier-dog, or me?”

My hand curls into a fist. A true schemer, Ansegar. I have no idea how to defend myself. I need to act quickly. I say only this.

“Very well. You will not hang today. And when the time comes, if the time comes, I will choose for myself whom I wed. But not her.”

I glance behind us, then turn back to him.

“If King Romuald, whom I will serve faithfully until his final day, should fall, and my family stand behind me so that House Terren may rule the known world, and you still wish to serve the Crown, then today you will stand with me. Not with old Morcant and his trollop daughter.” I give him the performance he expects. He meets my gaze, smiling.

I turn back toward my horse. I throw only this over my shoulder:

“Diplomacy, Ansegar. Present it to the Morcants so that they thank me for not fucking the girl.”

Ansegar's grin never fades. He knows his place. He never steps beyond it. He leans toward whatever hand holds the reins. He shakes his head, thinking he has me figured.

. 

Chapter 4. Grimshore

Solvi Valemont snaps to attention as I pass him at the barracks level. He stands at full salute the moment I come into view. The young guardsman recognizes me. I know him to be one of Meino’s most loyal men, though he was inducted into the guard only recently. His father’s lands were once my prison. The tower stands on Valemont soil. The Tower of Knowledge. The house of relics. Of accumulated records and massive books.

I turn on my heel and walk back toward Solvi. The round-faced boy immediately struggles for breath. Women likely do not speak to him often. Nor monsters. Princesses even less so.

“Good day, Solvi,” I greet him lightly.

“Good day. Miss…” He freezes. “Oh gods. I mean, good day, Your Highness. Or rather, Highness. Just Highness.”

I laugh despite myself. He is a foolish boy.

“Are you afraid of me?” I ask, my tone easy.

“Of course not, Your Highness. Or should I be?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“No. Not at all. I come with good intentions.” I study the lively, boyish face of the guardsman. I hear his family is made up of good people; his father is a well-liked lord in the west. His vassals hold his brother in high regard as well. Although I think that to be a good man is not enough to gain power or respect in this world. Still, I would not allow harm to come to them. That is why we will soon travel to Valemont lands, to ascertain the suitability of the elder son. But for that, we will need an invitation.

“Solvi, when your duties end today, would you like to join me at the tavern?”

He loses his breath again.

“My lady, I would gladly. But is it wise for you to go to a tavern alone? Or rather, with me?”

“You are an intelligent boy, Solvi. Your Lord father Valemont raised you well. You know, I spent nearly my entire childhood in the tower.”

“Oh, the tower. I loved that place.” His face brightens. “My father took us there often when I was little. Of course, it was not open to the public, but my father could get us inside. Me and Yorven. Marcellina never cared much for such things.”

He scratches his head, hesitating again.

“I should not have said that. It would shame my father if it came out, my lady. I wish it would not.”

A curious way of asking for my silence.

“It will not. You have my word. I will not be alone. Lord Neric will be with me as well. Come this evening at seven to the tavern called the Bustling Bosom near the temple. You know it?”

“Who does not know the Bustling Bosom?” He laughs. “My lady, I do not know what the Commander would say if he learned of this.”

Of course. The Commander. His unyielding principles.

“Bring him as well. I would like to see what he is like after two beers.”

I find myself in an unusually light mood. Neric would scold me. My father as well. Yet sometimes I wonder what it would be like to speak with Meino freely again, as we once did, before the academy took him away. It has been a long time. I miss it more than I care to admit.

***

“High Commander, sir!” Solvi comes running toward Meino.

“What in God’s mercy has possessed you?” Meino asks.

“Precisely that, my lord,” Solvi says, red-faced and gasping for breath.

“What is it, did you finally find a woman willing to let you between her legs?” Tófi laughs.

“No. No, nothing like that. Better than that.”

“My patience is wearing thin,” Meino says flatly.

“Her Highness. The Princess.” Solvi keeps grinning. “She asked me if I would like to meet her at the Bustling Bosom at seven.”

Meino frowns. “Tófi,” he says to the bannerman. “Check him for fever. I think he’s raving.”

“No, sir. She said I should invite you as well, in case you disapproved.” He hesitates, then adds, “She said she grew up in the House of Relics and that she loved my father’s lands.”

Meino’s head snaps up.

