Legacy (3 page)

I headed into the West Wing, which contained, among other things, the King's Drawing Room, the small dining room that had been the scene of my date with Steldor, the large Meeting Hall and the service areas of the palace. As I strolled, I listened to the scuffing of my leather-soled slippers against the stone beneath my feet. These floors had not been kind to me in my youth. Running up and down the halls barefooted had made my feet sore, and tripping had resulted in more than a few skinned knees and bloodied noses. My parents had at times been unable to tend to me when I was hurt, for my sister had been very sick when she was a child
and had needed special care. They had also, of course, been trying to put the kingdom back together in the aftermath of the war. For these reasons, my personal bodyguard had stepped into the parental role during my early years.

I glanced around, but London was nowhere to be seen. A smile crept across my face at the thought that he might not have seen me leave the ballroom. He had not been at my side but had been moving among the crowd, alert for signs of trouble.

Reveling in my unexpected freedom, I turned to walk past the Meeting Hall and toward the rear of the palace, intent on seeking sanctuary in the garden. When I reached the back entry, the guards drew open the heavy oak doors and I stepped outside. In accordance with procedure, one of the guards announced my presence to his peers who patrolled the area's perimeter.

My father had often warned Miranna and me not to enter these grounds without a bodyguard. He feared the garden was an ideal target for enemy infiltration, as access to the palace estate could be gained by scaling only one barrier, the garden wall that was also the northernmost wall of the city. This concern was counterbalanced in part by the wildness of the forested and mountainous terrain that lay to the north of the city, and in part by the fact that this portion of the city's barrier rose ten feet higher than the rest. In any event, I had never believed there could be danger amidst such beauty.

It was now fully dark, and only the moon and the torches anchored to the stone walls of the garden provided light. I took a deep breath of the scented air and walked forward into the shadow land, glad for the opportunity to savor the quietude of the evening alone.

“Don't think I didn't see you leave the ballroom.”

I jumped and spun around to find London leaning against the palace doors with one eyebrow cocked. He was dressed, as always, in a brown leather jerkin layered over a long-sleeved white shirt. Leather bracers covered his wrists and forearms, and twin long knives hung from his belt. He wore tall leather boots folded down below the knee, and I could see the handle of a dagger extending from one of them. An unusual silver ring shone on the first finger of his right hand.

“I was—I was just going for a walk,” I stammered. “I didn't want to bother you with something as trivial as that.”

London smiled in genuine amusement. “Nice try. It's my job to protect you and make sure you don't go off and do something foolish—like this. I'd like to see you try that excuse on your father.”

“You're not going to tell him, are you, London?”

I felt a rush of panic, for years of war had left my father extremely paranoid, which was the reason Miranna and I were almost constantly accompanied by our bodyguards. I knew only too well how displeased he would be if he learned that I'd deliberately slipped away from the man charged with my protection, for I had been bruised by his anger in the past.

“No, I won't tell him.” London laughed. “I only made the comment because I knew you'd lose your nerve if I did.”

I fixed him with my most withering glare and turned to stalk down one of the pathways.

“I suppose you'll have to come with me then,” I tossed over my shoulder. “Just drop back to the extent you're permitted and don't say a word.”

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

“I
mean
it, London.”

“Of course. I can appreciate your desire for some peace.”

I walked along the path, soothed by the rustle of the plants
and the trees in the soft breeze. Crickets chirped around me, and I found myself enjoying the sounds of the night as much as I did the garden's fragrance. True to his word, London was silent, to the point where I wondered if he was even behind me.

I turned a corner and gasped, barely stifling a scream. Eyes—luminescent green eyes—stared at me from the darkness. I struggled to focus, fear coursing through my veins, not wanting to believe what I was seeing. A figure stepped toward me, and the sinister outline of a man clad in black took form, a glint of moonlight off metal telling me he held a sword in his right hand.

“Princess,” he said slyly, the pitch of his voice unexpectedly high.

I backed away, but before I could turn to run, London seemed to fall from the sky and land between the intruder and me, twin double-edged blades drawn and ready. He and the young man engaged in combat while I stood rooted to the spot, mesmerized by the clashing of the blades and the concomitant explosion of sparks. When the trespasser's weapon soared through the air to land a few feet away, my trance broke, but it was no longer necessary for me to flee. Dropping his left blade, London twisted one of the intruder's arms behind his back, pressing his other knife against the man's throat. “Tell me,
Cokyrian,
” London spat, as if the name were a bad taste in his mouth. “How many of you are there?”

The Cokyrian made no reply, and I took a small step closer, wanting to get a better look at the assailant, even though my body still tingled with fright. I squinted through the darkness and my mouth fell open in surprise. “You're…a woman?”

The intruder made no response except to snort at my stupidity for thinking she could be anything
but
a woman.

