Sacrifice Page 4

  My brother’s moan would have been a “no” had he been in a mood to articulate. His elbow slipped off the edge of the table, and he barely caught himself in time to avoid a hard knock on the forehead.

  “I want what Papa’s having,” he mumbled, no longer making sense.

  With a tiny, diffident smile for Cannan, my mother slid back her chair and stood. “Excuse me everyone.”

  She walked around the table to the end where Celdrid sat, touching his cheek and putting her arm around him to coax him out of his seat.

  “All right, love,” she said softly, assisting him from the room, for his legs didn’t want to work.

  The door swung shut behind them, and an awkward silence ensued. I peeked at my sisters, none of us knowing where to look or what to say, or even if we should continue eating.

  “He hasn’t been sleeping well,” I supplied at last, picking at the napkin in my lap. “He’ll eat later.”

  Cannan said nothing. When my mother returned, there was even less conversation than before, and I wondered how we were all measuring up in the captain’s eyes.

  That night, after my uncle had departed and the house was quiet, I lay on my bed atop the covers, my room illuminated only by the gray moonlight sifting through the window. I didn’t feel like sleeping, and for the first time in my life, I examined that window, contemplating how I might escape this room, this house, this life. It was big enough for me to fit through, and I could reach the large branch that brushed the side of the house; from there, I could make my way down the trunk of the oak tree to the ground. Other than the fact that I would cause my mother worry, I might be doing everyone a favor. Then, right on time, I heard whimpering through my closed door, which shortly turned to crying, and I realized how wrong I was that my family would be better off without me.

  I rolled out of bed and went down the hall to my brother’s room, the door to which was ajar. My mother was waking Celdrid and pulling him into her arms, though she was barely able to keep her own eyes open. At first he pushed at her, gasping for air between sobs, but then he melted against her, his lips forming the word Papa again and again. I came up behind them and laid a hand on my mother’s shoulder, silently offering to take over. She needed the rest, and on some level it didn’t matter who held Celdrid, for it would never be the person he wanted.

  CHAPTER THREE:

  DISTURBANCES

  ALERA

  Come morning, Narian was gone. On the nights when we were together, he would rouse before me, both by disposition and because he needed to depart before he might be missed—or worse, discovered with me in his arms. I awoke to the sun dancing across my body and the scarcely disturbed bed coverings, Narian having kept me warm throughout the night. There was also a steady but muffled sound that I couldn’t identify.

  I dressed in a simple gown. In this reforming Hytanica, I could have worn breeches, but had I done so, I would have been seen as aligning myself with the enemy. My people were being asked to accept a Hytanican woman in a position of authority, a first in the history of our kingdom; the least I could do was keep faith with the rest of our way of life.

  The sound had heightened, my apprehension along with it, and I hastily brushed my dark brown hair, which had regrown to just above my shoulders since I had cut it during our time in hiding in the cave. Ready for the day, I stepped from the parlor into the corridor, only to find that London was not at his post.

  By the time I reached the Grand Staircase, the noise had amplified twice over, and my brow furrowed with legitimate concern, for I had a burgeoning belief as to its source. I quickly descended to the first floor, the troubled mutterings of the Cokyrian guards in the Grand Entry Hall adding credence to my theory, then pushed on to the Captain of the Guard’s office. Before I could knock, London pulled the door open, about to leave. We stopped face-to-face, neither of us having expected to encounter the other, then my bodyguard moved aside to permit me to enter.

  Cannan’s office looked almost unchanged, its furnishings dark and imposing, much like the man himself. There were bookcases filled with pristinely kept volumes on strategy, armaments, falconry, hunting, politics and the like; a single, padded armchair that provided the only comfortable seating for a guest; a large map of the Recorah River Valley that identified our neighboring Kingdoms of Gourhan and Emotana to the south and Sarterad to the west, as well as the Cokyrian Desert to our east; and a clean, uncluttered desk behind which the captain sat and before which were placed several straight-backed wooden chairs that I still thought of as interrogation chairs. The only items missing were the glass-fronted weapons cabinets that had lined one wall, and the captain’s private collection of arms.

  I had barely crossed the threshold when Cannan stood and approached. Forgoing pleasantries, he solemnly asked, “Are you prepared to address your public?”

  “Yes—I mean, I can if necessary,” I clumsily answered, wringing my hands, for he had just confirmed my fears about the genesis of the noise.

  “Our citizens are assembling outside the gates of the palace. Throughout the city, the High Priestess’s mandate is being ripped down, tossed into the streets, burned. The people are angry and need to know they are heard—you have to convince them of that before we have a riot on our hands. If things get out of control, I don’t know what the Cokyrians will do, only that it will be bloody. Now, come with me.”

  He ushered me from his office and we retraced my steps to the second floor. We picked up followers as we proceeded, primarily Cokyrian soldiers stationed within the Bastion, but as Cannan guided me toward the Royal Ballroom in the East Wing, I also saw my father, mother, sister and Temerson coming down the corridor.

