Falling Kingdoms (2 page)

“A
life without wine and beauty isn’t worth living. Don’t you agree, princess?” Aron slung his arm around Cleo’s shoulders as the group of four walked along the dusty, rocky country path.

They’d been in port for less than two hours and he was already drunk, a fact not unduly startling when it came to Aron.

Cleo’s glance fell on their accompanying palace guard. His eyes flashed with displeasure at Aron’s proximity to the princess of Auranos. But the guard’s concern wasn’t necessary. Despite the fancy jeweled dagger Aron always wore on a sheath hanging from his belt, he was no more dangerous than a butterfly. A drunk butterfly.

“I couldn’t agree more,” she said, lying only a little.

“Are we almost there?” Mira asked. The beautiful girl with long dark reddish hair and smooth flawless skin was both Cleo’s friend and her older sister’s lady-in-waiting. When Emilia decided to stay home due to a sudden headache, she’d insisted that Mira accompany Cleo on this trip. Once the ship arrived in the harbor, a dozen of their friends chose to remain comfortably on board while Cleo and Mira joined Aron on his journey to a nearby village to find the “perfect” bottle of wine. The palace wine cellars were stocked with thousands of bottles of wine from both Auranos and Paelsia, but Aron had heard of a particular vineyard whose output was supposedly unparalleled. At his request, Cleo booked one of her father’s ships and invited many of their friends on the trip to Paelsia expressly in search of his ideal bottle.

“That would be a question for Aron. He’s the one leading this particular quest.” Cleo drew her fur-lined velvet cloak closer to block out the chill of the day. While the ground was clear, a few light snowflakes drifted across their rock-strewn path. Paelsia was farther north than Auranos, but the temperature here surprised her nonetheless. Auranos was warm and temperate, even in the bleakest winter months, with rolling green hills, sturdy olive trees, and acres beyond acres of rich, temperate farmland. Paelsia, by contrast, seemed dusty and gray as far as the eye could see.

“Almost there?” Aron repeated. “Almost there? Mira, my peach, all good things come to those who wait. Remember that.”

“My lord, I’m the most patient person I know. But my feet hurt.” She tempered the complaint with a smile.

“It’s a beautiful day and I’m lucky enough to be accompanied by two gorgeous girls. We must give thanks to the goddess for the splendor we’ve been greeted with here.”

Watching the guard, Cleo saw him briefly roll his eyes. When he noticed that she had seen him, he didn’t immediately look away as any other guard might. He held her gaze with a defiance that intrigued her. She realized she hadn’t seen—or, at least, noticed—this guard before today.

“What’s your name?” she addressed him.

“Theon Ranus, your highness.”

“Well, Theon, do you have anything to add to our discussion about how far we’ve walked this afternoon?”

Aron chortled and swigged from his flask.

“No, princess.”

“I’m surprised, since you are the one who’ll be required to carry the cases of wine back to the ship.”

“It’s my duty and honor to serve you.”

Cleo considered him for a moment. His hair was the color of dark bronze, his skin tanned and unlined. He looked as if he could be one of her rich friends waiting on the ship rather than a uniformed guard her father had insisted accompany them on this journey.

Aron must have been thinking the exact same thing. “You look young for a palace guard.” His words slurred together drunkenly as he regarded Theon with a squint. “You can’t be much older than I am.”

“I’m eighteen, my lord.”

Aron snorted. “I stand corrected. You are much older than me. Vastly.”

“By one year,” Cleo reminded him.

“A year can be a blissful eternity.” Aron grinned. “I plan to cling to my youth and lack of responsibility for the year I have left.”

Cleo ignored Aron, for the guard’s name now rang a bell in her mind. She’d overheard her father as he exited one of his council meetings briefly discuss the Ranus family. Theon’s father had died only a week ago—thrown from a horse. His neck had broken instantly.

“My sympathies for the loss of your father,” she said with true sincerity. “Simon Ranus was well respected as my father’s personal bodyguard.”

