Legacy (6 page)

“So our traitor would have to be someone in the Elite Guard?” I forced the sentence from my tightening throat. The very suggestion was alarming, for these men were the royal family's most trusted guards.

“In theory. Hence the doubling up of all the bodyguards. The drugging also seems plausible because there were no signs of a forced breakout. The keys could easily have been used and returned while the guards were unconscious.”

“That's frightening,” I murmured, and a chill swept through me despite the warmth of the day.

“Ah, never fear, Princess,” Steldor said with a self-assured chuckle, putting his arm around my shoulder and drawing me near. “I'll protect you.”

“I'm sure you will,” I forced myself to say, slipping from beneath his arm to come to my feet. London's lack of trust in Steldor was beginning to nag at me.

“Let's walk a bit more, shall we?” I invited.

I spent most of the afternoon with the captain's son, sharing a bite to eat with him and listening with feigned interest as he returned to making speeches about himself. Eventually, we went back inside the palace, I, at least, feeling somewhat guilty about leaving Madam Matallia asleep on her bench. Steldor accompanied me to the spiral staircase, and although he offered to escort me farther, I latched onto a Palace Guard to stand in for London.

Having escaped Steldor without a kiss, I trod lightly up the steps to the second floor, picturing the faces of the Elite Guards in my mind while I mulled over the possibility that one of them was a traitor. Most of them had protected the royal family for at least half my life, and I knew that in order to be inducted into the Elite Guard, a soldier's loyalty to the throne had to be proven. What could have prompted one of them to betray the kingdom he loved?

Hearing muffled conversation from inside the library, I moved in the direction of the sound. As I approached the half-open library door, Tadark's unmistakable voice reached my ears, and I sent the Palace Guard who had walked with me on his way. Words were tumbling from the lieutenant's mouth, and I assumed London was with him, for no one else would have had the patience to put up with such never-ending chatter.

“When I was nine, I would steal my father's sword to play
with. I never hurt anybody, but I got in a lot of trouble, believe you me. For some reason, I kept doing it, though. I don't know why. I guess I was just destined to be a soldier. It was my dream to become part of the Elite Guard. You people inspired me to become what I am today. I made a lot of stupid mistakes when I was just a soldier, so I didn't think I'd make it, but I did! I remember hearing in military school about the training you have to go through to be in the Elite Guard, and I just thought,
never.
Never would I survive that. But once I was in the training program, I didn't want to drop out, and so somehow I made it through.”

There was a pause, and I pictured Tadark surfacing like a swimmer for air, as his speech had surely put a strain on his lungs. Then he continued, more slowly, his enthusiasm now tempered with curiosity.

“How did you survive it?”

Time slipped away while Tadark waited for London to respond. I guessed that the deputy captain was reading a book and not paying any heed to what the younger man was saying.

“You're the quiet type, aren't you?” It was still Tadark who was speaking.

“Only around you,” London replied absently, at last giving his partner his due.

“Why's that? I really can't picture you talking much ever. You strike me as a bit…dull.”

I covered my mouth with my hand in order to keep from laughing out loud, drawing many odd stares from the guards and servants who passed me.

There was a pause, then London gave an explanation. “I just figure you talk enough for the both of us, Tad.”

“My name is
Tadark.
”

“What, you don't like the name Tad? I think it fits you. Tad.”

“Don't call me that!”

“Whatever you say…Tad.”

Tadark exhaled huffily several times, and I was certain London had returned to his book, at ease with Tadark's displeasure. After a moment, the lieutenant collected himself and attempted again to engage London.

“You want to know why I follow you around all the time?”

“Because we're stationed together?”

“Well, yes, but I mean other than that.”

“Tell me, Tad. Why do you follow me around all the time?”

“Because I respect you. You're everything I strive to become—everything an Elite Guard should be.”

“I'm honored.”

“I'd hate to think you'd betray your king and queen for your own profit.”

A few moments of silence greeted this outrageous statement.

“What are you talking about?” London's voice betrayed a belief that Tadark might be hopelessly feebleminded.

“Someone has to have done it—released the Cokyrian prisoner. It could be you just as easily as it could be anyone else.”

“There's no proof that anyone helped her escape.”

“Oh, please. You know there's a traitor. I'm just saying that…
everyone…
is a suspect.”

“You're in no position to point fingers, Tadark. More often than not, the accuser is the guilty party.” London was riled. I had never before heard him use a deep, warning tone like the
one he was using now. “Don't push me. I can cause you a lot of problems, boy.”

“
Boy?
Who are you to be calling
me
boy? You look younger than I do!” Tadark was almost squealing, his voice rising in pitch as he became increasingly overwrought.

A book tumbled to the floor, and I knew London had gotten to his feet.

“Attention!” he barked. “Have you forgotten that I am your superior officer?”

