The clip-clop of horse hooves over the bustling streets of Dei-orin parted the crowd, who stepped aside, making way for the rider who soon passed through, golden hair and gold-trimmed cloak fluttering out behind her. A young girl clung tightly to the horse’s neck in front of her mother, who had the reins in her hand, her arms circling her daughter on either side.
“Make way for the Queen!” The message swept down the streets faster than the woman rode, and all the way, the roads were clear. She, like many others that day, was on her way to Dei-orin’s Hael Temple, built in honour of the Goddess of Life. Her daughter, like all other girls her age, was going to receive the Blessing of Hael, and they absolutely could not be late.
“Mum…why are we in such a hurry?” Katreia asked, turning her head upward in the hopes of seeing her mother’s face.
Queen Istra smiled. “It’s your Blessing day today!” she exclaimed with uncommon excitement. “The ceremony is only once a year. If you miss this chance, you’ll never get to do it again!” The Blessing would protect the receiver from possession and evil spirits—the gift every girl of high birth took at seven years old, in lieu of the weapons they were rarely allowed to wield.
They were almost upon the temple now, despite the crowds. Noon was approaching—the time when the Blessing Ceremony would commence. This was a milestone in her daughter’s life. Istra could feel her heart thumping in her throat at the thought of it. She could still remember her own Blessing, the way her mind had lifted off in a haze for a week.
Then, a loud scream rang through the road, and the crowds began to jostle. “Mum?” breathed Katreia as the horse’s path began to wobble from the milling, shouting crowd. “What was that?”
No sooner than she had said this did another horse, white as a cloud, come hurtling through the square towards them, the rider shouting, “Fire! Spreading fast! Depart the square at once!”
Istra had only caught a glimpse of the rider’s face when their horse careened out of the way of a wayward cart and through the wall of guards, colliding with her own horse. She screamed as the world swung, only the stirrups and her tight hold of the reins keeping her from tumbling into the crowd.
But then Katreia slid off the saddle and was swallowed by the mass of heads and bodies.
“Katreia!” she cried, dismounting in a panic. The line of knights was hopelessly broken by fleeing pedestrians, and Istra’s eyes hopelessly searched the crowd even as the scent of ash drifted towards them.
A strong hand halted her by the shoulder. “Your Majesty, please, return to your horse, it isn’t safe for you to walk,” said Perren, the head knight of her retinue. “We’ll find the princess.”
Katreia ran up against the current of fleeing townsfolk, towards the source of the stench of burning. She stared up at the height of the burning building, the pillars of black smoke pouring through the windows, staring through the doorway. The flames engulfed all the furniture.
Then, she heard a scream through the window.
Katreia had always been braver and more reckless than her mother had liked, and now, even the flames inside did not deter her from racing into the house, where the heat swelled against her skin. Heart wild with excitement and terror, the girl began to call out, venturing deeper, avoiding the burning furniture and trying to reach all the rooms. She sweated, and sweat ran into her eyes, but she did not heed the warning of the heat against her skin, struggling to find any sign of life among the flames.
They were getting closer on all sides, the crackles almost as deafening as the heat was pressing. Again, she heard a cry, and this time she could hear the agony in it.
Just then, a creak started over her head. A beam of the ceiling was about to cave in. Glancing overhead through sweat-blurred eyes, she saw more brightness, leaving streaks across her vision…
There, in the corner! Through the rippling air, she finally caught sight of the source of the cries. It was a boy, probably around her age, standing frozen against the wall just below a window. The sight of a person filled Katreia’s body with courage, and she burst past the flaming wardrobe and sofas, trying to keep her ceremony dress out of the fire. She had to save him, if he was the only one who had survived.
The creaking was growing louder, and a few fragments of charred wood fell to the ground in sparks. But still, she would not run for her life, when here, another’s was in her hands. Katreia sprinted between the flames towards the boy, whose arms were wrapped tight around himself. Willing herself to ignore the swelling heat and the flames that circled her feet, she wrapped her arms around the boy, whose arms immediately slackened. He collapsed into her hold, panting, then sobbing.
“What’s your name?” she asked as they stumbled towards the exit. She noticed his clothes and body were completely untouched by the flame.
“Akherien,” he replied. “B-but just Herien is fine.”
At that moment, the rafter gave way. It crashed down inches from her feet, the sparks burning holes in her dress, making her skin sting and burn with the heat.
Get out! Her legs carried her over the blazing wood, her arms holding on to Akherien for her life. She needed the cool air outside. She needed air. The smoke was descending, and she began to cough. She imagined being swallowed by fire, crumpling into black ash together with the building.
