The Reign of Trees (12 page)

Chapter Nine

Since Illianah’s illness had been self-imposed, she had imagined she would instantly feel better when she had deemed it time to get out of her bed. It surprised her how weak she was; equally surprising was how difficult it had become to keep food in her stomach. For several days after her visit from Donovan, she did not get out of her bed even though she was desirous to do so. She retched after every meal and barely had the strength to feed the pup, whom Illianah named Liberty.

But gradually, Illianah regained her strength. She resumed eating her meals in the great hall with the king and his son, among others. Donovan always had the same look within his black eyes—a look of kindness, compassion, consideration. Having him look at her in such a manner always resulted in Illianah smiling and then blushing, and then trying to look away to hide her shame. But Donovan’s expression did not change: he was not ashamed to show her such affection.

A week after Illianah had left her bed, she began taking walks about the courtyard and often times she would visit the stable to allow the pup to play with its siblings. She was beginning to feel like she could roam about the castle grounds freely, almost as if it was her home. The citizens of Andoradda stared at her and often whispered as she passed by, but she paid them no attention. She had been in the country for two months: she should be entitled to tour the marketplace daily like any other citizen.

When Donovan was not consumed with war preparations, he would join her on her walks. His presence only seemed to draw more whispers.

“I do not think your people like to see me walking around their territory,” she said one particularly bright and sunny afternoon. “I think they see me as their enemy.”

“How do you see them, Illianah?” he asked. “Are they your enemies?”

She thought on this momentarily. There was a time when she had viewed the Deltegrans as being rough, unrefined, even devilish. She no longer had such feelings toward them. They were just people. People much like her people in Burchess. She did not fear the Deltegrans, nor did she abhor them. “No,” she answered. “They are not the enemy. They are just people. People trying to live their lives in the midst of a war.”

Donovan stopped walking and turned to face her. The right side of his mouth rose higher than the left, making him look like that mischievous boy-prince she once knew. “Then I shall tell them they can stop sleeping on their swords.”

She laughed slightly and Donovan resumed walking. His face no longer looked mischievous, but his unrestrained smile still made him look boyish. He did not seem like the same cumbersome prince she had seen a few hours earlier with a look of grave concern across his brow as he studied maps of Deltegra.

“You exaggerate. I pose no threat to anyone in Andoradda.”

That same mischievous smile landed upon his mouth. “On the contrary, princess. You pose a serious threat to all the women in the city.”

“I do no such thing.”

“Oh, but you do. They are the ones who are at odds with you.”

“Really, My Lord, I have done nothing …”

“You do not need to do anything; all it takes is one look at you and they know the hearts of their men have been stolen away.”

Her cheeks burned, but she would not allow Donovan to be the victor—she did not look away. “You are trying to fill my head with flattering thoughts, hoping to raise my spirits.”

“’Tis not flattery. ’Tis the truth.”

It
was
flattery. She had seen her reflection in the mirror this morning. She looked waifish and frail. She longed to see some roundness on her cheeks again. And a slight bit of color would be welcomed as well. She looked as if she’d had her blood drained to achieve paleness like the princesses in Arugua did. Illianah thought that look to be obscene. What was attractive about looking as if death were about to visit?

“Then one might accuse you of being a tease,” she said, her tongue sounding reproachful.

“One might?” Donovan looked around, as if he was searching for someone. “It is only you and I. Who is this person accusing me of such a dastardly deed as teasing?”

She felt like she was trying to wrestle with a stubborn donkey. She did not know if she would be able to get the better of Donovan today. He seemed optimistically determined.

“I am. I do not appreciate being treated like a plaything.” She hoped to sound severe, but her voice had a hint of pleasure to it. Truthfully, she loved Donovan’s attention. She adored his adulation, and watching his expressions as he doted on her brought her heart warmth she had not felt in years.

“I would never treat you as such, Illianah. You should know that.” The playfulness left his face—he now looked hurt.

She wanted to remind him that teasing a married woman would be considered trifling or playing with misplaced affections, but saying it out loud would remind her of facts she preferred to ignore.

“Yes, thank you. I do know.” Her heart began skipping like a merry child set free of her day’s chores. It felt dangerously exhilarating to openly acknowledge Donovan’s tenderness toward her. It was wrong to admit this, yet somehow, it made her feel alive again.

They walked in silence for several more steps. The noisy market was now fifty yards behind them and the crowd had thinned. They were heading in the direction of the stables and within the next hour, Illianah would need to bring the pup into the kitchen for another feeding. Her free time was coming to an end. But there was something she needed to ask Donovan and she wanted to do it before things changed between them.

“Might I inquire on the war, My Lord?”

He blinked as he looked at her. She wondered if he was considering how much he could trust her.

“I have not heard of Burchess coming to battle again, although it is expected,” she said. “I was merely wondering …”

“How much longer before you are rescued?” he interrupted, again looking austere.

