A Thread of Time: Firesetter, Book 1 (19 page)

Now, it was I who gasped and cried aloud.

“What?  Honor and respect, Sir?  After
what you did to him?  How many times did you use him as you once said you would
use a colt?”

The King shook his head and his brow
furrowed as if trying to recall.

“In my presence, you admitted such an
affinity,” I declared.  “Before, your cousin, King Mikal, in his office, many
years ago.”

“You think I did what?”  Now, the King’s
voice rose as a spark of recognition flickered through his eyes.  “You are
presumptuous, Mistress, and quite mistaken.  Who do you think you are that you
can accuse me of such a heinous act at the graveside of my only and beloved
son?”

“Son?” 

Had I been mistaken?  How did I not know
there lived this prince? 

“Petya?” I whispered.  Aye, Petya
Korelesk.  Petya, the son of the Duke with the same clear gray, almost
colorless eyes.

Now, I did drop to my knees and I bowed my
head, as tears fell from my eyes.  I had been wrong.  I erred horribly. 

“Forgive me, Sir,” I begged.  “I knew not
of whom he spoke.”

“What did he tell you?” the King demanded,
and when I could not speak, for my throat was thick, he put his hand upon my
shoulder and bid me sit beside him on the bench.

We sat as this, side by side, for many
hours, until the dawn broke and the sky began to lighten.  Outside the snow had
ceased to fall, although the ground was thick with mountainous drifts. 

“Ride with me, Mistress Seamstress,” the
King said, his voice hoarse from hours of weeping and so I was returned to my
workshop in the Servant’s Wing by the warmth of the King’s own sled.

During the springtime, I acquired a
friend.  He was an elderly gentleman who had once been in the Imperial
SpaceNavy during the last days of Empress Sara’s reign.  Despite his advanced
age, Kenan worked in the Big House opening and shutting the main door. 

“Once, my task was done automatically. 
During Sara’s time, there was an abundance of energy to do these things.”

“My grandmother spoke of sewing machines,”
I agreed.  “They would do my task in a minute instead of the hours I spend
stitching by hand.  In the evening, there would be no need to put salve upon
one’s fingers.”

“Ach, those were the good old days,” Kenan
said and sighed.  “But, that is what every old one says.  Why, in my youth, I
recall my grandfather saying the same.  You are doing a fine job on my shirt,
Ailana.  No machine could stitch finer than you.”  Kenan’s eyes sparkled,
inviting me to smile and blush a little.  “You have the loveliest smile,
Mistress Seamstress.  It is a joy to gaze upon your face.”

“Is that why you visit so often?”

“That, and my preponderance to snag my
clothes upon every nook.  But, I confess, I enjoy your company much more so
than any other.”

Kenan asked me to walk about the gardens
with him when I closed my workshop for the night.  Spring had arrived and with
it the longer days.  The weak sun slowly melted all the snow, sending rivulets
from the palace down the hills, leaving the courtyard clean and green with
fresh, new growth.

At first, I demurred to Kenan’s request. 
I did not desire such a friend, or a new love.  My heart was heavy from loss
and Kenan was old, and would not remain with me for very long.

Here was I, once surrounded by family at
every turn, and now, I saw them only in the darkness in my dreams.  Every
night, I saw visions of my son, tall and strong, fully grown, but with Petya’s
face. 

“Amyr!” I would call to him, my arms
outstretched, my eyes thick with tears.

“I am not Amyr,” he would reply.  “I am
another.  I am your son.”

“Will you come, Mistress Seamstress?” 
Kenan stood by the door and held out his hand.  Like the gentleman he was, he
bowed his head in way reminiscent of the days before.

“Go on!”  Grandmother’s voice spoke up
from the corner of my brain.  “Why not?  You could do worse than this old man. 
He will care for you and keep you safe until he dies.”

Sometimes, I wished I could speak back to
Grandmother and remind her that even death had not removed her stewardship over
me.  Instead, I said, “Why not?” and found my sweater, locked my door, and took
a turn about the courtyard by Kenan’s side.

We took to walking about nearly every
evening, as spring became summer, and the nights grew long.  Our friendship
grew as well, and I began to care for him, despite my reluctance to share my
heart.

“Marry me,” Kenan asked.  “I would spend
the final years of my life waking up to your smile.”

I couldn’t and though, I thought long and
hard, tempted by the comfort of his quiet, steady presence, I did not know
whether my husband, Pellen had lived or died. 

“I can’t,” I insisted.  “However, I will
live with you as man and wife.”

Thus, for a short time, we shared a bed
and though his lovemaking was no better than Pellen’s had been, it was a
comfort to be held by a man.  I did not fear that inside me a baby would
quicken, for I was already in my fortieth year, and Kenan was so old, surely he
had nothing left to sire one. 

However, our time together was brief,
ending quickly, but not by death.  Instead, one day, I was summoned to the Big
House by a guard, in the same manner as once before. 

“Come quickly, Mistress Seamstress,” he
said, so I took my sewing kit with needle and thread, assuming a repair was
required at the behest of our new king. 

I passed Kenan at the doorway.  He raised
his eyebrows in surprise, as I was guided by the guard up the staircase to the
topmost floor.  There, I was instructed to wait outside a door.  It was the
self-same door, the one I had been to once before.  I feared that my summons
were again for the self-same purpose. 

The guard knocked and backed away, a
snicker upon his lips and a leer in his eyes, before removing himself to the
corner, whereupon he stood, watching me with pleasure.

Presently, the heavy door swung open.

“Ah, Mistress Seamstress,” the King
declared.  “I have need of your skills.  Do come in.”

“Yes, Sir.”  I curtseyed dutifully,
although my heart began to race.  I held my sewing kit before me.  “What would
you like me to repair?”

