All this is happening too quickly.
“Your Majesty.”
The voice, a meek one, hit her ears like the piercing call of a siren, along with a gentle knock at the door.
“Can’t I have a moment’s peace?” Taresa asked herself.
“Pardon?” the female attendant asked from the other side.
“Nothing. I’ll be right out.”
Taresa rose from the latrine. Straightening the folds of her dress, she glanced at herself in the mirror, ensuring she looked proper. She flattened the creases over her abdomen, laying her hands to rest there.
Somewhat satisfied, she took a deep breath, her hands falling to her sides. She threw the door open.
“Your Majesty.” A handmaiden not quite sixteen curtsied before her, her head bowed. “I was told he waits.”
“How kind to allow a lady above his station a brief respite.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Taresa frowned. “Forgive my manners. My frustrations are not your doing.”
The girl glanced up at Taresa. “Is there anything I can do?”
Gag the bastard. Wait, don’t. He’d probably enjoy it. “No. Nothing. Come with me.”
The servant followed Taresa as she proceeded out of the royal chamber. The crisp sea air greeted them, as did the clanging from the yard below.
Taresa glanced over the railing to spy several more companies of soldiers at practice than she had seen earlier in the day, the torchlight throwing their shadows onto the ground and the surrounding stones. Though no battle awaited them, a great many bore the surcoats she loathed.
So it begins.
One after another, heads bowed before her. A flurry, really, in answer to her quickened gait. The servant girl in her wake broke into a trot more than a few times to keep up with the queen, nary offering a protest or any other type of peep. By the time they reached the doors of the grand hall, the girl’s breathing had hastened.
“Are you well?” Taresa asked.
The girl held her breath to answer. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I am from the inland, where the air is much drier. This seaside air bothers me, it seems.”
“No apology is necessary, my dear. So inland, you say?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Zamerra.”
“And my mother informed me you are to replace my previous handmaiden?”
“Yes, if Your Majesty will allow me.”
I’m about to leave for a new land, so I must allow it. The time for her to vet a candidate herself had passed. Her last handmaiden – removed from her presence before she could inquire – was rumored to have become pregnant with the child of a rising squire. The irony of losing her attendant to such a situation when she would soon need her most was not lost on Taresa. Still, it hardly proved a reason to be so curt with her new handmaiden.
Taresa paused. “What’s your name?”
“Celia.”
“Lovely. Celia, please forgive my tone. Like you, I have struggled to adapt to my new surroundings.” Taresa glanced around. The two of them stood at the curve of a hall, one absent of any windows, with light ahead to guide their way. The cold walls rose high about them, like sentinels of stone, serving to remind them that they did not belong.
“Your Majesty, I could never forgive you.”
“Pardon?”
“I mean, not that, only . . . You could never do anything wrong. To me. Or anyone. Thus, you never require a pardon all your own.”
Celia curtsied as she shied away, expecting an admonishment.
Taresa smirked. “You and I will get along splendidly, Celia.” She continued onward, waving Celia along. “Come.”
Their path ended before a set of doors carved from gray ashwood, which nearly blended in with the walls. Ibian guards, bearing the crest of an Ibian cedar flanked by red eagles, stood at attention. Taresa minded the sigil with caution, knowing the men within her sight – and those inside – answered to another.
“Take a seat on one of these benches while I attend to the guests,” Taresa said to Celia.
“My Queen, shall I come with you.”
“You needn’t bother. But thank you.”
Celia obligingly sat on the nearest bench, carved into the stone wall abutting the hall. Taresa smoothed the lines of her dress once more before turning to face the doors. Nodding to the guards on either side of her, they opened the massive cedar beasts, revealing the artifice within.
In the few hours since she had visited the hall, the chamber had transformed into a receptacle of royal vanity. Nobles of every rank – from high knights to viscounts to lower dukes – reclined on any seat available. Some had even brought their own chairs and couches, Taresa noted as she passed, the gaudiness of their bright, unmatched colors and elaborate decoration an assault to her eyes. Their “guards” looked no better, with their halberds loosely clasped and their armor unpolished. Groups of guards engaged in card games while their masters lounged about, the latter either too drunk or too cowardly to address their imprudence.
At the head of this monstrosity sat her prized guest: the Grand Duke of Almata.
She strode through the remainder of his entourage to the fringes of his circle of Realeza, who thankfully still bore manners enough to tilt their heads at her approach. Taresa paused to curtsy before His Grace.
Xain, lounging across two voluptuous young women seated on a wide couch, set aside his chalice before rising. “Cousin,” he started, his speech only slightly slurred. “You need not bow before a commoner such as myself. It is I who is honored by your presence.” He dipped his head before her, so low he lost his balance. He touched the floor with his fingers before righting himself back up, laughing as he straightened. His entourage also chuckled with him, discarding any pretense of etiquette in the presence of the royalty. Only Taresa retained her dignity, unamused by her cousin’s antics.
“You look . . . stiff.” Xain meandered to the side table at his right, where flagons aplenty awaited.
“You made quick work,” Taresa eyed the depravity around her, “of our aunt’s manor. Even for you, I’m amazed.”