“Actually, no,” she replied. Going home was the farthest thing from her mind. In fact, she did not like to think of it. “I had observed that you seemed … optimistic, and I thought perhaps you had received good news.”

He again stopped walking and looked left to right. They were in a narrow passageway which was lined with barrels on one side. He motioned for her to follow him around the corner where the barrels momentarily hid them from view of anyone at the end of the passage. “Yes, we did receive good news. Our spies say Burchess is planning to attack our southernmost village. It is small and the terrain is rugged. I suspect they think it to be defenseless, as there is nothing there worth protecting. The forest is thin there, as it is very rocky. From the view of an outsider, it is the perfect spot to penetrate our border.”

“Then why are you cheerful?”

“Because we suspected as much. We have more soldiers in Sanguine than in any other border town. Plus, because of this piece of information, we are sending additional forces. We are taking half the troops from every other town and sending them to Sanguine at once. It will be like Laencia, all over again. We will outnumber Burchess. We know the terrain—they do not. It is a certain victory.”

She smiled, happy to share in Donovan’s optimism. “Is this a secret? Do others not know of it?”

“Very few. We do not want Burchess to know we are on to them.”

Her heart skipped a beat. He trusted her with the secret strategies of his army. “Thank you,” she said. “I will not say anything.”

“Yes, it is definitely not something you can mention in your letters.” He smiled as if it was merely a quip, but she recognized he was probably giving her a warning as well.

“I have no need to write anyone in Burchess,” she said. It hurt to say as much, but it was the truth. Donovan deserved to be given her honesty as well.

Her face must have reflected some degree of pain, because his eyes looked soft and sympathetic again. “Then we shall have nothing to worry about.”

They continued their walk to the stables where Liberty was napping in a bed of hay, all alone. Her siblings and mother were huddled together a few feet away. Illianah groaned and scooped up the pup. “Why must they always reject you?” she asked the dog.

The dog licked her face in response. “Perhaps it is not that,” Donovan said. “Perhaps it is that she belongs elsewhere.”

***

Walking about the courtyard with Donovan became a daily ritual. It was clear that he was busy with war preparations, but he always made time be with Illianah as she went to the stables. It was on one of these walks that Illianah discovered another friend: Kasba, the horse from Freidlenburg. Donovan explained how the horse—along with another two dozen taken from Lord Braithwell's stables—was needed to bring the shipment of lumber back to Deltegra. He looked troubled as he explained this, but Illianah said, “Obviously you would need the horses. Lord Braithwell’s men killed how many of yours?”

“Forty and four.”

Her heart ached thinking of all those beautiful horses slaughtered for no reason other than greed. “Well I am glad that Kasba is here. She will be much happier.” Illianah stroked the horses neck and the horse responded by turning to Illianah and nudging her with its nose. “I would like to ride her,” Illianah said, without realizing her dream had made it to her lips.

“Are you are up to it?” Donovan asked.

Illianah felt nearly normal now, although she knew she was still weak from when she had taken up her death march. “Of course. When have I ever not been game for a ride?”

“Perhaps tomorrow then,” he replied.

She smiled at the prospect. The wind in her hair. The thrill of galloping at top speed. Being with Donovan, outside of the city walls. That last thought made her smile so much her cheeks hurt.

“You are pleased with the idea?”

She turned her attention from the horse and looked at Donovan. He smiled as well. “Yes, very.”

“Good. Then it shall be done.”

But Donovan’s smiles were gone when she saw him later in the day. She joined him for supper, along with his father, General Montague, and other leaders of their army. They had just finished a long meeting discussing war strategies and Illianah gathered the situation was escalating. “Has Burchess attacked at Sanguine?” she asked Donovan, who was sitting at her right.

It was apparent General Montague heard her question as well, as he looked in their direction and squinted.

“No, not yet.” Donovan said. He reached for his drink and whispered, “The delay is beginning to worry some.”

She understood that to mean General Montague was among those who were worried by the delay in attack. It had only been a week since Deltegran spies had learned of Burchess’s plans. She did not think the time frame to be prolonged. It was a distance of a hundred and twenty miles from the capital of Burchess to the southeastern Deltegran village of Sanguine. “Could be any day now, I would imagine,” she said.

“Yes,” Donovan replied. “However, there is no sign of Prince Harrington’s army. Our spies have been watching ….” Donovan looked away from Illianah momentarily and then he stopped speaking. She took her eyes off him as well. General Montague glared fiercely at them; his intimidating stare obviously silenced Donovan, as he said no more.

Illianah took a few more bites of her boiled potatoes and washed it down with a drink. “You should not be fretting over extra time to prepare. You should be glad Burchess is taking their time to march to Sanguine.”

Donovan leaned toward her and said, his voice very low, “That is one school of thought. The other, however is …”

“We have been had,” General Montague interrupted. Apparently, Donovan’s whisper was not low enough. “We have sent our thousands to Sanguine and now Burchess can easily attack us at any other town. Perhaps we should inquire of you, Princess Illianah. What are your husband’s war strategies?”

