In the Skin of a Nunqua (13 page)

“It wasn’t fair for you to race,” Bayla said. “You weren’t tired from going through the obstacle course once already.”

“I’ve been through a hundred obstacle courses worse than this one.” Shanti’s voice grew louder, and heads turned in their direction. “Do not think I’m the only one at camp who knows about you. You cheated at the horse race, and you cheated here. No more tricks.”

“One day I’ll be queen, and you’ll have to follow my orders.”

“Do you actually believe I’m going to stay in Willovia for the short, incompetent reign of Queen Bayla?”

The princess mumbled something.

Shanti softened her voice into something sinister. “What did you say?”

“Baylova. It’s Queen Baylova.”

“Not yet.” She walked away from the soldiers, filling her lungs with air and hiding the pain in her thumb, which made her want to retch.

*

Jun strode across camp, carrying a box. He handed it to Shanti and noticed her swollen and discolored thumb. “I thought this medicine was for Bayla,” he said. “What happened to you?”

She groaned as the weight of the container aggravated her injury. “Don’t ask.” Shanti moved the box so it rested on one hip, and rummaged through the contents.

“By the way, I did mention your name,” he said.

“Really?”

“I didn’t go to the normal medical supply area, but straight to the medical section at the encampment. They gave me the medicine you requested, and more. Leanna says hello.”

“Leanna—I haven’t seen her in a long time.” Leanna was the one who had bought the concoction to knock out Commander Mossgail. Two jars of muscle relaxant were in the box. She gave one to Jun. “It would be better if Bayla got this from you and not me.”

He took the jar from her bruised hand and walked away as she watched him. Leanna was her friend and in her debt because of the Mossgail incident, but Shanti realized that the women who worked in the medical section were more than happy to give Commander Jun the supplies he requested. They were probably falling all over themselves to find out who the good-looking commander was. No, the box of supplies the camp received was not on account of her friendship with Leanna.

Jun gave her more medical supplies than she had asked for. He also gave her a bottle of expensive alcohol. Generosity in commanders who controlled supply was unheard of. They always wanted something in return. So what was Jun after?

A group of soldiers passed by and caught her staring at Jun. She immediately changed her face into a menacing mask and put the supplies in her tent.

*

Late that night, Shanti sat on her bed and opened a small pouch filled with aromatic herbs. She untied the pouch, added white powder to the contents—medicine for her throbbing thumb—then retied it and took the spiked tea bag to the pavilion. The stars were hidden, and it smelled like rain. Shanti hoped it would storm. In the kitchen, she used a stick to stir coals from the fire used to cook dinner. She found a cup, filled it with water from the nearby creek, then returned to the kitchen.

Mr. Pascha blocked her from getting near the hot coals. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled.

What was he so mad about? “Boiling water.”

“Boiling water!” Pascha took a metal pan and filled it with clean water from a barrel. Shanti dumped the river water out of her cup. He began heating the pan on a rack over the hot coals while muttering to himself. “Damn woman eats more than anyone I know. Thinks she owns the whole camp, too. Well, not my kitchen.”

As much as Shanti disliked the cook, he did keep his area clean and orderly.

“My kitchen.” He filled her cup with hot water. “Not yours.”

She remembered Commander Gy’s order to ignore Pascha for the sake of the camp. Dunking the sachet of medicine and herbs into the cup, she went outside to find somewhere to drink her tea alone. There was a place to sit on a low tree branch where she wouldn’t be bothered. After inspecting the area for insects and snakes, she sat and watched the quiet camp while enjoying her hot brew. The wind blew, and she could feel the storm’s approach. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

A light penetrated the dark. The flap to Commander Jun’s tent opened, but it wasn’t Jun who came out. It was Bayla, carrying a pair of boots and the jar of medicine.

What was going on? The flap should have been open the whole time Bayla was inside. Doors were always left open in mixed company. It prevented problems. Why was Bayla in Jun’s tent so late, anyway? She should have gotten her supplies at a more appropriate time.

With Bayla’s training in mind, Shanti had given the soldiers an order that no relationship with the princess be pursued while at camp. But she didn’t have the authority to command Jun. Could he and Bayla be lovers? If a romance was going on between them, there would be no point in training the princess. Bayla would use Commander Jun to breeze through the training.

Like I used Caravey
“.

No, that was different. Caravey had tormented her, stuck knives into her, burned her, taught her self-reliance, taught her to push away the pain and fight. She had completed her training with the Nunqua. Only after they won the competition in the Grand Arena had she gotten involved with the famous general Caravey Delartay. And he still abused her.

Her cup was empty, and rain pattered sweetly on the canopy of leaves overhead. Shanti tilted her face to the black sky, enjoying the feel of the first cool drops on her skin. The throbbing of her thumb receded to a dull ache. She thought of the scars on her body, and her tarnished past. Bayla was young, beautiful, and rich—every man’s dream. Whoever courted and married her would be king, and Jun had been a soldier long enough to know that the tent flap should have been open.