“Why thank you,” Xain replied, failing to catch on to her undertone. He grabbed a stein more fit for ale from the edge of the table and filled it to the top with a fine vintage of amber red wine.
“She won’t be too pleased.”
“Oh, Aunt Eldonza doesn’t care. She loves it when I visit. I’m her favorite.” Xain glanced over his shoulder. “Well, her favorite nephew, anyway.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Well, can’t I –”
“Xain!”
The last utterance exploded and echoed to cut through every parallel conversation. The hall quieted, with every tongue held still as all eyes turned to the Queen.
Xain, as though not surprised, peered over his shoulder to give Taresa a blank stare. He swung around to splash the stone tiles before her. With her feet planted, unmoving, she glared at her cousin as he tilted his stein back to gulp the contents within. All the while, the whole of the hall watched soundlessly.
After finishing, he wiped his lips on his sleeve. Then, setting his stein on the table, he clapped two short bursts. “Very well. You heard Her Majesty. Her directive was indirect, but nonetheless, expressed. Leave us at once.”
Moans and sighs spouted as the audience turned away. They obliged, if only because the promise of further theatrics had faded for the moment. The mob filed out into the foyer. The remnants of the guards – the last to exit – closed the doors behind them. All the while, Taresa remained firm in her stance as Xain carelessly rounded the chamber, picking through the remnants leftover on platters and dishes.
“Should you really eat considering what you consumed already?” Taresa glanced at the wine-stained tile before her feet.
“Concerned, cousin?” Xain popped a pitted olive into his mouth.
“For the cleanliness of our poor aunt’s manor, yes.”
“There was a time when you didn’t care so much for such droll states. Not long ago, a little girl with no concern for being ‘clean’ or ‘polite’ ran through this very hall in a soiled dress and muddy boots.”
“‘Twas ages ago, actually.” Or so it seemed. “I’ve matured since then. It appears I’m the only one.”
“Ouch,” Xain replied as he feigned a wound to his gut.
Taresa continued to stare at him, awaiting substance to their conversation.
“You tire of banter, I see.” Xain set himself upright, seeming to sober immediately. “As you wish. Now is as good a time as any to speak candidly. What is it you wish to know?”
“Your intentions,” she reiterated. “Your reason for being here.”
“Have you visited our poor aunt?”
“I have.”
“Then your encounter no doubt answered at least part of that question.” Xain’s eyes went to the southwest corner of the hall, where dusty, faded portraitures hung. The curtain before them remained closed, concealing their finer details in dimness and shadow. “Our poor aunt. I do say, I always felt sorry for the precious creature. Which is why I’m relieved she’ll soon be put out of her earthly misery and join our dearly-departed cousin, if you believe in such a thing as the afterlife.”
Blasphemy. Delightful. Though as Taresa considered the object of Xain’s attention, she could not help but partially agree with him. The likeness of their cousin Matteus rested in the center of smaller, inconsequential pictures, taking prominence amongst them. Even in the low light, she noted the soft lines and gentle tones of his youthful face, coupled with eyes so innocent she wondered how such a child could ever have existed in this cruel world.
“What say you?”
Taresa, her mind having wandered, turned to Xain. “Pardon?”
“Do you think I’m right? About Aunt Eldonza only having days – perhaps hours – until she passes and we finally inherit what is due to us?”
Taresa reddened. She marched up to Xain, so close she could smell the bile on his breath. “You are a wicked one, you know that, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Why have you come here, really? You are in no danger of losing any part of Aunt Eldonza’s estate by being away. When she passes, royal messengers will be dispatched to all of us who will inherit her endowment. A chancellor will read her will, which has already been reviewed by my father’s counsel.” She narrowed her eyes. “Her assets will be distributed evenly amongst us, her last remaining kin. That is the law. You being here will not change that.”
Xain stared back at her. To anyone else, his façade would have come across as one of stone. But she knew better. The creases of his face held the promise of a grin, an expression suppressed when one knew a secret all the world should have guessed.
“Your Majesty,” he began. “You are correct. No surprise, seeing as how you are never wrong. True, my portion of the inheritance will be equal in size, my allotment no different than yours or uncle’s. The chancellor will confirm so during his reading of the will.”
“However . . .”
“The proximity of my piece . . . is where the true treasure lies. About six months ago, while you and your minions were residing in Arinn, preparing for the royal farce that was your wedding, I was here with Aunt Eldonza. Her state of mind proved well enough where she was able to approve of an addendum to her will.”
“But the law –”
“Yes, yes. I know I can’t receive more. I can inherit a piece of my choosing, with our aunt’s blessing, of course.”
“Piece. What piece?”
“The bulk of Aunt Eldonza’s estate, the source of her wealth, is cedar. The largest forest in the north resides under her name. The woods are dense, though, with the only roads into them those adjacent to this very castle. Beyond them, only game trails and small footpaths lead into her vast tracts of land, and none of those are wide enough for woodsmen to cart out timber. Hence why so much of her acreage remains untouched.