“So,” Solvi asks, “are we going, sir? To  the tavern?”

Meino swallows. He shakes his head once, black hair falling into his eyes, damp with sweat from the afternoon drills with the royal guard. “We’ll see.” He says flatly, but trying to hide a hint of excitement.

That is all Solvi manages to extract from him. But even that is more than nothing.

***

As I walk down into the city, the Citadel already feels more bearable behind me. I move fast over the cobblestones, my hood drawn low. I am heading for Neric, to the Scholars’ Guild. There is much we must speak of.

After a few turns, I catch sight of the familiar guild sign, rocking softly in the wind. I circle the building and try to slip in from the rear.

By misfortune, several men are loitering in the alley. Common-looking, the sort that lives by scraps and chance. They have no idea who I am, but my clothing betrays high birth at a glance. A lone woman in a narrow alley near the Citadel is an invitation. A noble one is a prize.

The three of them drift closer, grinning.

“Good day, beauty,” one says, baring three yellowed teeth.

I turn, thinking this is not the place to lose my head.

As I turn, I see another one closing in behind me.

What are my choices? Scream? Pointless. The city roars around us. By the time help arrived, I would already have torn them apart.

Neric’s words surface in my mind. He says the urge can be mastered. That is why he has been drilling me for years. We spar, and when I feel the change pressing in, I steady myself with mantras. But this is no exercise and mantras aren’t magic.

I draw a slow breath and force my thoughts into order. I look them over. Their clothes are threadbare and filthy. Hunger hangs off them like a stench. None of them is a true threat. Even as I am now, I can deal with them.

“So,” the three-toothed one says, “did you sneak out of the keep to meet a lover? Who might your father be, little curly? Must pay well.”

They have no idea who I am, thanks to my fathers efforts to keep me from the public eye for what a shame I am, well this gives me certain advantages. His grimy finger reaches for my hair.

My back prickles. I cannot hold it down.

At that moment, the rear door of the guild bangs open. The men nearly soil themselves and scatter.

Neric pulls me inside before anyone can see. He takes my face between his hands, presses his brow to mine, and breathes with me. I match his rhythm, lay my palms over his cold fingers, and meet his ice-blue eyes. He smiles.

“We were strong today, weren’t we?”

I wrap my arms around his neck.

I wish he were my father. He is the only one I truly trust, who never meets me with judgement.

***

I am already bent over our calculations with a large cup of southern coffee when Neric brings up House Valemont. The timing could not be better.

“So, my lady,” he says, “word is spreading that the House of Relics has acquired something new.”

“Something we have never seen before?” I ask at once.

Neric paces the room. “Not exactly. It is something we have long suspected, but never had proof of. Not like this.”

“Then say it. Now.” I cannot hide my excitement. Neric knows this about me. That I am consumed by the need to know. The ancestors, the past, the origin of things. This is my only true joy, aside from playing hide-and-seek with the Lord Commander on cloudy nights while in disguise.

“A kind of map,” he says, shaking his head. “But we must be careful. It depicts something the priests would call heresy. No one must know of it. No one may see it.”

The thought of House Valemont roaming freely among the relics, handling them like trinkets for children, sets my shoulders on edge. That cannot be allowed, whatever this becomes.

“What does it show? Stop tormenting me!”

Neric turns to me, grave. “The world. Seen from the heavens. The globe itself.”

I am struck dumb. I have never heard of such a thing. It is something we infer, calculate, measure. But this is proof that someone, or something, long before us, understood how the world truly works.

Time slips away as Neric and I lose ourselves in theory after theory. I pull out every secret calculation I have ever made and rethink them all. How could such certainty be possible? Only one answer presents itself. Someone must have seen it with their own eyes, far above the clouds.

I glance at the clock.

“Neric, we have lost the entire afternoon. We are expected at the tavern at seven. I invited guests.”

He looks up from his books. “Guests?”

“Yes. Exactly who we need. For other reasons. Solvi Valemont and the guards.”

His expression sharpens. “And what do you think of the boy?”

“Harmless,” I say. “His brother, however, is someone we must observe more closely. As heir to House Valemont.”

Neric nods. This is not a conversation for this place. Gaiane, Neric's wife, could return at any moment. This room is dedicated to knowledge, there is no place here for plotting.