Theon nodded stiffly. “It was a job he did with great pride. And one I hope to have the honor to be considered for when King Corvin chooses his replacement.” Theon’s brows drew together as if he hadn’t expected her to know of his father’s death. An edge of grief slid behind his dark eyes. “Thank you for your kind words, your highness.”

Aron audibly snorted and Cleo shot him a withering look.

“Was he a good father?” she asked.

“The very best. He taught me everything I know from the moment I could hold a sword.”

She nodded sympathetically. “Then his knowledge will continue to live on through you.”

Now that the young guard’s dark good looks had caught her attention, she found it increasingly difficult to return her gaze to Aron, whose slight frame and pale skin spoke of a life spent indoors. Theon’s shoulders were broad, his arms and chest muscled, and he filled out the dark blue palace guard uniform better than she ever would have imagined possible.

Guiltily, she forced herself to return her attention to her friends. “Aron, you have another half hour before we head back to the ship. We’re keeping the others waiting.”

Auranians loved a good party, but they weren’t known for their endless patience. However, since they’d been brought to the Paelsian docks by her father’s ship, they’d have to keep waiting until Cleo was ready to leave.

“The market we’re going to is up ahead,” Aron said, gesturing. Cleo and Mira looked and saw a cluster of wooden stalls and colorful worn tents, perhaps another ten minutes’ walk. It was the first sign of people they had seen since they’d passed a ragged band of children clustered around a fire an hour ago. “You’ll soon see it was well worth the trip.”

Paelsian wine was said to be a drink worthy of the goddess. Delicious, smooth, without equal in any other land, and its effects did not lead to illness or headaches the next day, no matter how much was consumed. Some said that there was strong earth magic at work in the Paelsian soil and in the grapes themselves to make them so perfect in a land that held so many other imperfections.

Cleo wasn’t planning to sample it. She didn’t drink wine anymore—hadn’t for many months. Before that, she’d consumed more than her share of Auranian wine, which didn’t taste much better than vinegar. But people—at least, Cleo—didn’t drink it for the taste; they drank for the intoxicating results, the feeling of not a care in the world. Such a feeling, without an anchor to hold one close to shore, could lead one to drift into dangerous territory. And Cleo wasn’t in any hurry to sip anything stronger than water or peach juice in the foreseeable future.

Cleo watched Aron drain his flask. He never failed to drink both her share and his and made no apologies for anything he did while under its influence. Despite his shortcomings, many in the court considered him the lord her father would choose as her future husband. The thought made Cleo shudder, yet she still kept him close at hand. For Aron knew a secret about Cleo. Even though he hadn’t mentioned it in many months, she was certain he hadn’t forgotten. Nor would he ever.

This secret’s reveal would destroy her.

Because of this, she tolerated him socially with a smile on her lips. No one would ever guess that she loathed him.

“Here we are,” Aron finally announced as they entered the gates of the village market. Beyond the stalls, off to the right, Cleo saw some small farmhouses and cottages in the near distance. Though far less prosperous-looking than the farms she’d seen in the Auranian countryside, she noted with surprise that the small clay structures with their thatched roofs and small windows seemed neat and well kept, at odds with the impression she had of Paelsia. Paelsia was a land filled with poor peasants, ruled over not by a king, but a chieftain, who was rumored by some to be a powerful sorcerer. Despite Paelsia’s proximity to Auranos, however, Cleo rarely gave her neighbors to the north much thought, other than an occasional vague interest in entertaining tales of the much more “savage” Paelsians.

Aron stopped in front of a stall draped in dark purple fabric that brushed down to the dusty ground.

Mira sighed with relief. “Finally.”

Cleo turned to her left only to be greeted by a pair of glittering black eyes in a tanned, lined face. She took an instinctive step back and felt Theon standing firm and comforting close behind her. The man looked rough, even dangerous, much like the few others who’d crossed their path since they’d arrived in Paelsia. The wine seller’s front tooth was chipped but white in the bright sunlight. He wore simple clothes, made from linen and worn sheepskin. A thick wool tunic for warmth. Feeling self-conscious, Cleo pulled her sable-lined cloak closer around her silk dress, pale blue and embroidered in gold.

