In the Skin of a Nunqua (6 page)

Shanti was more confused than ever. “The
what
?”

“The Guardians of Willovia. We’re a secret society made up of select citizens and soldiers. Commander Edwyn and Chief Emmins are Guardians; so is the castle artist and the undertaker in town, and others you wouldn’t expect. Our purpose is to ensure that the monarchy is capable of leading the military, and act in the best interest of the people. When winter’s over, we’ll take Rega Bayla away from her home to a camp in the Hedgelands, along with sixty other soldiers. Your orders, Shanti, are to train the princess. She must know what it’s like to be a soldier, and show concern for those she will one day lead. When her training is complete, she will face one final task. Rega Bayla needs to stand against a traitor and put the needs of Willovia before her own safety. You are to play the part of a traitor.”

You’ll find a way,
Caravey’s voice said.
You always do
.

No! Her gaining access to royalty was a coincidence and not a path she had pursued. Her mission to spy for the Nunqua was irrelevant.

“I made you a commander,” Gy said, “and now I’m making you a Guardian of Willovia. Not many know of our existence. You must swear an oath to do what’s best for the kingdom, even if it means disregarding the law and turning out those too inept or corrupt to rule.”

A commander
and
a Guardian. Pride swelled in her chest. “I swear it.”

“I’m putting my trust in you, Shanti.”

“I won’t let you down,” she said.

“During your time as Rega Bayla’s guard at the castle, I want you to watch her closely, find out what she’s like. It won’t be easy.”

“All I have to do is stand still, study the princess, and keep quiet. What’s so difficult about that?”

“For you?” He raised one eyebrow, the pipe clenched between his teeth.

The embers in the fireplace burned red, popping and splitting, then cooling into piles of ash. She had heard rumors about the opulence of the Willovian castle: sumptuous feasts, fine wine, the best music, art in every room, beautiful gardens, and well-kept stables. It would be a relaxing break and much better than the meager accommodations she was used to. Besides, she was a commander now. How hard could it be?

6

The Daughters of Fortunate Birth

S
hanti spent all
winter working at the castle, guarding the princess and answering questions posed to her by the elites. The honored guests of King Magen were curious and cordial enough, and she had made friends with many of the royal guards. The castle and its grounds were painstakingly picturesque, but a heaviness pervaded everything inside the walls of the compound. She felt that she could never be comfortable, never be herself, in the restrictive environment. Day after day, this feeling darkened her mood.

For the second time since she arrived in autumn, Shanti climbed the spiraling stairs of the tallest tower for a private meeting with King Magen. Her first encounter with the king had set the rules concerning her interactions with Rega Bayla and served to establish his displeasure at Shanti’s status as a Guardian of Willovia. Indeed, King Magen tolerated her presence only because he had endured the test of confronting a traitor himself, when he was a prince. He understood the Guardians’ importance and, Shanti surmised, despised their purpose now that his only child, his petite and precious daughter, was due to undergo the rigors of a soldier’s life.

Guards admitted her into the king’s presence. She entered and stood motionless in front of a marble desk with an empty chair. On top of the marble slab rested parchment, a peacock quill, an inkwell, and three bars of sealing wax the thickness of a man’s finger. The legs of the desk were sculpted in the shapes of lions. Floor-to-ceiling flags adorned the walls between the windows, the most prominent depicting an eagle on a field of blue.

King Magen gazed out of a window, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Your Majesty,” she said.

He moved away from the window and stepped around her while inspecting her brown uniform, hair pulled back in a warrior’s knot, sword strapped to her back, and darts strapped to the wristlet on her arm.

“You’re wearing the wrong uniform, Commander. Why aren’t you dressed as a royal guard?”

“Royal guard uniforms are made for men, sire. One is being made for me by the tailor.” It was a small lie.
A lie to the king.
The tailor had finished the outfit some time ago.

The men’s uniforms looked good on them, handsome and respectable. Hers was a blue and white mess. Clusters of scratchy lace embellished the collar, baggy pockets adorned the shapeless jacket, and the voluminous skirt trailed along the ground. She suspected that Commander Kyros had something to do with the design of the dress—a joke to him, an insult to her. She would do anything to avoid wearing her royal guard uniform, even if it meant lying to the king.

“You’ve been at the castle far too long not to be dressed in the proper attire,” he said. “I have called you here to inform you of the plans concerning my daughter. You will train Rega Bayla to be a soldier. She will pass every test given to her. Do we have an understanding, Commander?”

Her training had taught her to be tactful when dealing with her superiors, even when given a corrupt command. “I’ll do what’s best for Willovia, Your Majesty.”