The doorway shone, misshapen against the glow of the devouring flames. It was only a short way away!
Holding her breath, she sprinted through the walls of flame.
It felt like the dawn breaking as Katreia thrust herself through the exit, panting, Akherien shaking in her arms. In the daylight, she saw that he had black hair, and that not one inch of him had been touched by the fire. Her dress, on the other hand, was riddled with black-rimmed holes, her shoes half in tatters.
A sprinkling of water misted Katreia’s face, and she turned to see a line of mages dressed in the city guard’s style hurling jets of water at the blaze out of barrels on the back of a cart.
“Katreia!” came a reprimanding shout, making her glance up. Her mother was riding towards her, led by three guards. Katreia bread herself. But instead of unleashing a barrage of scoldings, she came to a halt and asked, “Who—is that?”
Turning, she helped Akherien to stand. He glanced about a few times before realisation lit up his face and he bowed, his back parallel with the ground. “Your Majesty!” he gasped. “I’m—I’m so sorry about what I did to the house–”
“You did that to the house?” asked Istra, quite severely. Katreia stared. Had he really done all that? Why?
Akherien nodded without meeting the queen’s eye. “My parents were angry that I did magic,” he replied shakily. “They th-think it’s a skill from the Underworld. They beat me up and…chained me…”
“Chained you?” Katreia glanced at his wrists, which were still bound to a charred chunk of wood by means of soot-blackened chains.
Again, Akherien nodded. “I was just scared for my life! And then…” His eyes darted back at the smouldering house, and he shuddered. “I think I killed them.” Though he looked stricken, there was a lack of remorse in his face that both intrigued and saddened Katreia.
Istra laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Your parents should never have done that,” she said. “You have the right to learn magic. In fact…”
Katreia saw her mother’s eyes glance back down the road to the castle, and she thought of Lady Kalen, Katreia’s aunt, and her need for a mage-servant. She had been complaining about not having one for months. At that moment, both had the same idea.
“Would you like to live in the castle?” asked Istra.
Akherien looked completely overwhelmed by the idea. “At the castle!” he repeated, too amazed to keep his voice at a respectful volume.
“Yes, you can be Lady Kalen’s mage-servant! What do you think?” Katreia put in with a smile.
The boy stepped back. “I—I’m not even trained,” he replied unsteadily. “I can’t be good enough for a noble…”
“No one at your age is fully trained,” Istra replied. “It would be no matter. Your custody is in question now, if your parents did not survive, but it would be easy to arrange your wardship to the castle. If you would like.”
“Are you very, very sure?” he replied, still seeming unable to believe it. “Well, yes! I do want to work at the castle.” Istra smiled. Akherien’s dark eyes remained wide with disbelief.
Then Katreia leapt up. “The Blessing!” she cried, glancing in the direction of the temple through the scattering crowd. Now, for the first time, they became aware of the chant rising through the afternoon air.
Istra muttered something under her breath, staring helplessly down the road. “You’ve missed it,” she said, shoulders sagging. “Come, we must return to the castle. At least our journey was not wasted.”
While Akherien thanked them endlessly, they mounted again, one of the knights of the guard now carrying the boy atop his mount.
At the sound of the party’s arriving hoofbeats, Madhan looked up from his post at the castle wall. As he counted off Queen Istra’s party, his eyes came to rest on the boy in Sir Perren’s saddle.
“My queen,” he called, bowing as the party stopped at the edge of the moat. “I was informed your party would be at the temple—you’re back quite early.”
“The princess missed the ceremony,” answered the head of the retinue. “We were waylaid by unforeseen circumstances.”
Madhan nodded. “And who is this boy?”
“I can speak to that,” Istra answered. “He is an orphan and a talented mage we stumbled upon. He is to be trained as Lady Kalen’s future mage-servant.”
Madhan grinned. “What can he do, being so young?”
Istra glanced across the gap at Akherien. “What can you do?” she asked.
“Oh, well—” Startled for a moment, Akherien glanced about and then held up his right hand. Katreia was expecting him—like all untrained mages—to take a while to conjure a flame, so she blinked when he immediately flicked a jet of fire in a spiral from his palm, letting it dissipate in the air.
“Impressive,” Madhan said, nodding. “I’m sure the lady will find a fire mage very useful. As will our defences.” He lifted a hand and shouted, “Lower the bridge!”
The groan of wood and the rattle of chains began, and the drawbridge went down, like a great mouth opening, landing with a colossal bang that shook all the stones.
Akherien stared on in amazement as the wood clattered on the bank of the moat.