“No, sir, I haven't, sir,” Tadark mumbled.

“I didn't hear you,” London snarled.

“No, sir, I haven't, sir,” Tadark repeated, with greater volume and clarity.

I decided to intervene before some horrible punishment befell my younger guard. I knew London, who generally followed no rules but his own, had to be incensed to have called upon military protocol.

Swinging open the library door, I hailed them, deliberately cheerful. “I was heading back to my room when I heard you talking, and thought I might join you here.”

London, uncharacteristically agitated, stood across from me in front of the library's bay window, the book through which he had been paging forgotten at his feet, while Tadark was frozen before him at attention amidst several scattered armchairs. Along the right wall, near the fireplace, were a sofa and several additional chairs. On the floor, between the seating areas, was a large rug upon which I had frequently lain during my childhood, often entertained by drawings that London would make for me. Book-filled shelves formed legions of aisles on the left.

“At ease,” London muttered upon seeing me, and the rigidity left Tadark's posture despite the embarrassed flush that
was creeping up his neck. The two men glanced at each other and I could almost hear the question that had formed in their minds—
Did she hear us?

“Now, gentlemen,” I teased. “Judging by your faces, you must have been discussing something I'm not supposed to know about.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” London replied a bit too harshly.

I decided to stop making them feel self-conscious. “Well then, please resume your discussion. I'll just browse through the books while we're here.”

My father had assembled a substantial book collection over the years and had insisted that both of his daughters were not only
taught
to read but
permitted
to read a wide variety of subjects. The books themselves represented years of painstaking effort by scribes, who copied the original authors' words onto sheets of parchment that were then bound in leather or in elaborately designed metal covers.

I meandered down one of the aisles, running a finger lovingly over some of the volumes. Here were books of science, theology, philosophy, history and medicine, along with vocabularies and encyclopedias. There were also compilations of short stories and folktales as well as poetry, romances and plays. London, in all likelihood, had been reading one of the books of law, for he had a keen mind and knowledge of Latin. I was thankful that my father was a progressive man when it came to the education of his daughters, for he had engaged tutors to teach us to read and write, to understand rudimentary Latin and to do figures, in addition to the traditional feminine subjects of etiquette, movement, household management, embroidery and music.

I continued to wander among the dusty tomes, needing some time to think without distraction. I was still unwilling
to believe there was a traitor among the Elite Guards, or any of the guards, for that matter, but, as Tadark had said, there seemed to be no other possibility. But how could I doubt any of them? They were my guardians, and I trusted each of them with my life. At the same time, any of them could have accomplished the act, except perhaps for Tadark, who was too loud and foolish to get away with something as clever as this escape had been.

The only other option, one to which I clung desperately, was something Cannan had said after our prisoner's escape. He had mentioned that the Cokyrians were famous for their stealth and trickery. I hoped that Nantilam's flight was proof of that and not of a traitor within the royal house.

I NEEDED ADDITIONAL INFORMATION. NOT about the breakout, but about the Cokyrian people. I ran through the list of those who might be able to tell me something, but turned up no one whom I would dare to ask. London would be dubious of my motives and Tadark was unlikely to know anything. I had already solicited Steldor and had no desire to do so again. My father, Cannan and Kade would refuse to tell me anything and would think the request inappropriate. Settling upon a person whose knowledge of the Cokyrian people was uncertain, I walked back to where my bodyguards sat in tense silence—London perched on the deep padded sill of the library's sun-streaked window and Tadark in a leather armchair.

“I'm going to seek out my mother,” I announced. “I have hardly spoken to her in weeks.”

While this was not my true reason for wanting to spend time with the Queen, it was accurate all the same. I had seen her only occasionally at dinner since my birthday celebration nearly a month before. We operated on vastly
different schedules, and my mother existed at my father's beck and call.

London and Tadark stood to escort me to the quarters that my mother and father shared. I knew my mother would be there, as the sun was going down and it was her habit to retire early. She jealously guarded her sleep so that there would be no circles beneath her sparkling eyes or lines upon her delicate face, for it would be unacceptable for the King to have anything less than a beautiful wife.

My parents' quarters occupied the opposite corner of the second floor from my own, and consisted of five luxurious rooms: two primarily for my mother, two primarily for my father, and one large parlor used by both. It was thought unwise for the rulers of the kingdom to sleep beside each other at night for the simple reason that separation made it more difficult for an enemy to pose a threat.

A servant girl answered my knock.

“Is my mother in her bedroom?” I asked, glancing around the elegant room, with its cream brocade armchairs and gold velvet sofas.

“Yes, Your Highness,” she responded with a curtsey.

I entered the parlor, leaving London and Tadark in the corridor with the Queen's personal guards, and went to rap upon her bedroom door.

“Come in,” my mother responded, her voice airy and melodic.