  We crossed the ballroom to stop before the balcony doors where London awaited us, a band of perhaps twenty at our heels. Cannan gripped my upper arms, turning me to face him.

  “Do you know what to say?” he asked, and I wondered if he would tell me if I said no. My mind was spinning, frantic to find words that could calm an infuriated populace.

  I swallowed, glancing at the faces of the people who formed an arc behind us—at my sister’s fine-boned features, which were beautiful even when alarmed; at Temerson, who had settled a comforting arm around her waist; at my father, who was rubbing his hands together in agitation, while his eyes, dark like mine, flitted as quickly as a hummingbird’s wings to assess the situation; and at my serene mother, whose blue eyes were focused encouragingly on me, while one hand absentmindedly smoothed her honey-blond hair into place.

  I forced my attention back to the captain, whose grim expression told me he was trying to determine if I were ready in any sense of the word to deal with the mayhem. In truth, there was no way to prepare, no time. Apprehensively playing with the waistband of my gown, I took a shaky breath and nodded.

  London pushed the doors outward, and he and Cannan ushered me through them. The soldiers who had followed us gravitated closer, filling the doorway at our backs; only my family members were bold enough to step with me into the open air.

  The spring day was unusually still and therefore also unusually warm. For what must have been a thousand yards beyond the walled courtyard of the Bastion, all I could see were people, and I momentarily felt faint. Those closest to the gate had climbed its iron bars halfway to its peak, while others shoved their hands and petitions through it, only to be hit back with the hilts of Cokyrian swords. All, however, were crying out. Angry shouts resounded, battling each other above the g
eneral din, and at times, their speakers fought, as well. The citizenry was screaming for justice, for rebellion, but quieted to listen when I came into view.

  “I hear your cries,” I shouted, only to receive a slight nudge from London telling me to raise my volume. I cleared my throat, then shed the last vestiges of my useless indecision and filled my lungs with air. “I hear your cries,” I repeated, slowly and distinctly. “I feel your frustration. You are my friends, my family, my people and to see you in this pain is…is agonizing.”

  I paused, considering what direction I should take, knowing how important my words would be, and the positive or adverse effects they could have. My thoughts at last came into order, and I pressed on.

  “You want the best for this land and its people. You want peace and happiness, and stability for your families. This is not the way to that end. Return to your homes, let your tempers ease.”

  A swell of muttering greeted my plea, eroding my confidence. I glanced at London, who nodded reassuringly, and doggedly continued.

  “We are a strong people. But we must demonstrate that strength by adapting to the demands placed upon us. That is the path that will lead us to security and greater freedom.”

  I could see shock and confusion on the faces of my countrymen, the single mind of a body of people working to understand my lack of outrage at Cokyri’s oppressiveness. But it was their desire to understand that encouraged me to speak once more.

  “I promise you, our fate is not out of our hands. But for now, this is the course we must take. I implore all of you to trust my judgment, and the judgment of those here with me. We have not led you astray thus far, and I swear to you, we will not do so now. Please, disband and return to your families.”

  There were continued mutterings and occasional shouts, but the furious yelling did not resume and the people started to disperse, some with acceptance and grace, others spitting on the ground or in the faces of the Cokyrian guards on the other side of the gates. Cannan’s hand fell lightly on my shoulder, and he inclined his head respectfully before conducting me and my family inside.

  The Cokyrians who had followed us were still in the ballroom, with one addition. While I had been speaking, Narian had arrived and was standing a few feet from his troops, his keen eyes resting on me. My father, taking note of this, stepped in front of me to block his line of sight, clasping my hands between his own in a congratulatory gesture. When I next looked, Narian had ordered his soldiers back to their posts and was departing, his back to me.

  The kingdom—the province—was in a state of unrest for the remainder of the day, but those of us who lived within the Bastion could not ignore our duties. While Cannan revisited his office to settle paperwork, I returned to my study to review plans for construction of housing for displaced villagers and other homeless within the city. London walked with me, eyes straight ahead, unintentionally making it difficult for me to pose my question—or perhaps what made it difficult was my fear of the answer.

  “London, I couldn’t tell if…”

  He cocked an eyebrow, suggesting he already knew what was on my mind, and I breathed more easily.

  “Did I say the right things? I feel that I did, but our people could see me as patronizing, arrogant. I’m a woman. Hytanica doesn’t want me for its leader. What if I…made things worse?”

  “If you think yourself capable of making things worse in this kingdom, you’re giving yourself an awful lot of credit,” London replied, then his demeanor became serious. “Alera, you’ve always had the people’s hearts, and they don’t doubt your intentions. But if you want their confidence, you have to prove yourself. I think you took a sizeable step in that direction this morning.”

