The Reign of Trees (14 page)

***

Illianah was glad to catch sight of the river, as she did not know she would be able to push Kasba much farther. The horse was breathing heavily, as well as snorting in defiance. “I am sorry Kasba,” Illianah said once she had stopped at the river’s edge. “You probably have forgotten what it is like to carry a rider. You have been in the king’s stable too long.” Illianah leaned forward and stroked the horse’s jaw, but then she sat back up when Donovan approached. He looked as out of breath as Kasba.

“Good of you to join me, Your Highness,” Illianah teased.

“Good of you to wait for me.” He looked behind him, where the soldiers were coming down the ravine, all of their horses still riding at breakneck speed. “They thought you were making a run for it,” he said, still struggling to catch his breath.

She laughed. “I suppose it did look that way. I apologize for giving them concern,” she said as she again laughed.

“Do not be sorry. They could use the practice.” The nearest soldier was still twenty-feet off.

 
“Perhaps your stables lack the fine breeding of
destriers
.”

“Yes. Our horses are bred for strength, not speed.” He breathed heavily again. “Perhaps we should assign you and Kasba to our league of messengers.”

“I would be honored. However, we must let her rest first. She is tired.”

“And you are not?” he asked.

“No. I feel invigorated.”

“Naturally.” Donovan dismounted his horse and grabbed both his and hers by the reigns.
 
He led the horses along the river until they came to a soft patch of grass a stone’s throw from the highway. The soldiers had not followed. Donovan led his horse to the river’s edge and then turned back to Illianah and her horse. They were alone; completely secluded by the wilderness. Illianah’s heart seemed to jump into her throat as he stretched his hands out to her. “Allow me,” he said.

Had it been any other man, Illianah would have insisted on dismounting without assistance. But this was Donovan. She longed for his touch, in any form.

Once her feet were on the ground, Donovan kept his hands on either side of her waist. She was certain the breath she had taken before she left her horse’s back would be the last breath ever to enter her lungs. In fact, if she could force the hands of fate and have that be her dying breath, it would be well with her.

His body was separated from hers by mere inches. He held his face so close that she could feel his breath upon her mouth, as he was still breathing heavily from the race. This was that slippery slope King Henrick spoke of. Yet the joy found here at the top of the slope far exceeded any thoughts of the pain that would come after falling to the bottom. To fall down the slippery slope with Donovan brought her thoughts of ecstasy she had never before imagined.

He did not say anything, nor did he bend closer to bring his lips to hers, as she wished he would. His eyes looked around her face as if it was the first he had ever laid eyes on her. He seemed to be studying every pore. She did the same. His face was so perfectly formed: each dip and vale so delicately carved that he seemed to be sculpted from marble. But no statue could match his beauty, especially where his black eyes were his best feature. She had once thought the blackness of the eyes of the Deltegran royals was marred with evil, but now she thought otherwise. His eyes were like this forest—deep with mystery, awe, and splendor. Within his eyes, she found shelter. He was the home she so desperately longed for.

He closed his eyes, signifying he was about to kiss her, but she did not want to take her eyes off him. She wanted to remember every detail about this moment. But then he opened his eyes, shook his head as if he was shaking away an errant thought, and then he turned from her. He took Kasba to the water, giving Illianah time to erase the disappointment she knew must be upon her face.

“You could have escaped,” he said as he turned back to face her. “I do not think we would have caught you.”

“It was not my intent to escape,” she said. She did not know why her voice sounded so harsh. Why was she offended he would think she desired to go back to Burchess?

“But now that you know what you are capable of, possibly you will plan …”

Her heart shattered. “I will not escape, Donovan,” she said, her voice echoing across the river. She took a deep breath and started again, this time making certain she had control of her emotions. “I have nowhere to run. I can no longer say I feel like my heart belongs in Burchess.”

“And for that I am sorry,” he said as he turned back toward the river. He took a few steps, plucked a leaf off an aspen tree and then turned back toward her, but he kept his eyes on the leaf instead of meeting hers. “That was not my intent with telling you of your father’s treachery. I only hoped you would see the injustice.”

“You expected me to see injustice and still feel kinship with those who caused this war?”

He began to pull at the leaf, tearing it into shreds, piece by piece. “I do not know. Truly, I do not know how I expected you to react. But this I do know: one day you will have to go back.”