I opened the door to find her sitting at her dressing table, brushing her beautiful, long, honey-blond hair. She was already in her nightgown, and her personal maid had drawn the heavy velvet drapes across the window that looked out over the garden.

My mother turned with a smile, gazing at me with blue
eyes that were identical to Miranna's in every way, although their depth was currently enhanced by the rich plum color of the furnishings in her room.

“It's good to see you, my darling. I trust Cannan's restrictions have not been too stifling for you?”

“I'm managing,” I said, electing not to mention my escapade with Steldor. “I just wish that the mystery of the Cokyrian prisoner's escape would be solved.”

My mother nodded sympathetically and laid the hairbrush on the table.

“Tell me what you wish to know,” she said, gliding to sit upon the bed and gesturing for me to join her, surprising me with her insight.

“Don't look so astounded,” she lightly admonished. “I was the same way at your age—always wanting to know everything. But you mustn't tell your father that it was I who enlightened you.”

“I won't, Mother.” I went to sit on her velvet spread, scooting close to her. “What can you tell me about Cokyri? I mean, other than what they put in the books.”

She studied me for a moment, and I wondered if I had raised a proscribed subject.

“I'm not sure I am the one you should come to for knowledge of Cokyri. There are many who know more than I, London in particular.”

I cocked my head, a bit confused. “Why would London know so much about the enemy?”

“Oh,” she exclaimed, apparently realizing she had made reference to something about which I did not know. “It may not be my place to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

She hesitated, and I feared she would not continue. With a
whisper of a sigh, she relented, reaching out to push my hair away from my face.

“Years ago, toward the end of the war, London was a prisoner of the Cokyrians for almost ten months.”

My eyes widened in shock, and it was suddenly much more difficult to breathe.

“There was a ruthless battle in which our soldiers were greatly outnumbered. London was in command of the troops at the time, and when our soldiers were forced to retreat, he stayed to the end. When we went back to collect the bodies of our fallen, London was not among them, leading us to the conclusion that he had been taken for interrogation. The Cokyrians rarely took prisoners, and he is the only one who ever survived. Most of the information we have about the Overlord and the High Priestess has come from London.”

My mother's lilting voice was sharply out of character with the nature of the topic about which she was speaking, making the story she was telling all the more unreal.

“He was a prisoner at the time the Cokyrians were stealing our children. He said they must have found what they were after, as they abruptly withdrew from our lands. All we really know is that they vacated their encampments and took flight. It was during the disarray surrounding the return of the troops to Cokyri that he managed to escape.”

“What exactly do you mean when you say he was ‘taken for interrogation'?” I asked, anticipating the worst.

“We know little of what London went through while he was in the enemy's clutches,” she replied, patting my hand. “Those details were not something he wanted to share.”

“But did they hurt him?”

I felt ill remembering how London had spoken of the Overlord. I did not want to believe that he had incurred the
warlord's wrath, but it was inconceivable that a prisoner would not have been mistreated.

“As I said, we know very little about what he endured,” my mother repeated.

It was clear she hoped I would cease my inquiries if she refused to satisfactorily address them, but the determination in my eyes told her otherwise.

“He returned to us in a very strange state,” she continued.

“What do you mean by ‘strange'?”

“He had no physical injuries that we could see, but it took months for him to recover.”

“Well, of course it would,” I reasoned, relieved that my bodyguard and friend had not been tortured by the enemy. “It would take a while to put such an ordeal behind you.”

“Yes, it would, but that's not the kind of recovery I'm talking about.”

She raised a hand to massage her forehead, as if encouraging the memories to surface, and I waited, bewildered, for her to carry on.

“He was terribly sick, but not from any illness that our doctors could identify. He seemed feverish, but his skin was colder than ice. He was delirious, unable to speak coherently or respond in any way to what was said to him. He screamed in agony, but our doctors could not locate a source for his pain. He ate and drank little for weeks. Our doctors bled him several times, but it made no difference, and they advised us he would die.”

She sat deep in thought for a moment.

“We can't imagine the willpower it must have taken for him to return to Hytanica in that condition. When he regained his senses, he told us what he could, about his escape and about the Overlord. I'm afraid your father and Cannan quite besieged
him, concerned he would slip back into the mysterious illness that had incapacitated him for so long. Then I suppose he needed time to come to terms with the torment he had endured. He was withdrawn for many months, but eventually returned to his former self.”

I contemplated the pattern of the woolen tapestry that blanketed the floor, trying to make sense of the information my mother had provided.

“London has never mentioned any of this to me,” I murmured.

“London is a very private person,” she said. “If you ever ask him about Cokyri, don't let your questions become too personal. Some things are better left buried.”

I agreed, knowing that bringing up any of this with London would be uncomfortable for us both.