At that moment, Neric’s daughter Aenor enters through the main door. A gentle creature. Perhaps I could even call her a friend.

***

The Bustling Bosom is crowded again tonight. Alive, loud, breathing. I love places where no one recognizes me and I can exist as myself. Music spills through the hall, lute, flute, and hurdy-gurdy blending into something almost hypnotic. It pulls at me, like the dance is trying to claim my legs. No one ever taught me how to dance properly. Meino and I only ever danced in jest, back when we were young.

The enormous tavern glows in the wavering firelight. This is exactly the kind of place a throne heir is supposed to fear. But what would I fear here? The greatest danger is still me. The thought is unsettling, and oddly calming at the same time. Being different is terrible, yet I have never wished to be anyone other than who I am.

People forget how small and limited life is without wings.

I do not mean that entirely seriously. Some of them move freely anyway, lifting others with them, even without wings. I smile into my mug, I can feel the warmth in my cheeks. I try to hide it, knowing that in my stupid, girlish distraction my thoughts have drifted back to the commander again. I should calm myself.

“It’s past seven,” Neric says with a shrug. “What are you smiling at, little highness?” he teases. The ale has clearly reached him too.

“I hope they show.”

“Is that ridiculous Valemont boy suddenly so important? We should really be focusing on the older one.” He is right, but I will not push my way in like some royal spectacle, openly poking around their household. Especially since my father knows nothing about what we are actually doing.

“Neric, we need an invitation. Remember, we are not going as a royal delegation. We go as scholars. Nothing more.”

“Sure. But we will visit the House of Relics either way. Do you really think they would not want to host a princess?”

“With my reputation, I can imagine anything. I would rather it be the younger Valemont who invites us.” Neric shakes his head. He cares about me. He hates that I do not feel worthy of the title. What choice did I ever have? I have spent my entire life being told I am a disgrace.

The music dips for a heartbeat.

I look up.

The guard has arrived.

My heart starts racing.

***

As the men enter, the crowd startles, thinking it is a raid. Tófi quiets them. “We are off duty. Let the merriment continue.”

I laugh to myself. What a clown he is.

As they move further in, clad in black armor, my eyes search without thought for the tall, silent figure I would recognize anywhere. Six foot three, black-haired, sharp-jawed, with piercing eyes and an unshakable bearing. Even from a distance I would know the breadth of his shoulders, his posture. The academy forges few men of such clean, commanding presence. Or perhaps in the south they are all made this way. Hasso is similar.

While my thoughts linger on the Terren men, I catch sight of Solvi’s round face as he hurries toward us. I smile, reminding myself that tonight he is the one I am here for.

“My lady!” he says, breathless with excitement.

“Come, Solvi. Sit with us.”
He drops onto the bench opposite. Neric lifts one eyebrow, his look openly impish. I know exactly what he is thinking. Truly, the boy is an amusing sight. Not made for soldiering.

“I am glad you managed to slip away. I take it the commander showed you some kindness.”

“Oh, not at all. I think he is simply exhausted. Yesterday was a dreadful day for him. He was even wounded, though that did not stop him from riding straight to the pigsty.” He stiffens. “I mean the noble keep of House Morcant.”

Neric and I exchange a glance and laugh. Solvi relaxes at once.

Only then does what he said reach me. “You say he was wounded. The commander?”

“Oh yes, but nothing serious.” He shrugs. “I think he believes in the healing power of ale, which is why he will likely join us.”

I nod. The answer satisfies me. And the situation unfolds exactly as I hoped.

“Solvi, imagine this. Lord Neric and I are planning to visit the House of Relics soon.”

“We have important business with the council of the scholars’ academy,” Neric adds.

“Oh. How thrilling it must be to belong to the guild.”

Neric and I exchange another glance. Unfortunately, the boy is not well versed in courtly manners. That alone should have been enough for him to understand that we intend to invite ourselves.

“My boy, tell me, how fares your good father? In our youth we were close friends. My own father, old Lord Draeth, may he rest in peace, was a dear companion of your grandfather. Our neighboring houses often hunted together in the northern lands. I held your father in high regard.”

Neric’s mind is sharp as a blade. I would not have known how else to guide poor Solvi there.

“Oh, my lord, truly?” He scratches his head. “I shall send word to my father at once that Her Highness and yourself wish to visit. He will surely be pleased.”