“But if you win the war …”

Donovan tossed the remaining pieces of the leaf to the ground and brought his eyes to hers. “If we win the war, Illianah, you will still have to go back. We cannot keep you prisoner here forever.”

“But ….” She stopped speaking once her mind overpowered her heart. He was right. Once the war was over, Deltegra would not keep a prisoner of a past war. Other, lesser countries without moral convictions might, but Deltegra would not keep her from her home, her father, and her husband. Illianah felt as if she had actually fallen down that slippery slope and her body lay lifeless at the bottom. She should have some say in her future, yet she knew she did not. Any chance she once had of having a happy life ended when she married Leif. The only way she could claim her life back would be if … if .... Illianah could not complete the thought, as it was too horrible. She would not go so far as to hope for death to visit anyone, even if it brought her freedom.

Donovan’s eyes looked even blacker—if it was possible for them to change from pitch black to midnight black. His face seemed a mix of emotions. Sad, repentant, angry; yet, he looked inquisitive. She thought she knew what he was pondering: was he asking if she would be his, even if it was just temporary?

She began to walk toward him, wanting once again to feel his breath mix with hers. He reached out for the aspen tree again, almost as if he was looking for support. “Donovan, I do not wish to think about going back to Burchess now. I will face that pain when it comes.”

His chest rose as he inhaled a mighty breath. His eyes now looked cautious, but determined. “I cannot …”

Donovan did not get to finish speaking, as the sound of horse’s hooves pounding on the dirt thundered past, followed by the shouts of the soldiers.

He ran toward the highway, with Illianah following close behind, where they were met by one of the soldiers just a few feet from the glen. “Messengers from Tudela del Sans,” the soldier said. “They would not stop even though we told them you were here. They said they had an urgent message for the king.”

“I must go,” Donovan said quickly. “You escort the princess back to the palace,” he ordered the soldier.

“No!” Illianah reached out and grabbed Donovan’s arm without worrying about the soldier seeing this improper conduct. “Do not leave me. I must ride back with you.” Her voice sounded as desperate as she felt. She could not bear the thought of being separated from Donovan, as she had no guarantee that he would not march off into battle and never be seen again. “You know I will not slow you down,” she added. He could not refuse her.

He nodded and ran back to the horses. She quickly mounted hers, without any assistance from him or any other man, and without any regard to how she would be perceived riding into the city with her legs wrapped around a horse.

As they exited the forest and crossed the field to the city, they could see the group of four messengers just ahead. Donovan would make it back in time to hear them address the king.

She followed Donovan into the throne room where King Henrick was standing near his throne as the messenger began to address him. “We have been attacked, My Lord. The village of Tudela del Sans.”

“Tudela del Sans?” the king wailed.

“Yes, My Lord. Late yesterday afternoon. An army of over five thousand Burchessians.”

“Tudela del Sans?” The king said again. “That is not possible. They would have crossed Normandisle.”

“Yes, My Lord. That is exactly what they did.”

The king grabbed at his chest and fell into his throne. Illianah wanted to rush to him to give him her comfort, yet she knew it was not her place.

“Normandisle granted Burchess passage across their land?” Donovan asked.

Illianah understood the implication: Normandisle was now an enemy to Deltegra as well, and if they granted passage to Burchess, they may well grant passage to Liksland, who lay just across the narrow sea. Donovan looked like he might collapse into his throne as well. She had to forcefully tell her arm not to reach out to him.

“There is more, My Lord,” the messenger said. “The village was burned in its entirety.”

King Henrick’s body seemed to sink deeper into the throne, as if he was being swallowed by some invisible hole. “And the occupants?” he asked weakly.

“Dead. All of them.” The messenger hung his head shamefully. “Two soldiers made it out alive,” he said, once more lifting his head to address the king. “It was intentional, so they could tell us of the devastation.”

The king swore and asked, “How could this happen?”

“I will tell you how it happened,” General Montague said. He had been standing in the shadows of the throne room, but he now made his way to the king’s throne. He seemed to be the only one in the room to take on anger instead of sadness. His voice was loud and forceful. “This happened because we trusted information from Burchessian spies. It happened because we underestimated the conniving ways of all Burchessians.” He looked directly at Illianah as he said this, his menacing glare cutting right through her heart—as if he implied she was the cause of this surprise attack.

She was about to speak in her own defense, but Donovan spoke before she could will her mouth to open. “Prince Harrington deceived us—intentionally. He knew we do not have enough troops to cover the entire border. He knew we would protect the village we thought to be at greatest risk and then he attacked on the opposite side of the country. If we are to dispatch all our troops today, it will take them a fortnight to make it to Tudela del Sans. We are without defense at our northern border.”