“Stay back, Alera!” London barked, and I halted, unaware that I had been about to put myself in danger. “Call for the guard!”

I hesitated, for the only guard I'd ever had to call was the one in front of me, but London sharply reminded me of the urgency of the situation. “Now!”

“Guard!” I shouted, hurrying toward the palace, repeating the call several times.

By the time I reached the pathway that formed the perimeter of the garden, three of the men on patrol duty were rushing my way.

“London needs assistance,” I sputtered, pointing down the path from which I had come. “There is an intruder!”

I followed the men as they hastened to my bodyguard's aid.

“Take her to the dungeon,” London commanded when the guards reached him, releasing the Cokyrian into their custody. “I will alert the captain and the King.”

London grabbed my wrist and hurried me back inside, and I stumbled along behind him up the spiral stairway to the second floor.

“Where are you taking me?” I demanded when we emerged into the corridor, trying to plant my feet to prevent him from dragging me farther.

“To the King. I must tell him what has happened.”

“And what exactly did happen?” I asked, hoping I did not sound idiotic.

London swiveled around to face me so suddenly that I almost crashed into him.

“Do you not know who intruded upon your precious garden?”

“N-n-no, I—”

“Well, perhaps you have heard of her people—the Cokyrians.”

“I have, but what does this mean?”

London did not answer but merely tightened his hold on my wrist and continued down the corridor. I did not fight him but insisted once more that he explain.

“Tell me, London!”

“This may be a shock, but it is imperative that you refrain from asking inane questions. I need to think!”

I hated the tears that welled due to London's abruptness. He had never before snubbed me in such a manner, and I felt as if I had been slapped. Wiping the excess moisture from my eyes, I sped up so as not to hinder him any more than I could help. He stopped outside the door to the ballroom and faced me.

“I'm not going to haul you in there. It's better if we don't make a scene. Just follow me and go straight to the King.”

His manner invited no response, so I simply nodded, trailing him through the crowd of revelers. He advanced on my father, who stood beside my mother in a group that included Baron Koranis and Baroness Alantonya, along with Cannan and his wife, Baroness Faramay. Without waiting for anyone to acknowledge him, he addressed the King directly, ignoring Cannan, his commanding officer, to whom he should have been reporting.

“Your Highness, there's been a disturbance. I would advise that your guards escort you and your family to your quarters at once.”

My father smiled at London. “This is a little unorthodox, don't you think?” he asked with an unconcerned chuckle.

“Your Majesty, I believe you to be a man of some intelligence, therefore, I expect you are wise enough to follow my suggestion. Please, Sire, do as I say.”

Turning to the captain, London brashly issued an order. “Come with me. We must secure the palace.”

Cannan's brows drew together at London's blatant, though not uncharacteristic, disregard for chain of command, but given the urgency in the Elite Guard's voice, he said nothing. Instead, he glanced around for Kade, the sergeant at arms in charge of the Palace Guard, who was already moving our way. Upon his arrival, Cannan gave the sergeant his orders and then set off with his deputy captain. Fear swelled within me as I watched their retreating backs, for this night, my home was not safe.

I ONCE AGAIN PACED IN MY PARLOR, TOO intrigued and perplexed to sit down or rest. I had been escorted to my quarters for safety, with one guard stationed inside the room with me and two more in the corridor. The guard who had temporarily taken over for London stood in front of the windows, trying not to look uncomfortable in my quarters. He wore the uniform of the Palace Guard, and the sword that had been issued to him upon completion of the training regimen hung from his belt. He was no more than a few years older than Steldor, and clearly had not expected to end up protecting the Crown Princess of Hytanica.

“Do you know what is going on?” I boldly inquired, breaking the nerve-racking silence.

“I'm afraid you have a better idea of what this is about than I do, Your Highness.” He shrugged, but I could see curiosity in his eyes. “If you don't mind my asking, Princess Alera… What exactly did happen in the garden?”

I stopped pacing and relayed the entire story to him, including London's identification of the intruder.

“Cokyrian?” he repeated.

“That's what London said.”

“What are they doing here?”

“Well, actually, there was only one of them.”

“There's never just one of them, Princess.”

“But what does this mean?” I grumbled, feeling as though we were playing a game.

A dramatic pause followed, and I would have laughed at his histrionics if not for his next words.

“It means the war could begin again.”

His statement hit me with sufficient force to expel the air from my lungs, and I finally understood London's reaction. I knew enough of the tragedy and the horrors of the war that I had no desire to experience such things firsthand, and most definitely not during the reign of my future husband.

“We haven't seen or heard from the Cokyrians in sixteen years,” he continued. “The fighting stopped with no victory for either side and no treaty signed, which means the war could resume just as suddenly as it ended.”