*

The commanders of camp waited inside Gy’s tent for the meeting to start. Gy entered and paced in front of them. “I’ve asked all of you here to determine how the princess is progressing. Commander Vittorio, what’s your assessment?”

“Rega Bayla is doing well. I’ve never seen a better rider, and her archery skills are much improved. I believe strength, speed, and confidence will come with more training.”

“Commander Jun?” Gy said.

“Learning the code will be no problem for her. She’s intelligent enough to lead in time. I see no problems.”

Gy stopped pacing and exhaled loudly. “Commander Shanti?”

She rested her chin on folded hands. The code! That explained why Bayla was in Jun’s tent with the door closed. He was teaching her the code—a task that required the utmost secrecy. To protect the encryption of messages, only the king and a select few knew the code. It was one of the most important skills for Bayla to learn.

Shanti wanted to kick herself for jumping to conclusions. The fact that Jun knew the code only solidified her belief that his occupation, his true profession, entailed more than managing supplies.

“Please be honest,” Gy said.

“Bayla has a lot of determination,” Shanti said, “but she doesn’t understand what it means to rule. She thinks only of herself.” She lifted her thumb, wrapped tightly in a beige dressing. “She sabotaged the obstacle course so her team would win and I would take the blame for the loss.”

“Do you have proof?” Gy said.

“No.”

Gy paced in the small tent. “I was wondering if Rega Bayla has asked any of you about what has happened, or is happening, at the castle.”

They shook their heads. Bayla never inquired about the castle or the “invasion” that was a ploy to lead her away. She never asked who had attacked their lands or what was happening to her people, and she never asked about her father, the king.

“I’ve devised a plan to test Rega Bayla.” Commander Gy looked at Shanti. “I also believe it’s time we inform the other commanders of her unusual abilities. They’ll need to know.”

She nodded.

“Good. Commander Shanti, tomorrow I want you to determine just where Rega Bayla’s loyalties lie: with herself or with the people she will serve.”

12

Apprentice Monk

T
obian cleaned the
lenses of his spectacles with the folds of his new blue robe. He followed the old monk through the main monastery. The brothers’ complex of buildings skimmed the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea, near the castle.

They entered a brightly lit room with tall windows and bookcases lining the walls. Hard cider had been set out on a table, along with nuts, fruit, and thin slices of meat. Life at the monastery was more comfortable than he had imagined. He had initially believed that the monks were so devoted to their craft, they must sleep and work in the tiniest of cells, with only meager rations of food for sustenance. How wrong he was!

“What troubles you, my brother?” the old monk said.

Tobian wasn’t a true brother yet, but merely an apprentice. For he had yet to submerge himself in the future, the true source of the monks’ influence in royal society. “I’m not so sure you chose wisely.”

“Do not doubt yourself,” the old monk said. “You’ve proved to be a brilliant scholar even before joining us. Your desire for wisdom is great. It’s why you were chosen. Understand that your presence among us has been foreseen.”

Tobian took a book out of the bookcase. He opened it to a random page, breathed in its scent, admired the delicate lines of the words. Meticulous illustrations adorned each page.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” the old monk said. “Much more than words, they are works of art. These books will tell you the history of Willovia and its royals, but it’s not the same information you will find in other sources. It’s much more truthful. I must warn you, though. You are about to read of the past
and
the future. Remember to keep this knowledge secret and discuss it only within our order. Information can be a powerful thing.” He smiled and bowed like a servant instead of a master. “If you need anything—more food or candles—it will be brought to you. Take your time, my brother. Very few people are privileged to read these rare treasures.” The old monk left and closed the door behind him.

“Tobian.” He poured himself a glass of cider. “My name is Tobian.” It was an odd custom for the monks to abandon their names. Tobian reclined in a chair and took off his spectacles, not needing them to read. The monks’ appearance— withered bodies, eyes rimmed in red—made him uneasy. Maybe that was the reason he thought the order forbade extravagances beyond what was necessary to sustain life. Collections of books, sculptures, and historic artifacts decorated the rooms, giving the impression of a museum rather than a monastery. Servants prepared meals, cleaned the buildings, and tended the gardens. He detected no evidence of self-denial in the monks. So why did they seem so sick? Perhaps they lived longer than most due to their scholarly existence.

Tobian opened the book. Drinking in the well-crafted words, as intoxicating as any wine, he lost himself in the pages of Willovian lore.

*

Shanti, her hand wrapped in a bandage, with fingers exposed, led Bayla to Vittorio’s tent before sunrise. He was dressed and waiting for them. Vittorio handed them each a quiver of arrows and directed them to the bows. Shanti got her bow, then headed into the dark forest wet with dew. Bayla followed.