Magen stroked his gray beard. “Are you aware of the seriousness of this matter? Bayla is my only child. If she fails, the Guardians of Willovia will try to prevent her from taking her rightful place as queen. Many of my loyal subjects will fight to see that Bayla wears the crown. Is that what you want, Commander Shanti? Revolution? War? Your duty is clear: Bayla will pass the trials, especially the final test.”

Shanti avoided eye contact and remained still. The king smelled like alcohol. No, not alcohol—medicine.

“Know this. If your actions aren’t in the best interests of Willovia, my punishment will be severe: I’ll put your head on the chopping block.”

She must show no emotion. An emotional soldier was a weak soldier. Shanti focused on the in-and-out of her breath.

King Magen moved behind the desk. He sat in the chair and waved the back of his hand at her. “Dismissed.”

She lowered her head.

“Be prepared.” He picked up the quill and dipped it into the pot of ink. “It is almost time. Ships are stationed offshore and awaiting orders to attack.”

Shanti left the room.

The two royal guards who flanked the doorway outside the king’s quarters wore blue uniforms with white trim and held spears decorated with gold filigree. No longer in the king’s presence, Shanti turned to the familiar faces with a casual air. “Boys . . .” She bowed and spread her arms, playfully taunting their inability to respond while on duty. “I shall see you both after the feast.” The royal guards stared into the distance, as she had done only moments before.

She descended the spiral staircase and stopped to look through an arrow slit built into the curved wall. The opening faced the city of Erbaut, with the sea behind it. Shanti leaned the side of her head against the stone to view rooftops and roads. Through the slit, distant figures of men, women, and children meandered in and out of view. The king’s threat disturbed her thoughts. If Rega Bayla failed the trials or the final test, Magen would have her beheaded.

She imagined herself being paraded through the streets of Erbaut, with her hands tied behind her back and dressed in her ugly blue and white royal guard’s uniform. A mob of people encircling her, pointing and laughing with their mouths open so wide she could count their bad teeth. The throng parting to create a path. A hooded man holding an ax, next to a bloodstained block of wood and a basket near his feet. The basket slightly larger than her head. Spectators cheering, pushing her toward the scrawny man wielding the blunt ax, his exposed arms wrinkled and thin like an old woman’s.

How many blows would it take?

It wouldn’t come to that, would it? The Guardians’ mission would encompass one summer of her life, when she would teach the princess to become more than a princess. Her part in the plan would be justified, rewarding: push Bayla to the breaking point, pretend to be a traitor to Willovia, show everyone that Bayla would put the needs of her kingdom before her own safety, reveal the plan, congratulations all around, and move on.

Nothing was that simple, and plans had a way of unraveling. Shanti thought of Bayla and touched her neck. Even Caravey wouldn’t be able to heal her if the king took her head.

No sense thinking too far into the future, though; now was the time to concentrate on the task at hand. She tore herself away from the arrow slit to continue down the staircase and find the princess.

The Daughters of Fortunate Birth lounged in an elegant room, waiting for the nightly feast to begin. The women stopped chatting when Shanti entered. With a sideways nod of her head, Shanti ordered the temporary guard to leave. She remained by the door, watching the princess, studying her in secret.

Rega Bayla sat near an open window looking out over the sea. A caterpillar crawled on the windowsill. Bayla stroked the bristles of the insect with her fingertip.

The princess wore a dark green dress that billowed in the spring breeze. Geckos, painted in emerald hues and garnished with small jewels, had been drawn on her wrists. Her hair cascaded down her back, and her long nose had a regal bump. She picked up the caterpillar, cupping it in her hands.

“Rega Bayla,” said a woman with pink roses painted on her arms, “I don’t see why your personal guard has to be near you all the time. Can’t she stand in the hallway or somewhere less conspicuous?”

“Yes, Rega,” said another Fortunate Daughter, reclining in a chaise. “She’s too menacing. Perhaps she should dress more appropriately for the castle. Send her to the painter for some body art.”

“I doubt it would help.”

The Daughters of Fortunate Birth laughed—a practiced laugh sounding like the sweet chirping of birds. Shanti knew not to respond to their insults. She was a guard—emotionless, invisible.

Not for long.

Rega Bayla uncupped her hands to release the treasure within. The caterpillar, now a butterfly with bright blue wings, crawled to the tip of her finger. “I’ll speak to my father tonight about her. After that, she won’t be a problem.”

Few were aware of Bayla’s strange power—a well-guarded royal secret. Shanti had spent enough time with the princess to know. The Daughters of Fortunate Birth also knew. The young women acted entranced when Bayla displayed her unnatural skills. But Shanti detected fear. The Daughters of Fortunate Birth were frightened of Bayla, every single one. The princess, heiress to the throne of Willovia, was a witch. And many of the citizens of Willovia believed that witches were evil.