I nodded, then resumed my pacing, clenching my fists to the point where my fingernails pressed into my palms. I drew up short at a rap on the door, but it was only a servant to start a fire in the hearth, for a chill was now descending upon the room. Eventually, I took a seat in a gold velvet armchair and flipped through a book in a vain attempt to distract my mind from the slowness of the passing hours.

When my tolerance for waiting had been all but exhausted, there was another knock on my door, and London entered, dismissing the young man who had been standing in for him. The guard bowed to me and departed, as London appeared to be in a foul mood.

“Who is she?” I clamored, springing to my feet, the book sliding off my lap onto the floor.

“I assume you mean the woman in the garden,” London said, leaning against the wall by the door. Either in deep thought or out of a reluctance to encourage my interest, he folded his arms across his chest and seemed to be scrutinizing the pattern of the rug that covered much of the wood floor.

“You asked me if I had any idea who had intruded upon my ‘precious garden.' I believe those were your exact words. Now I want to know.”

London flinched, not used to being the target of my indignation.

“I'm sorry…about how I spoke to you earlier.”

He raised his eyes to mine, his expression sincere, and I moved closer to him, my irritation slipping away.

“You were dealing with the circumstances at hand. No one can blame you for that. Now, won't you please tell me who she is?”

“Her name is Nantilam.” He spoke these words as if I were an irksome fly he hoped to shoo away.

I scrunched up my face in concentration, for the name sounded familiar, but I was unable to dredge any details from my memory.

“Who?” I repeated, exasperated.

“Nantilam. I'm sure you've heard of her. She's—” London broke off and shook his head, scowling. “I've said too much already.”

He pushed away from the wall and walked to the hearth, where he stooped to add wood to the fire.

“London,” I pleaded, pursuing him for a few steps. “If you're worried that telling me will rouse my father's anger, I promise that nothing you say to me will find its way to him. I am well aware that he does not view such matters as appropriate for
the ears of a woman, and you would not be the only one with whom he would be displeased. Now, who is she?”

London regarded me for a moment before relenting.

“Nantilam is the High Priestess of Cokyri. You might say she's their queen, except that she bears no marital ties to their overlord. They are siblings—twins.”

“So what exactly is her purpose?”

He sighed, recalling how little I knew of the Cokyrian lifestyle.

“In Cokyri, females are held in higher regard than males, and historically women have ruled the empire. Now the High Priestess and her brother, the Overlord, reign over Cokyri together. The Overlord is a seldom seen and greatly feared entity who protects and defends the High Priestess and the Cokyrian people. Nantilam rules Cokyri in all other respects.”

“Why are the people so afraid of the Overlord?”

“He is not viewed as a person, like our king. He is a fierce warlord, evil and terrifying, sensationalized by decades of legends and myths. They say he has the power to wield black magic, to call it forth from his wicked soul. That he can kill you or worse with a wave of his hand. And it is not just the Cokyrians who tell these stories—Hytanicans swear by them also—soldiers who met him on the battlefield and never returned to the way they once were. Few returned at all.”

“Did you ever see him?”

I knew little about London's past, other than that he had fought in the war—he was, first and foremost, a soldier of Hytanica and had been before becoming a member of the King's Elite Guard. I had never asked about his life, and he had never volunteered any information.

London turned to gaze at the crackling fire and did not respond for a long time.

“I did,” he finally answered.

My inquisitiveness got the better of me, and I pressed further. “What is he like?”

“We were talking about Nantilam,” London said tightly, eyes once more on me, forbidding me to insist he recount more.

I yielded, abandoning my pursuit of information about the warlord and hoping I hadn't quashed his willingness to share what he knew about Nantilam.

“Then please, tell me more about the High Priestess.”

To my relief, he motioned for me to sit, and I resettled upon the burgundy sofa, waiting for him to continue.

“We don't know much. Despite all his secrecy, we actually know more about the Overlord than the High Priestess. She was not openly involved in fighting the war and has not been of particular importance to us…until tonight. Now we need to know what she was doing in the garden of the Hytanican Palace.”

“What will be done with her?”

He sighed, clearly tiring of my tenacious interest.

“She'll stay in a cell overnight, and tomorrow she'll be brought to the Throne Room for questioning.”

“Will I be allowed to be there?”

“Well, you are a member of the royal family.” London ran a hand wearily through his silver hair. “However, the King could forbid your attendance.”

I frowned, all too familiar with the restrictions brought about by my father's overzealous concern for safety.

“By next year I will be Queen. I must be prepared for that in every way possible, and that means learning about the enemy, doesn't it?”

“Yes, but you will not be
King.
It will not be left to you to
make important decisions for the kingdom, so your knowledge of the enemy, as you call it, is inconsequential.”

I was fuming inside, for I knew London was right, and that my father in all likelihood would bar me from the interrogation.

“I don't care. I will be there, no matter my father's opinions.”

My bodyguard gave an unconcerned shrug. “You should go to bed. Tomorrow will be a notable day, I'm sure.”