“Good night, Alera,” my mother said, giving me a kiss on the cheek before returning to her dressing table to resume brushing her hair. “Do not let your curiosity lead you to err.”

“Good night, Mother. And thank you.”

I left her bedroom, taking my time crossing the parlor to the door leading to the corridor. I had been so naive when I had asked London about Cokyri and the Overlord, on the night the Cokyrian woman had been discovered in the garden. I now understood why London never spoke of fighting in the war or his experiences with the enemy. I very much wanted to know what he had suffered, but I would never raise the subject with him. I had to accept that I might never know.

 

I tossed and turned in bed that night, plagued by disturbing images, my restlessness tempered only by the knowledge that Tadark and London were on duty in my parlor. London had
claimed the sofa, which meant that Tadark would try to catch a few winks, rather gracelessly, in an armchair. It was usually the sound of the lieutenant's moaning and complaining that put me to sleep, but tonight the noise was irritating rather than calming in its familiarity.

I lay in the darkness, imagining my longtime bodyguard starving in a Cokyrian dungeon, not knowing whether he would live or die. Our dungeon was a horrific place, and I dared not consider how the Cokyrians housed their captives.

He had said he'd seen the Overlord. I had been frightened by the reality that such a person existed in this world. London had faced him. He had borne his fury. Or had he?

London had not sustained any physical injuries, but had suffered from an unusual illness. Perhaps it was a Cokyrian illness—one of which Hytanicans had not heard and to which we had never been exposed. But if that were the case, the disease would have spread to everyone London had encountered, and the whole kingdom could have become infected. And London should have died. The doctors had said it. Maybe the illness was unidentified, but surely a doctor would know when someone was going to die.

As I continued to sort details out in my mind, comprehension dawned. London knew Cokyri better than anyone in Hytanica. It was implausible that someone could have seen the Overlord and not also have seen the High Priestess. He had recognized Nantilam in the garden, and had later told me who she was, then had tried to claim he was mistaken. Why would he withhold such information from the captain and the King? And if he were reluctant to reveal what he knew, why had he shared it with me? I could only presume that my pledge to maintain his confidence had made him more
willing to speak than he perhaps should have been, and that he had not thought my father would permit me to attend the interrogation.

And why would he lie to me, not once, but twice? London had never lied to me before, but here, with the Cokyrians, came a side of him that I did not know or like. He had left my quarters during the night of Nantilam's escape, and though he had tried to convince me otherwise, I knew it was true. I wanted to believe there was an explanation, but I had no faith that he would tell me even if I demanded it of him.

I came to a decision, one that made me anxious and sad, but that I judged to be right. London might lie to me, but he would not lie to his king.

 

The next morning, I sent word to Lanek that I wished to see my father, then visited our family chapel, which was in the East Wing just past the Queen's Drawing Room and the Music Room. At this time of day, sunshine filtered through the stained-glass windows set high into the eastern wall of the Royal Chapel, glinting off the gilded altar and cross at the front of the room. I slid into one of the carved pews and bowed my head in unspoken prayer, soliciting strength and guidance as I carried out the decision I had reached. Then I departed, determined to see my father, London and Tadark joining me when I reentered the corridor.

I paced in the small antechamber outside the Throne Room, for I needed permission to enter. The antechamber provided a waiting area for formal audiences with the King, and was accessed by walking beneath the Grand Staircase. There were three other points of entry into the Throne Room, one next to the Captain of the Guard's office, another by the sergeant at arms' office, and the last through the King's Drawing Room.
The King's Drawing Room was in the West Wing across the corridor from our private staircase and therefore gave my father easy access to the Hall of Kings from his quarters.

London and Tadark were both in unusually good moods, or perhaps it just seemed so in comparison with my own. They remained on their feet, despite the availability of several armchairs, unwilling to sit down while I remained standing, although London rested his back against a wall.

“So what time is your ‘appointment'?” London teased, referencing my father's need for formal arrangements just to meet with his own daughter.

I gave no response, but continued pacing, feeling as though the elaborate tapestries on the walls that depicted battle scenes were telling me I ought to retreat.

“It's rather ironic, really,” London persisted. “The Princess can't see the King without an appointment. I suspect it would be easier for her to swim the Recorah River than to see her own father on short notice.”

Tadark chuckled, then snapped his head around, apparently to check that no one had seen him acting less than dignified while on duty.

London was more relaxed than he had been the previous afternoon in the library, and it pained me to be in his presence in light of what I was about to do. The military was his whole life. Was I prepared to destroy that? I shook my head. London would have a good explanation for everything, and if he didn't…then he had destroyed his life himself.

Deciding I was in no mood to reciprocate his teasing, London moved on to his new pastime—antagonizing Tadark. While this was entertaining for both London and me, Tadark did not appreciate the pursuit.