The butterfly, the tiny miracle conjured by Bayla, danced about the room and fluttered out the window into a sky of blue. Without moving her head, Shanti watched the butterfly escape the confines of the castle, and she, too, wished for wings.

*

Shanti followed Bayla into a chamber packed with guests after the castle feast. Atonal notes of instruments being tuned echoed off the high ceiling. Shanti stood by the entrance with her back to the wall and listened to the conversation between King Magen and his daughter—not difficult, since Bayla made no attempt to hide her venom.

“But, Father,” Bayla said, “she doesn’t even address me as ‘Rega.’ Due to her insubordination, I feel she must not be allowed to serve as my personal guard.”

“Then whom do you suggest?” Magen said.

“The royal guards who have served me in the past.”

“Half the royal guards, along with most of our troops, are at the Outer Boundaries, defending the country from attack. She will continue to be your protection.”

“She’s a misfit in this castle. You must—”

“Bayla, she stays. It is by my order as king that she is your guard.” Magen’s voice softened. “Stay close to her. The monks have warned me that enemies are preparing to invade Willovia.”

“Thank you, Father, for respecting my opinions. Your belief in me means so much.” She performed a quick curtsy, then left her father standing alone.

Shanti stood in surprised silence. Odd that King Magen should refuse Bayla’s request. The Guardians of Willovia, it appeared, had stronger influence over him than his own daughter.

Joyful music began to play, and Bayla stormed out of the hall. Shanti glanced at her face when she passed.

Bayla turned on her toes and positioned herself in front of Shanti, the top of her head level with the bottom of Shanti’s chin. “Look at me again, and I’ll have you flogged.”

A hollow threat. No royal guard would punish her for glancing at the princess. Not even High Commander Kyros would obey such an outrageous command. The princess was so young, so naive. Shanti returned her attention to the guests, only barely managing to keep a smirk off her lips.

“Is something funny?”

“No, Rega.”

“Careful, guard. You’re not as important as you think.”

Oh, but I am
.

*

Shanti walked outside with the two royal guards who had earlier flanked the entrance to the king’s quarters. The spears the men had carried were put away for the night. It was dark, and the three off-duty guards entered the castle’s kitchen, where workers cleaned dishes and swept the floor. The guards asked if they could have a taste of the food left over from the feast.

A bald man in charge of kitchen inventory wrote in a journal. Shanti placed two coins on top on the journal.

“To toast the arrival of spring,” she said.

He put the coins in his pocket and jerked his thumb in the direction of the wine cellar.

Shanti descended the steps to a cool, tidy underground room filled with bottles stacked inside crates. After examining several boxes containing all types of costly liquor, she chose an inexpensive bottle of red wine and brought it up.

A short, snaggle-toothed cook, his yellow hair slicked back with a heavy coating of grease, confronted her. “Who do you think you are?”

“We missed dinner,” she said.

“Then go to the . . . wherever the guards eat, and leave us alone. This food is for the royals and their guests.”

“It would take us half the night to walk there.”

“And?” Stains from food and sweat discolored his once-white shirt.

“We’ve gotten food from the kitchen before. No one’s ever complained.” She looked for the bald man in charge of inventory, but he must have left. “Besides, I already paid for the wine.”

“You didn’t pay
me.
One silver coin, and I’ll let you have it.”

She inspected the bottle. “It’s not worth that much.”

“Then put it back.”

Why was he being difficult? She had bought wine from the castle’s stores before.

One of the guards approached, laden with an armful of food. “Commander Shanti,” he said, “we’re ready to go.”

She bypassed the cook and headed for the door.

“Commander?” the cook said. “How many men did you have to pleasure to obtain the rank of commander?”

She stopped a few steps away from the exit. The Daughters of Fortunate Birth, Rega Bayla, and even this filthy cook had insulted her, and all on the same day. She was sick of keeping quiet, taking the verbal abuse, and swallowing her pride.

“Watch the door,” she told one of the guards, handing the bottle of wine to the other guard.

The cook snickered. “Judging by your reaction, I’d say I’m right. I’ll give you all the food you want if you satisfy me.
I’ll
show you how to command.”

Workers in the kitchen moved away as she walked toward the cook until they were an arm’s length apart. “I’m sorry,” Shanti said. “I didn’t quite hear you. Can you repeat that?”

“He’s unarmed and not worth the trouble,” the guard holding the bottle of wine said. “We have enough food.”

The lookout by the door whistled.

“Commander Kyros?” She kept her gaze locked on the cook.

“Yes,” the guard said.

“You two, get out of here. Do not let Kyros see you, and do not drink my wine.”

The royal guards made a hasty retreat out the back door.

“You,” she said to the cook. “Pick your weapon.”

His gaze alternated between the hilt of her sword, visible just above her shoulder, and the darts secured to the wristlet on her forearm.