Neric nods in approval. We exchange a knowing glance. At last, we have reached our mark.

At that moment, a tall, dark presence appears at the edge of my vision. The one we have been waiting for.

***

As the commander takes the seat opposite me, I remind myself that although we are not at court, he still represents it, and people recognize him for it. I loosen my hair a little more, not wishing to draw attention or invite too close a look.

Menio orders a dark ale. He is clearly uncomfortable. As he sits, he favors his side slightly. His face is bruised. He will not say what happened, but it gnaws at me that I do not know.

“So, Commander, we hear you have had a difficult day,” Neric says, going straight to the point.

“That would be one way to put it,” Menio replies, clearly intending to give Neric no more than that.

“He ran into false Valmor men,” Solvi blurts out. “Cut them down, his blade flying everywhere…”
Menio likely kicks him under the table, because Solvi falls silent at once.

False Valmor. This is new. I have never heard of such a thing. Neric frowns, and I feel the same unease tightening in my chest. How did they even manage to dress as Valmor? It irritates me that tonight we will have no answers. I would like to see the bodies myself. Perhaps they are still being kept cool in the cellar.

“Forgive Solvi’s ignorance,” Menio says. “He is still very green.”

“Oh, but I find such dreadful and fascinating news most interesting,” I say, though at this point it is likely the ale speaking through me. I feel a flicker of shame for it. Just then Aethan joins us.

 “Your Highness. Grandmaster,” he greets us. “Commander, are you well? Would it not be wiser for you to rest?”

How attentive Aethan is. If I recall correctly, he is southern as well, how steadfastly he watches over Meino. I am grateful for it.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous, Aethan! As long as the princess remains here, it is my duty to stay.”

Meino sits across from me, back straight, trying to avoid my gaze, yet our eyes keep meeting. He knows Neric is watching his every move.

From time to time, drunk revelers stumble toward us, and whenever they do, Meino’s face tightens, his eyes turning sharp as he watches over me.

One of them bumps into me by accident while pushing through the crowd. Despite the pain, Meino rises at once and shoves the man back into the crowd with one hand. Then he leans down toward me and says quietly, “Forgive me, my lady.”I look into his eyes, steady and dark, and a chill runs through me.

Menio has already finished half his drink when I notice a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. His eyes shine more brightly. His foot taps to the rhythm. He has always loved music.

“Commander,” I say boldly, too freely. “Would you dance with me, here in the middle of the tavern?”

Many are already dancing. Tófi is leaping about as well. No one would think twice of us. Neric looks at me sharply. He does not approve of this familiarity.

“My lady,” Menio begins.

“Oh, no. Enough. I do not wish to hear it.”
I rise, seize his gloved hand, and pull him with me. I glance back to see how he bears it. He only flushes. That will do. That is enough for me.

The tempo slows as we step onto the dance floor. Menio goes pale. This closeness is something neither of us is used to anymore.

I do not care. I loop my arms around his neck. He is so tall, standing before me like stone. He does not move, and for a moment I fear I have broken his will.

Then, slowly, his hand settles at my hip. He draws me closer. Very close I feel his breath. And begins to guide me to the melody.

“What happened to you yesterday?” I ask, giving no thought to the secrets of the guard. I am the princess. I have the right to know.

He wets his lips. His thumb traces the line of my waist. I don’t think he notices.

“Who asks?” he says quietly. “Helmi? Or Her Highness?”

“Her Highness,” I answer firmly.

I follow his steps, though I almost float, because his hold is so sure that my own muscles scarcely matter. There’s a tension in his hands that betrays him.

“In that case, I must tell you, my lady.”

I nod trying to remain serious.

“They tried to kill me. Boys in disguise. Nothing more than that.” He shrugs, as if his life were of little consequence.

Anger flares hot inside me.

“Who? Who would target you?”

“At first I thought the Valmor,” he says. “As they have targeted the heirs of other noble houses.”

I shake my head. “I believe they only strike those who would make poor kings or lords.”

He laughs. Turns that beautiful boyish smile on me. He does not take me seriously. I do not mind.

“Your Highness is most merciful toward assassins,” he says, shaking his head. He adds boldly, almost impudently, “given the anger perhaps my lady does fancy me after all.” His black hair falls into his eyes. I brush it aside so it will not trouble him.