“Good night, London, and thanks for expanding my knowledge.”

I prepared for bed, confident that the Palace Guards outside my door had been posted until morning, for I knew Cannan and Kade well enough to realize that they would view the evening's developments as necessitating extra precautions. I snuffed out my lantern and slid under my comforter, my exhausted body battling my restless mind, for the former sought sleep while the latter wrestled with the best way to approach my father in the morning. My body eventually won out and I fell into oblivion, no firm plan of action at the ready.

 

“Father!”

My voice echoed throughout the cavernous Throne Room, with its stone walls and floor and vaulted oak-beamed ceiling. It was just after sunrise, and the weak light that filtered through the windows high in the northern wall did little to dispel the morning's somber atmosphere.

A spacious marble dais was centered at the far end of the hall, and my father regarded me from where he sat upon his jewel-encrusted throne. My mother's throne stood to his left but was unoccupied, whether by her choice or my father's decree I did not know. A traditional woman, she would follow
my father's instruction without question. I had always been able to rely on her for a parent's love, but never for support in challenging the King. Two ornate chairs were positioned to the left of her throne, to be used by Miranna and me on those occasions when we attended my parents in the Hall of Kings, as this room was also known.

I determinedly closed the distance between us, London at my heels. My father came to his feet, his disapproving expression intensified by the austere faces of my ancestors in the portraits that hung on the walls to my left and right. Clearly the King was stunned by my unconventional entrance, and the expressions on the faces of the dozen Elite Guards, who stood six to each side of the thrones, matched my father's. Only Cannan, standing on the King's right, seemed unperturbed.

“Alera,” my father said, dropping his volume but not his scold. “You should not be here.”

“I've come to witness the interrogation, Your Majesty. I see no reason why I should be confined to my quarters.”

“But you must stay in your quarters. I will not have my daughter exposed to the vile creature about to be brought before us.”

“I have already been exposed to her, Sire, for I am the one who was threatened in the garden. Out of all those assembled here, it is I who most deserve to know the significance of this incident.”

My father, his mind already focused on the day's business, was at a loss for a response. He moved his mouth to articulate an argument, but no sound came forth. Before he could rally to deny my request, he was distracted by the opening of a door at the far end of the room, and I knew the prisoner was about to be brought into the hall.

“Stay,” he muttered.

“Thank you,” I said, and both he and I took our seats, London moving to stand behind me.

Kade emerged through the door that led to the dungeon, followed by two guards who held the Cokyrian between them. The dungeon was a wholly unpleasant place that I had only visited once in my life, thanks to London's willingness to satisfy a ten-year-old's curiosity. There were many cells with stone walls, dirt floors and thick wooden doors, each with a barred window barely large enough to show a prisoner's full face. It was dark, lit sparsely by torches placed only along the corridor walls, and the dampness created a cold that could not be forgotten, even if a captive was fortunate enough to be released.

I did not know how the woman cast before the King had been able to abide her time in our custody. The shadows on her face gave evidence of a rough night, but still she was striking. Her eyes were large and many different shades of green, somehow stormy as the sea and bright as the spring at the same time. Her hair, though unkempt, was a beautiful deep red, falling unevenly to her rounded jaw, and her skin was the golden color of one who spent her life out of doors. She was clothed in black, her shirt and leggings made of a lightweight and fluid fabric, and a most unusual silver pendant hung about her neck. It was narrow at its gold-tipped base, widening in a graceful curve as it flowed upward to be banded together with six overlapping pieces of silver, which reminded me of blades of grass bending before a breeze.

“Tell us who you are,” demanded my father, staring down at her and growling out the words with a commanding quality that he saved for criminals and misbehaving daughters.

The prisoner, whose hands were bound in front of her, did not respond. Instead she shifted position, pushing herself
more upright so that she crouched on one knee, the other foot planted beneath her. Her head was bowed, although most certainly not out of respect.

“Answer now, Cokyrian,” my father ordered, and I surveyed the scene in confusion, for I would have thought it unnecessary to press the woman about her identity.

Still she did not reply, but slowly raised her head, meeting the gaze of her enemy evenly, almost challengingly. There was an unmistakable aura of power about her.

“Need I remind you that you are in our control, and we therefore have the ability to make you talk? You would do well to cooperate.”

At last Nantilam spoke, her tone derisive. “And you would do well to let me go, for I am not now, nor will I ever be, in your control, Hytanican cur.”

The insult had barely reached my ears when I felt, more than heard, London move forward to jump from the dais and land before the prisoner. With a swift kick to the chest, he knocked her backward off her feet, and I gripped the arms of my chair in alarm, terrified that his hatred of Cokyri had taken control of his senses. I watched as he dropped down beside Nantilam, one of his blades pressed against her throat, his deep indigo eyes boring into her belligerent green ones.

“How did she obtain a weapon?”