“Where are we going?” Bayla said. “The archery field is the other way.”

“I know.”

“What’s this about?”

Spiky twigs arched over the path and tugged at her uniform. “We’re going hunting.”

Bayla avoided a branch that Shanti had pulled back and let swing at her head. “I will not kill an animal. I don’t eat meat; you know that.”

“We’ll find deer in the field up ahead.”

Bayla stopped. “I won’t do it, Shanti. You can’t make me.”

She stopped and faced Bayla. “It’s ‘
Commander
Shanti.’ Even your father had enough respect for the military to call me by my rank.” She continued down the narrow trail. “You’re a soldier. Soldiers hunt. There’s a field up ahead where we’ll find deer.”

They concealed themselves behind bushes and waited for the sun to climb over the horizon. Three adult deer, along with two fawns, came out of the trees and bent their heads to graze in the meadow.

“Take the shot,” Shanti whispered. “Aim behind the shoulder.”

Bayla stood and nocked the arrow, then drew back the bow. Her technique had improved since the first day of archery practice. She released the arrow and missed. The frightened and confused deer looked up, too stunned to move.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Shanti said.

The deer bounded into the woods.

“I will not kill an animal.”

“Still the little princess? Still think everything’s about you?”

“You’re asking too much,” Bayla said.

“These men are willing to give their lives in your father’s army, and you won’t lift a finger to give them the food they need. Do you believe every soldier, every servant, is there to fulfill your childish wishes? You’d rather they starved?”

The bow dangled loosely in Bayla’s hand. “Enough food is at camp. I’ll not kill a deer to satisfy you.”

“
I’m
not asking you to do this. Commander Gy gave the order for you to hunt.”

“I’m Bayla dey Valrise DeyTrudi, Heiress of Willo—”

“Your birthright doesn’t make you a better leader than Gy.”

Bayla held the palm of her hand toward the pasture. A medium-size deer with velvet stubs for antlers emerged. She pulled another arrow from her quiver, took aim . . . then lowered the bow.

Shanti quickly shot an arrow into the deer’s hindquarters, grimacing from the sting in her sore thumb.

Bayla sank to the ground and groaned.

The deer sprang away from them with the arrow buried in its haunch. Another arrow flew from the trees and sank deep into the deer as it ran into the woods. It wouldn’t get far. Two soldiers jumped down from their perches and awaited instructions. One of them carried a knife.

Bayla had failed Commander Gy’s test of self-sacrifice. Failed! Did she expect any different? Bayla’s failure meant Shanti’s failure. Their paths were linked. Shanti wished she had never met Madiza. The fortune-teller’s predictions were clouding her judgment.

“You must act without hesitation,” Shanti said.

“I don’t eat meat. I shouldn’t have to kill for food.”

“When you wear that uniform, you are no longer an individual, but part of a group.” She sent the soldiers to find the deer.”

“It’s too soon, Commander Shanti,” one of the soldiers said.

“Leave us,” she said.

Bayla rocked back and forth on her knees in the tall grass and put her hands over her face. Shanti wanted to touch her, feel what she was feeling. She wanted to hear the deer’s heartbeat thundering in her ears, racing for life, silenced for the good of the pack.

“The pack,” Shanti said.

“What?”

There was hope. Bayla was still young, unable to fully control her powers or know her true potential.

“Go back to camp, Rega.”

As Bayla left the meadow, Shanti signaled two soldiers waiting in the trees to discreetly follow the princess. The last soldier emerged from the bushes. She ordered him to stay close to her and be careful.

“Careful for what?”

Shanti scanned the idyllic pasture. “Retribution.”

The soldier looked around as she had done, his face screwed up in uncertainty.

The pack—the Willovian military! The princess would be able to understand the basic survival instincts of predatory animals hunting in groups. She could be leader; she could learn responsibility.

Could she?

Shanti went to find the dead deer, all the while feeling like a string pulled so taut it was bound to break.

*

Far behind Commander Vittorio’s tent, Zindar and Bayla worked at a table littered with feathers, sticks, and arrowheads. They made arrows to replace those that had become too damaged to repair.

Zindar thought the princess looked sadder than usual. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s been a long day.” She sighed. “Where’s everyone?” Only a few soldiers wandered around the camp.

“They took a trip to town to get a hot bath and . . .” Zindar pretended to concentrate on gluing feathers into the end of the shaft. He had almost told the Willovian crown princess that her guards were out looking for cheap alcohol and even cheaper women.

“And why didn’t
you
go to town?” she asked in a proper, mocking voice while sharpening the point of an arrow on a whetstone. Her fingers, so much smaller than his, made the task easier to manage without getting a cut finger.

“I have guard duty.”