He looks straight into my eyes. I just smile and I feel heat climbing into my face.

“Helmi—,” he says more serious now.  “Believe me, I see whom they aim for. But we must never forget that you could be next. That is something I could never forgive myself.” 

I want to reassure him. I cannot. What could I say?

“Nor could I,” I reply softly, “if harm came to you.”

His gaze softens. His hold tightens again, just for a moment.

“If I stand under the princess’s protection,” he says lightly, with a crooked smile, “then no harm will come to me.”

I am happy now.

***

As we arrive at the ancient tall structure, the Tower, on Valemont land, anticipation grips me. I must see that map. I need to know how the ancestors proved the movement of the darkness.

Neric is already in discussion with the council. They yield to him. They agree that the scroll must not fall into the hands of the priests. I think the same myself. When my father dies, the order must be dissolved once and for all. It is monstrous that the followers of the god Solaris decide where science ends and heresy begins. Fools. The priests reject anything that might draw us closer to technological advancement. It is incomprehensible. At times I wonder whether this is mere chance, or the result of some masterful design that was handed down to them.

Neric approaches me at a brisk pace, the scroll in his hand. My heart pounds. On the highest level of the Tower, in my old chambers, he spreads it across the table. My breath catches. It is magnificent. It even contains an explanation. The language is ancient. I will devote all my strength to deciphering it as soon as possible. We will break this code. The entire guild will work on it, in secret. I let out a long breath. Our secrets are multiplying.

Neric raises his right hand. He extends his index finger and little finger, the others folded. I nod. We are already setting out toward our next task.

***

By the time evening falls, we are seated in the hall of Grimshore, the Valemonts keep. It is a beautiful structure, worthy of their ancestors. It resembles the Citadel, though smaller. A neat settlement has grown around it. Far warmer than the ancient keep of House Draeth the Northreach Hall or the pigsty in the east. Of course, I keep my opinion from Neric. I would not insult his father’s long-suffering old house.

Outside, the winds howl. The ocean shows no mercy to this land. Countless floods have struck these fields over the years. This too can be laid at the feet of our globe’s unfortunate condition. No matter how often I say this, my father always blames the god Oceanus. Or else old Valemont’s unrestrained sexual appetite. He imagines the nearest god strikes down those who indulge in excess. The thought nearly makes me laugh.

Elisandra Valemont approaches us. Olvir’s youngest daughter cannot be more than fifteen. She skips toward me cheerfully, grabs my wrist, and dances us along toward the laden tables.

“Come, dear princess. I shall see you seated properly.” A bright-tempered young lady who still carries herself like a girl. At her age I was already dreaming of Meino, ever since that foolish dare when I kissed him. What was once childish mischief turned into fire. 

The Grimshore pleases Neric. He has long wished to see Olvir.

“Your Highness!” They cry out together. The entire household of Valemont bows before me, their servants and even their landed lords. My heart eases. I must not be naïve, yet I believe we are in good hands here.

Yorven Valemont, the eldest son, pulls out my chair at the table. I incline my head as etiquette demands and take my place.

Only after me does the table sit, in strict order. Neric glances up at me proudly from beside Olvir. Elisandra studies my hair, never having seen such tangled curls. Marcellina praises my gown. Olvir’s newest wife rocks an infant in her arms. The newest Valemont, a tiny boy. I drift for a moment, thinking that one day I will examine him as well.

Yorven turns toward me, his green eyes bright beneath his golden hair. His face is pale, almost girlish, handsome by any measure, yet nothing like Meino.

 “Your Highness, how was your journey? I hear you visited the academy as well.”

“It went well, thank you. Yes, we had important business with the council. Our research is proving fruitful.” That is all I may say. Etiquette demands no more.

“I hear Master Neric did not find it proper that we requested access to the ancient instruments.”

“Yorven,” I say seriously. “We would never wish to offend your house’s customs. But our research, and its necessary secrecy, is of greater importance than allowing children to amuse themselves with the sight of such things.”

Yorven’s face remains gentle. I am glad of it.
“Of course I understand. We are to keep the priests at a distance, if I judge correctly?” He offers me a sideways smile. He knows precisely what I fear.

I think I have found an ally in him.