“I would hardly know. War strategies were something we never got around to discussing in our brief time together,” she said, her mouth moving quickly and sharply.

“Yes, but perhaps he has given you a coded message in his letters to you.”

“And you think I would share his secrets with you?” she asked, offended that General Montague would accuse her of harboring plots against Deltegra.

Montague nodded and played with his fork for a moment. “Of course not with me. But with Prince Henrick. Perhaps I have finally realized the game His Highness plays. He has gotten close to you to earn your trust. Tell us Prince Henrick, what secrets has she shared with you?”

She studied Donovan carefully, trying to judge his demeanor. His jaw pulsed. He looked angered by Montague’s comment, but he did not look ashamed, as she expected he would if he was guilty of using her for secrets.

“Watch your tongue General Montague,” Donovan said. “The princess and I share no secrets, and I loathe your implication.”

“Well it is certainly true that you are not secretive in your affections. You brazenly walk about town talking and dallying for all the citizens to see. I had suspected such a relationship would be built upon a foundation of secrets.”

“Enough!” Donovan slapped his hand upon the wooden table, causing Illianah to jump. “You will stop such accusations and give Princess Illianah the respect she deserves.”

“Respect?” Montague spat. “She is the daughter of our sworn enemy; the wife of the commander of the Burchessian army, and you wish
me
to respect
her
? I do not bow to members of the royal family of Burchess.” He shoved away from the table, his chair scraping roughly against the marble tile, and then stood. He bowed to the king and said, “You must excuse me, Your Highness. I have matters to tend to.” Montague did not bow to the prince as he left the room, an offence which would have put Montague in prison if this was Burchess. But nothing was said to Montague as he left. Her stomach began to grow sour with worry that it was Donovan who was in jeopardy of being found traitorous for his relationship with her.

She glanced around the table to see the responses of the others present. Her stomach sank. None of them looked appalled by what Montague had done, not even the King. She set down her fork, knowing she would not be able to stomach any more food, and was about to excuse herself from dinner when the king called out the names of the lords and commanders and said, “Give us the room.”

Illianah braced herself for what was certain to be a verbal lashing. But apparently Donovan was not willing to accept reprimand. “We have done nothing wrong father,” he said once the room had emptied. “I cannot believe you would allow General Montague to imply as much.”

“Are you aware of what people are saying?”

Her eyes quickly fell to her lap. She knew her cheeks had flared red—there was nothing she could do about that—but she would not let the king see the shame within her eyes. She was a married woman who had been carelessly cavorting about with another man.

“We have committed no crime,” Donovan shouted, this time slamming his fist against the table, causing her to jump yet again.

“They are saying,” the king continued, raising his voice to match Donovan’s, “that you will bring the wrath of God upon this land. Your blatant sins will be brought down on their heads. They worry that God will punish them for following wicked leaders.”

Donovan quickly stood, his chair making a loud thumping noise as he freed it of its burden. “Stop this at once, father! Might I remind you that you are in the presence of a woman?”

“Might I remind you that you are in the presence of a
married
woman?” The king flung the words back at Donovan like they were filled with gunpowder. Illianah expected there to be an explosion at any moment and she did not know who would face the brunt of the blast—Donovan or the king.

She was tired of sitting helplessly, useless in defending her honor. Before she knew what her body was doing, she slid her chair out and rose to her feet as well. She straightened her back and proudly said, “I have done nothing to bring myself or my husband shame. Prince Henrick has extended to me his hand in friendship, nothing more. You might stop and consider the effect for good this relationship could prove to be once this war is over. You might wish as much from me as well, Your Highness, as I will one day be back in the Burchessian court.” Her words felt empty as they rolled off her tongue. Donovan had tried to convince her of this rationale at an earlier time and she had not believed him then—nor did she believe the words now. Additionally, she did not know that she would be back in the Burchessian court anytime soon, nor did she know that she actually
wanted
to be there. Facing her father filled her with a sense of dread.

“You might consider, Princess Illianah, how angered your husband and father will be when they find you have befriended Prince Henrick. You are headed down a slippery slope and I warn you to stop now before you fall to your social death.”

“I do not need your words of wisdom, King Henrick. You are neither my father nor my king.”

Illianah turned and left the great hall, not daring to look back at Donovan. It was possible that he was offended by her treatment of his father; knowing how Donovan revered and respected his father, her harsh words could prove detrimental to their friendship. But by the time she reached her bedchamber, worrying about offending Donovan was the farthest thing from her mind. Her stomach felt as if it was being pummeled by a giant’s fists. She muttered a curse as she sat on the bed and then held her head in her hands, shamed by her behavior. She was guilty of openly engaging in coquettish behavior. What bothered her even more was that she worried if she would no longer be allowed to fraternize with Donovan, her heart would crumple into a heap at the bottom of her chest. Life without Donovan would be akin to experiencing death and burial while yet alive.