“Ha!” the King chortled, and like his
cousin, King Mikal before him, he emitted a foul gust of alcohol-laden breath. 
“My heart, Mistress.  It is broken and in need of mending.  I can see you
possess this skill, for I have been watching you these many months, wondering
where it was that I first spied your lovely smile.”

“I don’t understand, Sir,” I protested,
refusing to enter the chamber, though he beckoned me in.

“Come, woman.  Step inside.  I do not wish
to provide more entertainment for the guards than they deserve.” 

What choice did I have?  To run from the
King and be shot by the guard, who sneered as if he was already enjoying the
show?  To die now would be such a cruel twist of fate, for I had reached a
state of contentment, a peace with Kenan that I had never known before. 

“Go inside,” Grandmother advised.  “There
is yet more which you must do.  You have a son who needs you.  For him, you
must live.”

I went in and I sat upon the couch,
waiting for what surely would come to pass.  As I suspected, the needle and
thread were never taken from the kit. 

“You are a servant,” he cried, when he had
done what he wished to do.  “You are a Karut woman of no-account, yet you draw
my eyes whenever you are near.  I have watched you walk about the courtyard.  I
grow jealous when that old man goes inside your door.  My cousin used you, and
so shall I do the same.

“How come you, foolish woman?  What is it
about that you that you have captured the heart of two kings?  Your smile is
beautiful and it slays me as if I was a senseless boy.”

I had no answer, no explanation, for I was
just as confused myself.  However, in my heart, a seedling of a thought began
to grow. 

There was another man for whom this throne
was destined, another who deserved it by virtue of his birth.  He was a man who
would love me above all others, and it was for him, I would endure all that
Marko Korelesk wanted.

Each moment in this room, in this
building, was part of a grand plan.  I was here to ensure the doors flung open
when his army knocked upon the gates.  For my son, I would do all that was
necessary to save his throne.

I parted from Kenan though it broke the
old man’s heart.

“I understand,” he muttered.  “It is
something you must do.”

“I have no choice.”

“We all have choices.  Sometimes, they do
not appear to be so, but always, there is an option to turn another way.”

Kenan walked away and did not return to
his posting at the front door.  In fact, I was the last to see him, the last to
watch him disappear amongst the roses in the garden. 

My grief was short-lived for the King kept
me distracted.  When I was not with him, I was selecting clothes, purchasing
jewelry, and setting my hair. 

Although, I was not to be Queen, I was
giving free reign and an allowance to do as I pleased. 

“You are the queen of my heart,” Marko
declared, pulling me close to his rotund chest.  “But, I have chosen not to wed
again after the death of both my son and wife.”

That was fine with me, for I did not love
Marko even a little.  Pleasing him was a dreadful chore, in which I would
always close my eyes and dream of someone else. 

Who?  Certainly, not Pellen, nor Kenan,
and there were no other lovers, save one.  Only Mikal came to mind, and even
then, it was hardly an act of love, but a duty of a young woman to her king.

Afterwards, as Marko lay in bed, he would
recite a never ending litany of complaints. 

“The people are fools!  They do not
respect me as they should.  Why do they act as if I feed them all?  Do they not
have hands and feet with which they may work?  If they want coins from me, they
must join my army.  Yet, the Generals tell me there is few men willing to fight
and fewer still who are healthy or able to shoot a gun.  And, if that wasn’t
enough, they are refusing to pay the tithes I have imposed.  Fortunately, I
have camps where my work is done by Karut slaves.”

I would cluck and murmur false sounds of
comfort, while my heart burned, for I had known those camps well.  Did he
forget that is where he found me only a few years ago?  Did he forget that the
blood of the motherland filled my veins, that I was one of those whom he
scorned? 

One day, the King came to me in a rage and
no amount of comfort would calm his angry heart, as he stormed back and forth
across the room.

“The Karuts!  I wish every one of them
dead.  They have the gall to strike at our shoreline cities, burning them,
creating chaos, killing those who dare to fight.  Terrorists, they are!  Do
they think they can turn my country into ash?  I will capture those foolish
young men and all within my reign who dare to aide them.  I will hang them by
their necks outside these palace walls.”

Now, I grew fearful, and I wondered if and
when he tired of me, would I also hang with them?

“I will kill that young one myself,” Marko
declared.

“What young one?” I gasped, before
immediately lowering my voice.

Disguising my alarm, I reached for my
hairbrush and briskly, pulled it through my hair.  Marko loved when my hair
shone like polished gold.  He would wrap his fingers around it, tugging it only
a little too hard. 

“A young fool,” the King waved his hand
through the air, “not even fully grown.  The Karuts call him their prince,
their new MaKennah, even though King Rekah has no true born son.”

“A boy,” I scoffed, my voice choked and
far too high, when finally I was able to utter a word.  “Do not worry after a
boy.  You have an army with guns and trucks and ships, while the Karuts have
nothing but swords and horses.”

Marko made a snorting noise and spittle
flew from his thick lips.  “I shall have him brought here to my palace and I
shall see his body hanging from the flagpole in the courtyard.  Like a flag he
will be, and a warning to all.  Let them see how I treat traitors who conspire
against my reign.”

The autumn arrived again and with it
fierce winter-like storms.  The ocean pounded against the rocks and the
seawall, as if it’s only desire was to break it down.  Rain fell from the sky
for days, intermingled with enormous rocks of hail.  Within weeks of the end of
summer, it began to snow, far earlier than ever before. 

Then, the winds came, terrible gales that
howled day and night.  Unceasingly, they pounded the windows as if demanding to
either come in, or blow the building down. 

“The angels are angry still,” the maids of
the palace whispered in the shadows.  “Something terrible will happen soon. 
The winds foretell it.  They always do.”