Again, the king swore. Then Capitan Montague, Donovan, and a few other war leaders began exchanging harsh words over the responsibility of sending the troops to the southern border. Illianah began to get dizzy trying to follow the accusations. Donovan must have as well, as he yelled, “Enough! Passing the blame will get us nowhere. Protecting our northern border is the only thing we should be thinking about. War conference in the privy chambers, right now. Excuse us,” he said to Illianah.

As Donovan and the other leaders began to make their exit to the privy chambers on the right of the throne room, Montague did not move from his spot. He sneered at Illianah and as Donovan walked past, Montague said, “I am surprised you are not inviting your princess to join our talks. How will she be able to feed our secrets to her husband?” Then Montague smiled wickedly. “Oh, I suppose you can always convey our strategy to her later, when you meet with her
in private
.”

Donovan grabbed Montague by his shirt and pulled him several feet backwards until Montague’s back hit the wall. “You will stop the insinuations, do you understand? Watch your tongue or you may find it cut out while you sleep,” Donovan hissed, his voice sounding imposing like the shake of a snake’s rattle.

“Stop this at once!” the king ordered as he rose to his feet. His face was beet red and he looked as if his collar might pop under the pressure. “Henrick! Take your hands off Montague. Might I remind you he is not your enemy. He is family. Perhaps it is time you reevaluate your allegiances.”
 

The king glanced in Illianah’s direction, and the coolness in his eyes spoke louder than his voice. He thought her to be the enemy. And he thought his own son to be a traitor for thinking otherwise.

Illianah quickly grabbed her skirt and lifted it so she could run freely without stumbling. She went out into the courtyard and through the marketplace, running as tears streamed down her cheeks, not caring what others would think if they saw her in such a state. She did not stop until she was within the walls of the stable. She quickly found her pup and collapsed into the hay beside it, as sobs continued to shake through her body.

Her thoughts were not on Donovan, or even on the king and Montague’s accusations, but rather, her thoughts were on those thousands of villagers who had died in a fiery inferno. And at the crux of their death was her husband. A monster who gave no thought to life and or justice.

Chapter Eleven

Illianah spent the day in the stable—the only place within the city’s walls where she did not feel as if she were on trial. She ate supper with the stable hands and then spent the evening in the hay loft with only her pup to keep her company.

While she had accepted that her husband was a monster and she knew she would rather die than return to his side, there was one thing she could not accept: her father would not have ordered such an attack. He had never resorted to such barbarianism in all his years as monarch; the only explanation would be that this had happened as a result of Leif’s influence. It seemed to her that the solution was simple: rid the world of Prince Harrington and the war would soon come to an end. But even though he was the most villainous of leaders, she could never speak such thoughts—not even to Donovan. But that did not stop her from hoping he would come to the same conclusion.

As evening approached, Illianah’s eyes began to grow heavy. It was not her intent to sleep in such a lowly station, but she seemed to have lost control of her body. She fell fast asleep and did not wake again until the moon shone brightly through the open window of the loft. It took her several minutes to shake off the sleep before she rose and took the pup back to its litter. She crossed the empty courtyard and looked up at the castle, which was merely a dark silhouette against the starry sky. Only a few windows were still lit with candles. Illianah could not guess the hour; she only knew it must be very late.

She entered the castle through the kitchen, which was black and empty. She felt her way along the wall, wishing she could find a candle to light, but she had no idea where to look for a candlestick. She kept her hand along the wall as she made it through the great hall; she had just begun to make it down the passageway to her tower when a light emerged from the throne room. She held her breath and froze against the wall, hoping she would not be caught sneaking around the castle in the middle of the night. The light proceeded to come in her direction, and while she could not see the face of the person who held the candle, she could tell it was a man, possibly Montague. This would not go over well. She would be accused of searching for information to pass on to Burchess. Or worse: rendezvousing with Donovan, whose chamber was in the tower on the opposite side of the throne room.

Just a few feet ahead of her, she could see the outline of a bureau against the wall. She crept forward, hoping to hide next to it as the nightwalker passed, but in the darkness, she misjudged the distance to the piece of furniture; her hand caused a vase on the end of the bureau to totter. “Who is there?” the voice asked.

The candle was held out in her direction, making her blink against the unaccustomed light. “Illianah?”

She blinked and waited as the familiar voice approached. He moved the light so it no longer blocked his face from her vision. “Donovan,” she said. “You startled me.”

“I startled you?” he asked. “You are the one without a candle. What are you doing?”

“I was …” she felt her cheeks flush and was glad that in this low light he likely could not see her embarrassment. “I fell asleep—in the stable’s loft. I am just now returning to my bedchamber.”

He moved the candle closer and she could see that he was smiling. “Yes, I can see that. You look as if you were rolling in the hay with the animals.”

Her cheeks flushed even more. Had she really come to this? She probably smelled of the loft as well. She may as well hand in her crown and seek employment in the stables.

“I am surprised that none of my maids came out to find me,” she explained. “I had not planned on slumbering there.”

The smile fell from his face and was replaced with deep concern. “Most of the castle is troubled with the news, My Lady. Our staff is finding it difficult to tend to their duties,” he said somberly.

She hung her head shamefully. But of course. News of the deaths of so many of their countrymen had to be hard to come to grips with. “How many … died?” she asked. She knew very little about the village of Tudela del Sans, other than it was on the northern point of Deltegra.

“About two thousand souls,” he replied.

That number was less than she expected, but it still caused her heart to burn with hatred toward Leif. “Women and children?” she asked.

“More than half.”

“I am sorry …” she began, but her throat constricted, not allowing her to finish.

“I know. Your face says as much.”

She wanted to smile, as she felt glad he could determine her emotions based on her expressions, but she could not force her lips to move in an upward direction.

“What are you doing up at this hour?” she asked.

“I could not sleep. My mind is overrun with thoughts of
 
….”

Yes, she could tell that the load upon his shoulders was heavy by the way he wore his emotions as well, but she did not want to remind him of the intimate way their souls were connected, as she thought it might be the load that would cause his back to break.

“Do you have a plan?” she asked.

“Yes.” Donovan quickly looked over his shoulder and then he looked down the passageway, behind Illianah’s back, likely making sure they were alone. “General Montague marches out in the morning with all the troops from the castle. We have sent word to the troops in Sanguine to begin marching here to offer us protection, as we will be left vulnerable when Montague takes leave with his thousand.”

“One thousand? But that is no match for Prince Harrington’s five thousand.”

“We will send troops from the mill villages and Laencia as well, giving us two thousand. I know it does not match Harrington’s army, but it is all we have. We do have the advantage of knowing the countryside, but …” He hesitated, as if he did not know if he should trust her with more information about war strategies.

“But what?” she asked eagerly.

“I do fear it is a trap.”

“A trap? How so?”

“The soldiers who left Tudela del Sans said Prince Harrington will march to Luis del Sans, but I do not think he needs to capture that city. It is west, and not the most direct route to Andoradda.”

“You do not think he wishes to conquer another city just for the sake of progressing his march?”

“Well, yes, he would want that. But first and foremost, he would want to give the remainder of his troops easy access to Deltegra. He needs to conquer Cordana.”

“And you have troops there?”

“A small amount, but it will not be sufficient if he is going to turn his five thousand in that direction, not to mention the attack that will come from the northeast border of Burchess as well.”

“But Montague will not listen to you?”

“No. He feels that I have proven myself to be unfocused and says my objectivity is questionable.” Donovan’s words sounded as if they were dipped in acid, causing his mouth to burn with pain.

“That is my fault,” she said, “and I am sorry for causing you to fall from his grace.”

He gave a soft, sarcastic chuckle. “It is actually Montague’s fault. He brought you here. At that time, I told him it would cause turmoil, but he did not heed my word.”

Illianah’s heart began to boil with rage. “Yes, I am nothing but a burden to be passed from one man to another.”

“
That
is not what I meant. I would think you, of all people, would understand my meaning.” He sighed heavily and put his hand to his forehead, where he rubbed at his temple momentarily. “You must excuse me, Princess; I have a headache I need to tend to.”

“Do you have some lavender? Perhaps I could …”

She should have known better than to offer to rub lavender into his temples in the dead of night, but she seemed to be missing the conscience that typically accompanied married women. He chuckled again and said, “That is the turmoil I speak of. Thank you for your kind offer, but I really must go to my bedchamber, as you should yours. Goodnight, Illianah.”

She did retreat to her room, but she did not sleep. All she could think of was Donovan, who was on the opposite side of the castle, likely lying awake as well.