  I blushed at his praise. Encouraged, I voiced my other concern. “And you—you believe in what I’m trying to do, don’t you?”

  London’s hands dropped to the hilts of his double blades, and I couldn’t tell if I was seeing indecision or a desire to take a moment to get the words right.

  “The path you have chosen is one that will protect your people. The welfare of the people has always been of the utmost importance to me.”

  While London’s declaration could have been reassuring, it gave me pause, particularly in light of the things Narian had said to me.

  “Narian doesn’t trust you, London,” I told him a bit pointedly. If he supported my goals, it should bother him that he was under suspicion.

  He shrugged, unperturbed. “Who does Narian trust?”

  “He’s quite willing to trust any of you. You have to give him a reason to do so, as Cannan has done.”

  London stopped with his hand on the door to my quarters, turning to me with a slight smile. “I meant no offense, Your Highness.”

  He stepped inside ahead of me, checking for intruders and, for what felt like the thousandth time, I couldn’t tell if he had been honest or irreverent. Feeling wholly unsatisfied with our conversation, I pressed him further.

  “It seems you have reservations—about me, as well as Narian.”

  “I don’t have reservations about you, but I know the Cokyrians, and I cannot blindly trust that your efforts to preserve our way of life will be successful.”

  I frowned, feeling we were going in circles. London crossed his arms over his chest, studying me, the intensity of his gaze disconcerting.

  “What you must understand, Alera, is that Cokyri respects strength and despises weakness. If we are seen as beaten—not just conquered—they will tighten their grip, become even more oppressive. They are wolves—we cannot be viewed as sheep. If that happens, they will obliterate us, and we will lose our identity. At the same time, they will not tolerate any insolence from us, just as a master will not suffer disrespect from his servants.”

  London’s indigo eyes sparked, accentuating the fervency of his tone, yet I could not seem to grasp the import of his words.

  “I don’t understand, London. What further danger do you see from Cokyri?”

  “The High Priestess is a strong but practical ruler. What she wants is the bounty of our land, not the sweat of our brow. If she can have the first without taking the second, she will. And that’s the primary difference between Nantilam and the Overlord. He would have asserted his full power and enslaved our people, setting some to task here and sending others to Cokyri. She does not see the necessity of that. But if we prove troublesome, her patience will be taxed, and she will take that step. That’s why your appointment as Grand Provost is such a pivotal one. The High Priestess did not have to put you or any other Hytanican in a position of influence within the province—the fact that she did gives us a voice. But push too hard and she will remove you, replacing you with someone whose only goal will be to dominate us.”

  “So if we are either too compliant or too unruly, the Cokyrians will overrun us, replacing our way of life with their own?”

  He nodded. “I do not envy your position.”

  “So what am I to do?” Now that I was fully aware of the significance of my role, I was terrified. I could neither afford to sail into a storm nor languish in stagnant water. But I had no charts or compass to guide me.

  “Be involved in decisions that will affect your people. Raise our concerns, fight for us on important issues and make concessions on lesser ones—use both your head and your heart.”

  I nodded, and he came to stand in front of me, his visage softening.

  “You have good instincts, Alera—trust them.”

  He bowed, then
strode out the door, leaving me with more to think about than the construction of housing.

  * * *

  After a quick lunch in the second-floor dining room, I descended the spiral staircase at the rear of the Bastion, at one time reserved for the private use of the royal family, and entered the King’s Drawing Room, where Miranna and Temerson waited. It had become Miranna’s habit, following my first request, to attend and assist me in receiving petitions from the people, for the process was both difficult and, at times, heartbreaking. Children sought shelter; men whose homes had been destroyed pled fare for their families; widows came one after another, begging coins and comfort, having been left destitute in the wake of their husbands’ deaths. Sometimes their eyes were empty, their bodies hollow of food and feeling. Sometimes they could not control their weeping. And when I wanted to weep with them, Miranna would lay her petite and graceful hand upon my arm and offer solace in my stead.

  London rejoined me, and the four of us went into the Hearing Hall—the Throne Room with no thrones—where Miranna and I sat in the carved wooden chairs that had been placed at its head. In a few minutes, the antechamber doors would open and citizens would one at a time be permitted to address me. After a brief exchange of words with Temerson, London, came to stand beside me, while my sister’s cinnamon-haired husband departed. I nodded to my bodyguard and he signaled to the Cokyrian sentries at the opposite end of the hall that they should permit the first of the petitioners who waited in the antechamber to enter.

  On this day, many men came forth with demands that forced me to reiterate what I had said on the balcony: I would endorse no revolt; I would condone no revolt. This was the sound course. Despite how tiresome it became, I retained my patience, and slowly the number of comers with the same agenda diminished. This made room for the mourners, and by the time the doors closed at evening, I was exhausted—and feeling guilty about my exhaustion when circumstances offered those who suffered no reprieve.