Aron eyed the man with interest. “Are you Silas Agallon?”

“I am.”

“Good. This is your lucky day, Silas. I’ve been told that your wine is the best in all of Paelsia.”

“You were told right.”

A lovely dark-haired girl emerged from the back of the stall. “My father is a gifted wine maker.”

“This is Felicia, my daughter.” Silas nodded at the girl. “A daughter who should be getting ready for her wedding right now.”

She laughed. “And leave you to work all day lugging cases of wine? I’ve come to convince you to close shop early.”

“Perhaps.” The pleased glint in the wine seller’s dark eyes shifted to disdain as he took in Aron’s fine clothes. “And who might you be?”

“Both you and your lovely daughter have the great privilege to be acquainted with her royal highness Princess Cleiona Bellos of Auranos.” Aron nodded toward her and then Mira. “This is Lady Mira Cassian. And I am Aron Lagaris. My father is lord of Elder’s Pitch on the southern coast of Auranos.”

The wine seller’s daughter looked at Cleo, surprised, and lowered her head with respect. “An honor, your highness.”

“Yes, quite an honor,” Silas agreed, and Cleo couldn’t detect sarcasm in his tone. “We rarely have royalty from either Auranos or Limeros visit our humble village. I can’t remember the last time. I’d be honored to give you a sample to try before we discuss your purchase, your highness.”

Cleo shook her head with a smile. “Aron’s the one interested in your wares. I simply accompanied him here.”

The wine seller looked disappointed, even a little hurt. “Even still, will you do me the great honor of tasting my wine—to toast my daughter’s wedding?”

How could she refuse such a request? She nodded, trying to hide her reluctance. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

The sooner she did, the sooner they could leave this market. While colorful and well populated, it smelled less than pleasant—as if the scent of a nearby cesspit lingered in the air with no fragrant herbs or flowers to cover the stench. Despite Felicia’s palpable excitement for her impending wedding, the poverty of this land and these people was distressing. Perhaps Cleo too should have stayed on the ship while Aron fetched the wine for their friends.

All she really knew about small, poor Paelsia was that it had one wealth that neither of the other two kingdoms flanking it could claim. Paelsian soil this close to the sea grew vineyards that put any other land’s to shame. Many said that earth magic was responsible. She’d heard stories of grapevines stolen from the earth here, but they withered and died almost immediately once they crossed over the border.

“You’ll be my last customers,” Silas said. “Then I’ll do as my daughter asks and close up shop for the day to prepare for her wedding at dusk.”

“My congratulations to you both,” Aron said with disinterest as he scanned the bottles on display, his lips pursed. “Do you have suitable glasses for our tasting?”

“Of course.” Silas moved behind the cart and dug deep into a rickety wooden case. He pulled out three glasses that caught the sunlight and then uncorked a bottle of wine. Pale amber-colored liquid trickled in the glasses, the first of which he handed to Cleo.

Theon was suddenly right next to Cleo, snatching the glass away from the wine seller before she touched it. Whatever dark look was on the guard’s face made Silas take a shaky step backward and exchange a glance with his daughter.

Cleo gasped, startled. “What are you doing?”

“You would taste something a stranger offers you without any second thoughts?” Theon asked sharply.

“It’s not poisoned.”

He peered down into the glass. “Do you know that for sure?”

She looked at him impatiently. He thought someone might poison her? For what purpose? The peace between the lands had lasted more than a century. There was no threat here. Having a palace guard accompany her at all on this trip was more to appease her overprotective father than out of any true necessity.

“Fine.” She flicked her hand at him. “Feel free to be my taster. I’ll be sure not to drink any if you fall over dead from it.”

“Oh, how ridiculous,” Aron drawled. He tipped his glass back and drained it without a second thought.