“A hot bath would be nice,” she said.

“Not even if we cut your hair would we be able to disguise who you are, Rega.”

“Call me ‘Bayla.’”

A bat darted across the darkening sky. The princess didn’t even flinch when it dived close to the table to catch an insect in its jaws. They were almost done making arrows for Commander Vittorio. Instead of hurrying to finish, Zindar worked at a slow pace and enjoyed the pleasure of her company.

He told her about his family, his four brothers and sisters, and growing up in a small house where everyone fought for the chair by the fire or the last morsel of meat. Still, they were happy memories. She told him about the castle and how she would sneak away from her governess and explore the many rooms. Her governess would be livid when they found her, but her father didn’t mind.

The woods got darker, and their work slowed to a snail’s pace. Bayla leaned her head against his shoulder.

Just one kiss,
he thought. They hadn’t seen anyone for hours. No one would know. One kiss, and that would be it. Unable to deny his feelings, he put his arm around her. Zindar bent his head to hers, giving her a chance to pull away. She didn’t. His lips touched hers softly.

One kiss became many long, deep kisses as they sat at the table in the woods, surrounded by arrows and flitting bats. Never in all his time as a soldier had Zindar been so happy to have guard duty and miss a trip to town.

*

Two men heard a noise behind Commander Vittorio’s tent. They went to investigate and saw the outline of a couple sitting close together. The two soldiers left the pair alone and complained about not being able to leave camp for a bit of recreation.

“Who do you think won the bet?” one of them asked.

“Not me. I was sure Commander Jun and Shanti would have gotten together before this.” The men in their tent had collected a pile of coins going to whoever guessed the correct date the two commanders would get together. Shanti wasn’t bad to look at, and Commander Jun was unattached. It was only natural to expect something to happen in such close living conditions.

“Wait. I thought Commander Jun went to town with the others.” They entered the pavilion and saw Commander Shanti there, with food in her hand, as usual.

“What?” she said, swallowing a morsel of bread.

“Nothing, Commander.” It must have been Bayla, the only other female at camp, sitting in the dark and kissing somebody. All the men knew that the princess was not to be touched.

“What!” she said.

They had to tell her. It was only a matter of time before she found out anyway.

Shanti stormed out of the pavilion and into the night.

*

“I’m sorry.” Bayla said to Zindar.

“This would be so much easier if you weren’t the heiress to the Willovian throne.”

Bayla had needed to feel comforted after having to go hunting that morning, but she didn’t want Zindar to get into trouble. More importantly, she wanted to prevent the monks from peering into his future. The monks were always worrying over the affairs of Willovian royalty.

He held her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry, no one will know.”

“I wish things could be different,” she said.

“So do I.” Zindar kissed her hand. Picking up the bundles of finished arrows and placing them in front of Commander Vittorio’s tent, they went their separate ways.

As Shanti watched from a distance.

*

The men returned to camp late at night, full of alcohol and good cheer. Most were asleep when Zindar, tired from his early-morning guard duties, entered the pavilion to get breakfast.

Shanti didn’t eat with the other commanders, as she usually did. She walked past their table as they kidded her, saying they had never seen her skip a meal.

Zindar looked up and watched her approach. She placed her fingers underneath the edge of the table he was sitting at and flipped it. Food and tableware crashed to the floor. Then Shanti left the pavilion as if she had done nothing wrong.

Zindar’s hands clenched into fists. Mr. Pascha spat on the ground and shouted obscenities. Young men stared in silence at the upturned table.

The other commanders, the calm eye of the hurricane, continued eating breakfast. Gy took a bite of bacon, sipped his tea, wiped his chin with a cloth, then spoke to Jun and Vittorio. “Meeting in my tent after breakfast.”

*

“You jackass,” Aiden said to Zindar, who was lying on his cot inside their tent.

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

“You didn’t have to. Macvee and Trey saw you and Rega Bayla together. Commander Shanti saw you and Rega Bayla together.”

“It was just one kiss,” Zindar lied, smiling to himself and thinking of the previous night. He sensed his tentmate’s hostility and guessed that Aiden had feelings for her, too. Zindar wanted to provoke Aiden and boast about his time with Bayla, but he was in trouble enough, and getting into a fight would make matters worse. “What could Shanti possibly do to me?”

“Commander Shanti can have you banished for disobeying an order. Royal guards are not supposed to get involved with the people they’re protecting. Not to mention, Shanti has always been Commander Gy’s pet. Commander Gy has good connections with Bayla’s father—oh, that’s right, who happens to be king. What do you think King Magen will do when he hears about you two?”

Hearing the king’s name terrified Zindar. Things were spiraling out of control. Still, he didn’t regret it. “She started it. What was I supposed to do, say no?”

“Shut up, Zindar,” Pirro spat from three beds away.