“The exception is what nature intended, a product of Mar Himself.” Xain nodded toward a landscape painting adjacent to the collection of portraitures, one of a fishing village on the banks of a river. “The Taguas River. Small, not very wide. Hardly an expansive waterway. Yet a calm one, with no rapids nor falls, save for those in its eastern tributaries. Free of crags or torrents, it’s perfect for skiffs and vessels, including barges.
“On such a watercraft, I took a short trip on the Taguas with a few surveyors. Mapping the terrain around it, I figured the land around its banks to be a size appropriate to my part of the inheritance. Not more substantial than my share, mind you, just a bit more useful than the rest.
“While on my excursion, I also confirmed the existence of twelve villages and towns on the river. I managed to spend some time amongst their peoples, being an unofficial ambassador of Kin Garsea. I learned a bit about our beloved Uncle Quento, who had a soft spot for the river villages which populate the Taguas, seeing as he descended from a kin of fishermen. Aunt Eldonza held onto such a sentiment when he passed, allowing them to dwell as they have for centuries without being taxed or burdened by sharing the costs of running a dukedom.”
“And you plan to change that? To line your own pockets?”
“Tax the poor? That will hardly make me rich, now will it?” Finally, the curl on his lips, which he had withheld all this time, emerged. “Their labor, well, that is another story.
“When my times comes, they will have a choice: pay tribute to their new landlord or work off their debt to the dukedom. All will be persuaded toward the latter. Docks will be expanded, quays built. And most importantly, the virgin forests which laid untouched along their shores will finally be harvested, with the logs felled and the cut lumber from newly-minted sawmills available to float down the Taguas. As was always intended.”
Taresa, catching the folly of Xain’s grand plan, replied to his scheme with a grin all her own. “My dear cousin. While Ibian cedar is prized, it is also readily available, especially in the south where most of the dry docks and carpenters reside. They have stockpiles aplenty, even when you consider the increase in demand due to our new treaty with Marland.
“Even with the coerced labor you dare to mention, you would need a sizeable fortune to start such a venture. And you’d need a spike in demand to eventually pay for it. Why, if history is any indicator of the economy, there hasn’t been such a market for Ibian cedar since –”
The life drained from her. Her grin faded while his remained.
Dear Mar.
“Exactly,” Xain confirmed.
“Do you . . . conspire . . .” She scarcely uttered the last word, managing only to push it out as a whisper.
“No, no, cousin. Even I don’t have so much influence. Besides, long, drawn-out wars are hardly my thing. Sure, I enjoy a good contest as much as the next man, but the blood and gore . . . No, I have no hand in the war to come.
“I’m simply an opportunist, one who sees on the horizon what others fail to acknowledge . . . though we all know it’s coming.”
“You assume too much,” Taresa squeaked, growing exasperated at how timid she sounded. “The recent events have been unsettling, yes, I’ll grant you. But they are the mark of a madman, or a rogue group, looking to disrupt the Throne and sow chaos. No kingdom would dare to go to war with Ibia, especially now that we are united with Marland.”
“My dearest Taresa.” Xain extended his hand to caress her cheek. He nearly succeeded. Taresa pulled away just before his fingers brushed against her. “You perplex me. In a single breath, you speak like a sovereign and sage molded into one. Then, in your next uttering, you reveal your persistent naiveté, that ragged and carefree princess whose mind never matured.” Xain stepped up to her. Taresa, standing her ground, nonetheless could not help but lean back. “It’s clear your marriage to King Jameson hasn’t served to better you. If only you had accepted my proposal. I could have been your Promised, then your husband, and by marriage, the King of Ibia. Your own personal monarch. The counterweight to all your flaws – your innocence, your great hope, all of your blind trust. We could have balanced each other. Ruled as a royal couple like no other.”
“You and I, we were never meant to be.”
“You thought otherwise once. On the night of your Promise to Prince Denisot. When I found you in the stables, crying . . . I comforted you . . .” Xain leaned forward.
Taresa slapped him across the face –
She leapt away. Shuddering, she kept her hand up, half-expecting him to attack.
Xain, though shocked, smiled. He extended the tip of his tongue to dab the top left corner of his lip, which bled.
“I knew it,” he beamed. “You still care.”
“I do not!”
“If that were true, you’d be shouting for your guards as we speak.”
Taresa fumed. “I want you gone. Out! I don’t care what Aunt Eldonza said. You are to leave the estate this instant!”
Xain stood back and straightened. He dipped low to bow, his gaze never leaving Taresa. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
With more composure she’d expect of a drunkard, he strode through the chamber. He slipped out to leave Taresa alone.
The final click of the closing door released Taresa from her stance. She exhaled. Her legs wobbly, her hands shaking, she hastened to the nearest table still harboring a touch of wine. Finding no steins nor goblets, she uncorked a half-empty vintage and drank straight from the bottle. She managed to gulp almost all of it before pausing to catch her breath.
That bloody louse. She wanted to curse his name. Curse his imprudence. Curse his every suggestion. His every word . . .
But she couldn’t. For she knew – and hated to admit – that he was right. 382Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtZQAHFcYFi
