The Reign of Trees (7 page)

***

The next few days passed with Illianah spending as much time in her bedchamber as possible. She only left for meals with the king and the prince. During the meals, she remained silent and aloof and again took to wearing a partlet. Donovan seemed to share her shame, as he kept his eyes away from hers and spoke very few words.

Despite her solemnity, the castle buzzed with excitement. The battle at the border continued to fall in favor of the Deltegrans, encouraging their once meager military powers. Illianah wondered what this meant for her.

Her answer came when she was summoned to the solar. Post had arrived.

Donovan sat at the table near the fire. His eyes lifted when she entered the room. “You have a letter for me?” she asked, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.

“Yes, two actually. One from Madame Partlet. And the other from Prince Harrington.”

She saw the folded parchments on the table and reached for the one that was clearly written in Leif’s hand. “Perhaps you would like to hear from your lady first,” Donovan said, holding out the other letter.

“Nonsense. I will not disrespect my husband by choosing Madame Partlet’s letter over his.”

There was something about Donovan’s eyes that was different. It was almost a look of pity that he wore. Not his own pity— but pity for her. She ignored whatever emotion he wanted to convey and grabbed the letter. She sat in the chair on the opposite side of the hearth and read:

Illianah,

I am deeply pained to have lost you, yet know I did not cause your imprisonment. You were to stay safely within the confines of the chapel, where no Deltegran soldier would dare to invade, yet you disobeyed orders and put yourself and Lord Braithwell—who I am told went out to rescue you—in danger. Your imprudence is the cause of your current situation.

My duty is first to your father and the kingdom of Burchess. If I am to be king someday, I must prove my undying loyalty to the kingdom that has so graciously adopted me as one of their own. It would be well if you thought less of yourself and more of the welfare of Burchess.

I am leading the Battle at Laencia. It has proven difficult for our troops. Deltegra is stronger and more numerous than we had ever imagined. This, unfortunately, makes a rescue impossible. Until we breech the border and are able to penetrate the strong center of the Andoradda region, you will remain a prisoner of this unjustified war. However Illianah, I know you are safe. In fact, the castle of Andoradda might very well be the best place for you now. The Deltegrans have caused much suffering upon our working class, and the situation at St. Moraine is tense. We shall soon reassert control and it will be the Deltegrans who suffer. Upon my word Illianah, you will soon be by my side and the kingdom of Deltegra will be upon their knees.

Ever yours,

Prince Harrington of Burchess

Illianah was glad she had already practiced keeping her tears from Donovan. She knew if she stopped blinking, her eyes would overflow with her sadness. Or was it anger? It felt like she had just taken a knife to the chest. She would not look up from her letter, as she did not want to give Donovan any indication that she was open to having a conversation. As long as she was still reading, he would not speak to her. But the more she looked at the letter, the more the wound in her chest began to grow. Leif had admonished her for defending the village of Freidlenburg—something no other man on the premises had been brave enough to do.

Her eyes fell to the line where he wrote that his first duty was to her father and the kingdom of Burchess. Not to her. She stifled a sob. Leif had essentially married her father. This should not have been news to her, but every night after their wedding when Leif had shared her bed, she had thought that he did, in fact, love her. He had been so gentle with her. He had caressed her skin with such delicate delight that she would often break out with goose bumps, to which he would laugh with satisfaction. She could still see the tenderness in his blue eyes: the eyes that typically looked so bold and oftentimes fierce. She had thought perhaps she would become his Achilles heel. But his letter forced her out of the foolish imaginations of her heart. He did not love her. He would never love her. He only loved power.

She did not realize that the sound of her heart crushing was audible to others. “Princess, are you unwell?” Donovan asked.

Donovan was the last person she would be sharing her heartbreak with. “I am fine,” she said, but her quivering voice betrayed her. She looked at him only briefly. He looked sympathetic, but she still would not divulge that she was the most unloved creature in the entire world. Even the crickets she heard outside her window at bedtime were accompanied by hundreds of their kind. There would never be just one cricket, charged with filling the darkness of the night with sound. But that was her lot. She was to be a princess—a beacon to her people—and she was to do it all alone.

“Is there something I might do to help?”

“Do you not think that you have done enough already?” she snapped.

Hurt registered on his face, but he nodded and stood. “I will give you the room,” he said, bowing as he departed.

She still would not give in to her tears. If she was the same bold woman who faced General Montague and demanded he stop his raid of Freidlenburg, then she should not be brought to tears by her husband’s cold words.

The letter still lay open in her lap. She folded it, stood, and turned to the table which held her other letter. Perhaps she would find comfort in reading news from Madame Partlet. She would not be cold and unloving, Illianah was sure of this. Madame Partlet always had nothing but praise and adoration for Illianah.

Donovan had left his map of the Western Corridor on the table. But it was not just any old map. It was a war map. His strategies. Several smaller pieces of parchment were placed on top of the map, indicating where his troops were located. All of his troops seemed to converge at one location: the border at Laencia. That is how the Deltegran troops were winning so mightily.

Just then, Donovan came back into the room. He stopped, saw her hand upon his map, and then rushed toward her. He quickly rolled up the map and tucked it under his arm, making her hand feel as if he had just swatted her like her harsh governess had done, on many occasions, when Illianah’s handwriting had been illegible.

“What are you at, Illianah?” he asked.

“Nothing. I just … I am not spying, if that is what you are indicating. I thought we had already established that I lack the necessary skills …”

“We both know what you just saw. You are trained enough to read a simple map.”

It was not his words that hurt. It was his indignant tone.

“Of course I know what I saw. I am not stupid, Donovan. You have positioned your entire army at the Battle of Laencia, making your forces seem stronger than they really are. One might say it is you who is stupid. You have left the rest of your kingdom vulnerable. I may not be well versed in war strategies, but I know enough to recognize a foolish act when I see one.”

“It is not foolish. It is working. Your father’s army is taking a considerable hit. His soldiers are dying by the hundreds.”

There was no holding back the tears now. “And that delights you?” she cried. “You are causing death and destruction, and you are happy because of it? You are no different from the rest, Donovan. I once thought of you as kind and compassionate. I once thought peace would be synonymous with your name.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he seemed to search for the words to say in his defense. When he spoke, his voice was feeble. “Those days are long since gone, Illianah. It is time for you to grow up and realize that we are at war. Those with compassion are those who die.”

***

Illianah was a prisoner in her own bedchamber; a prisoner in her own mind. To come out of her room now would only prove to Donovan that he had control over her. She remained obstinately in bed, never dressing, never eating. She did hope that her protest against food—against life—would bring about her death and then Donovan would have to pay dearly for causing the sudden end of her life. She wanted to bring him pain in any possible way, although she did not think she could cause a cold and calloused heart to feel that which was against its very nature.

After several days of her protest of life, he came to her door and called her name. She did not answer. “Illianah,” he said again. “Forgive me for my harshness. It is not … it was not my intent to hurt you. I am not myself. This … this situation is hard. Hard for us all.…” She wished that the kindness she heard in his voice would have been filtered out by the thick, rich wood of her door. But she would not allow his kindness to soften her heart. He could not speak kindly to her one minute and then rebuke her the next. She did not answer. “Illianah,” he again said. More words did not follow this time. She held perfectly still until she was certain that he had left.

Her lady’s maids were gentle and doting, yet she would not give them the satisfaction of speaking to them or showing that she had any life left in her hollow heart.

Even when she heard cheers from the courtyard and heard the declaration that Burchess had retreated, putting an end to the Battle of Laencia, she still remained in her catatonic state. Deltegra’s triumph meant nothing to her. Not even pain. She did wish to go home to Burchess, but not so long as that unfeeling husband of hers remained in her kingdom. She was truly lost. A lost soul without a body, without a home.

The day after the victory shouts, one of her lady’s maids brought something into the bedchamber. Illianah only glanced as the maid set it down on the chest near the window. “’Tis for you,” she said. “A gift from the prince. He has sent you a letter as well.”

“I do not want it. Tell him I will accept nothing from him, not even a letter.”

The maid chuckled. “He said you would say as much, but I have strict orders to leave it here with you. Good day, My Lady.”

Illianah waited stubbornly until half the day had passed before she turned her eyes in the direction of the gift. It was a stack of several different types of fabric. The top piece was black, but there was also red, green and yellow. She quickly got out of bed to inspect the fabrics, only to find that her head did not like her moving about so quickly. She sat on the floor next to the chest where the fabrics had been set and ran her hand along them. They were exquisite. The quality rivaled the finest fabrics imported from Arugua. She wondered where Donovan had found such fabrics, and wondered at his intention. She reached for his letter, only to find that it was not just a letter from him: the letter from Madame Partlet was included as well. Illianah had left Madame Partlet’s letter that day when she had hastily left the solar to get away from Donovan’s insults.

She opened Donovan’s letter:

Forgive me, but you left Madame Partlet’s letter open on my table and I could see that she sent you her designs. I thought you might be in need of some fabrics akin to her designs. I had these brought in from Ticugua, who had imported them from Arugua. I hope you will find them pleasing. Our royal dressmaker will be in to take your measurements this afternoon. You will need something suitable to wear to the celebratory banquet tomorrow. I do hope you will join me as my personal guest. Perhaps we can forget, if for only a moment, that we are on opposing sides of this war.

Yours,

Donovan

Chapter Six

Illianah entered the great hall late after all the other guests had arrived. She wanted to spend as little time with the Deltegrans as possible.

Donovan’s face looked aglow when he saw her. “Princess,” he said as he bowed. He reached out to take her hand, but she refused to offer hers, keeping it close to her side. She would not give him the honor of taking her on promenade. She expected to see anger flare in his eyes, but it did not. His smile did not diminish; in fact, he looked amused. He walked by her side as she made her way through the room toward her seat at the head of the table. The lords and ladies and other dignitaries bowed as she passed, but she did not let her eye befall on a single one of them. They were not her people. This was not her court. While Donovan had stated that she was not his enemy, she knew, however, that these people viewed her as the adversary. And she them.

He held her chair for her, and though she wished he had not done so, she had no choice but to take the seat. She had supposed that he would sit on the other side of the table, at the king’s right, but Donovan took the seat next to hers. “You picked the yellow,” he whispered. “I suspected you would. The lady’s maids said you kept requesting a yellow dress.”

“Yes,” she said, keeping her chin high and her eyes away from his. “I loathe yellow. It makes me look ill … as if I belong in a casket.”

She turned her head to her left, just slightly, and saw his eyebrows furrow. Then Donovan laughed. “You hope to make yourself unappealing.” He leaned his head closer to hers and whispered, “That is impossible. You always look ravishing, no matter what color you wear.”

Her first instinct was to stiffen and move farther away from Prince Donovan, but she did not want him to know that he vexed her. She leaned closer and matched his hushed tone. “Are you going to behave yourself, or do I need to report you to your father?”

Donovan chuckled and his whole face smiled. Crow’s feet gathered at the corners of his eyes, showing that he was no longer the boy who had once suited her. He also showed his royal smile, something that distinguished him from the commoners who did not have the means or the need to care for their teeth.

Illianah leaned back in the other direction and felt her heart tighten. She was not strong enough to see Donovan jovial. He was her ideal in every way. Groomed. Beautiful. Gentle. Kind. Yet, he had a power and a freedom she longed for. She should have stayed in her bedchamber and spared herself this misery.

“Such threats, Princess,” he replied. “But there is nothing that could destroy how elated I am tonight.”

“Ah, but of course,” she said. “You are elated from causing my people pain.”

Donovan’s smile lessened, but did not diminish. “I never like to see suffering and pain, Illianah. But this victory does prosper my people, and I do delight in that.” He leaned closer, his enormous smile reappearing. “And to be truthful, I must admit that defeating your father
and
your husband brings me great satisfaction.”

“As it will bring me great satisfaction to see the day when my father and my husband bring their revenge upon you and your kingdom.”

Her statement got the desired result; Donovan lost his giddy expression. He brought his face within a foot of hers and his eyes searched hers. “Will that really bring you joy, Princess?”

He was much too close to her—so much so that she could smell wine on his breath. She worried that others would take notice of this liaison. “Yes,” she lied. “Very much so.”

He did not move. He did not even flinch. His eyes were steady upon on hers. It felt as if he was peering into the very depths of her soul. She wanted to shut him out, to not allow him to search through the thoughts of her heart, but she knew it was too late. He had already seen. “I think not,” he whispered. The right corner of his mouth lifted and he looked satisfied.

“You are incorrigible.”

“I am right,” he again whispered. Then he seemed to remember his surroundings and recognize that his entire court was watching this intimate exchange he was having with another man’s wife. He righted himself and sat tall in his seat.

Illianah waited until after the food was served—giving her time to collect her thoughts—before she said anything else to Donovan. “I do think it is in poor taste,” she finally said, “to force your prisoner to attend a celebration of battle against her own kingdom. Rubbing my nose in your victory only lessons it for you. You rely on feeling triumph through diminishing me, which shows that your victory was superficial and meaningless.”

Donovan did not show any change in emotion as he brought his wine goblet to his mouth. He took a sip and then turned toward her with a smile upon his lips. “That is not why I asked you to attend. I have marked your absence these past days and merely wanted to enjoy the presence of your company.”

“Then in that case, I shall cease conversing with you.”

His chest shook as if he was laughing. He shook his head, gave her his large, toothy grin, and said, “I will still be privileged with your presence, even if you remain silent. In fact, it might be preferable that way.”

She wanted to hit him. Or toss her drink on him. She turned her head away and kept her eyes on the wall, waiting for the anger to subside, but the noise of the room seemed to be escalating, distracting her from her attempt to shun Donovan. Illianah slowly cast her eyes around the table. The more the lords and ladies ate and drank, the louder they became. They were victorious. Triumphant. She would no longer suffer to be part of this. “I do not belong here,” she said to him, although her voice was loud enough for the king to hear as well. “I have lost my appetite.” She tossed her napkin on to the table and stood before the prince or any of the other men could stand in her honor. As she stormed from the great hall, she did not blink away the tears. She did not care if they saw her cry. She should be crying. This was her kingdom’s loss.
Her
loss.

Just as she reached the stairs to her tower, someone called out after her. It was Donovan. He had come after her? She was infuriated. “What are you at, My Lord? Why do you make me suffer so?”

She expected to see his face still jubilant, taunting her with his victory over Burchess; instead he looked blank. But not penitent. “I am at nothing. I simply hoped to enjoy your company. To forget, momentarily, that we are slated to be enemies.”

“I cannot forget. You took me from my home. From my life. Every time you try to make me feel welcome here—make me feel as if I chose to come be a part of Deltegra—it mocks me. You think that you can tempt me with fine cloths and remembrances of adoration from your mother? It will not work. I am no more a part of your life—or this castle—than a penniless beggar on the street. I do not belong here. I do not belong with
you
.”

She turned to resume her march up the stairs, but she heard footsteps behind her. He grabbed her arm and forced her to turn back to him. “Illianah, it was not I who brought you here, remember? I am trying to make the best of a difficult situation, for us both. I merely thought ….” he took a deep breath and looked up toward the heavens, like he was praying for guidance. He sighed and looked back at her. “I only wanted one night to … forget. To forget who we are and what we have become.”

“We might be able to forget momentarily, but what about when we wake in the morning, Donovan? It would be worse then. We are not friends. We can never be friends. It is best that we remember our places. We are on opposing sides. Nothing will change that.”

His jaw pulsed and for a moment he looked sad, but when he spoke, his words were full of anger. “That is exactly why we are at war. You and your family are unyielding; unchanging. You have declared us your enemies for life. With that mentality, there will never be peace. Did you ever think, Princess, of the influence you could have when you are back in the castles of Burchess? If you think of us—Deltegra—as friendly, kind people, the wars may very well cease. Your recommendation of our honor might be enough to soften your father’s heart. That is something that has not happened in five generations. Within you, Illianah, lies power. Why do you not see that?”

She laughed at him. How else could she respond? “Why do
you
not see that I have
no
power? I do not even have a voice. They will not listen to me. They have never listened to me.”

As she said those words, her throat grew so tight it felt like she was being strangled. Her tightly restricted throat kept her from crying out, yet so great was the pain from keeping the emotion dammed within her that she almost crumpled into a heap on the floor.

His face softened, as if he understood her pain. “I listen to you, Princess. How is it that they will not?”

She tried to swallow, but that choke-hold upon her throat would not allow it. She could not answer him.

“You know we are not vicious. We defend our kingdom, our freedom, our ability to prosper. With your influence, Burchess and Deltegra could reconcile.”

“I see no evidence of your … goodness.”

“But Illianah, you know it: in your heart.” His words were forceful, yet at the same time, he was begging for her affirmation.

Even though his words reached her core with the power of truth, she would not admit it. “I know no such thing.”

She turned and proceeded up half-a-dozen stairs before he again called out to her. “You should wear the black gown tomorrow,” he said.

“Why?” she asked with sharp anger. She did not need him telling her what she should wear.

“Because you live as if you are mourning. You live as if you are already dead.”