“You’re soon to be part of the castle,” the queen said. “Stop staring at the drawbridge!” Flicking the reins, the band trotted over the bridge.
The first thing Istra did was find Inere, the mage trainer of the castle, while the maids changed Katreia out of her singed and tattered dress and bathed her.
Sighing at the wasted piece of clothing as she returned to her room, she threw herself down onto her bed, which sank deep before bouncing back. What a day, she thought idly.
A knock on the door early the next morning woke Katreia. She ignored it for a while, wanting to stay longer in the comfort and warmth of her bed, her eyelids weighing down. However, the knocking did not cease, and finally, she gave in to her visitor’s pestering.
“Kat!” The princess found her cousin Sariell jumping up and down at the doorway, excitement shining in her eyes despite the dim light of the early morning. A year older than Katreia, Sariell had been her companion for years, and they often got in trouble together, taking the punishments together as well. That, though, had not deterred them from repeating their crimes.
Today, apparently, Sariell had another plan. “The kitchen just made a new batch of cherry scrolls!” she exclaimed. “You know we’ll each only get one. And we children only get a small one.”
“So let’s go get some,” Katreia replied, leaping out of her bed. “Now?”
Lady Aille’s daughter nodded excitedly. Now fully awake with thoughts of breakfast, the princess allowed Sariell to drag her through the corridors, towards the kitchen hall, from which the usual smells of all the greatest food in the world drifted.
“Where do they keep it?” Katreia asked.
“I’ve been in there before,” Sariell replied. “It’s all on the counters when they’re going to serve it for breakfast. They’ll take the pastries out to be arranged on trays for the maids to collect, and if we sneak by when they’re waiting, we could sneak some away!”
Sariell and Katreia got to the kitchen just as the pastries were being arranged on the trays, which they could see through the gaps in the kitchen doors. Within those doors, the room was bright as the cooks and servants worked, a flurry of movement within as they brought other breakfast items from the ovens and tables to the counter in the middle.
“Get these ready for the maids,” the head cook’s voice was loud as the door swung open and both girls were attacked with the full force of the amazing scents that wafted to them. A huge group of servants came out, carrying the smaller trays for the knights, minstrels and guards on the first floor.
“Are they watching?” Katreia asked Sariell, who had a full view of the kitchen from around the corner of the alcove in which they hid. Quickly, they slipped into the preparation room, where the trays of pastries stood waiting for the maids to collect them, unguarded, the cooks back in the kitchen to start making lunch. Katreia’s heart raced as they came closer.
“Quick, before the servants come back!” Sariell said. Dashing across the room, both snatched two pastries each, avoiding the sticky icing and cherries, which they would enjoy later. They had to be back in their rooms before breakfast was served.
Together the two shot off through the dim corridors, Katreia wondering all the way if they would be caught by the cooks and brought to her mother. But the sound of panicky breathing at her side gave her comfort. At least, if it did happen, they would be punished together, be grounded together as well, and that made her feel a lot better, somehow.
Katreia never ceased to feel anxious until she arrived at her room, now alone since Sariell had gone to her own, and shut the door behind her. Her left hand was sticky with icing as she ate the cherry scrolls, the flaky crust and sugar tasting godly.
It wasn’t often that they succeeded in a caper like they just had. Oftentimes, she got caught, and every time, her mother had made pretty much the same speech, about how she was “a princess who should not be stealing things and playing practical jokes, but rather be ladylike for she would be getting married in the future”. She hated to think about all that; she hated the fact that her entire life was controlled by her parents. But she had no choice but to comply. They had full authority over her.
Katreia’s lessons began in the afternoon. As a princess who would likely be the sibling or wife of a future ruler, her mother often said she had to know all about the history of the country, city, and castle, as well as the purpose and meaning of everything.
“Did you read pages one hundred and three to one hundred and four?” her teacher, Miss Aerna, asked. Katreia nodded, though she had already forgotten what they had been about.
Miss Aerna didn’t seem to notice her blankness. “Let me recapitulate, then,” she went on. She had the personality of a washboard. She had never once shown a drop of joy, sadness, or even anger—the only thing she had ever shown was quiet fascination with the facts of history.
“...As the Keradians wanted our coastline back—they are a landlocked country otherwise, and since exports of fish are a great source of revenue for…” she droned on like a bee in lazy flight.
Katreia’s mother had her own, easy-to-follow version of their homeland’s history. Basically, Cedan, once a state of the much larger country of Kerade, had opted for independence under the leadership of its lord. Kerade accepted at first, and the king had signed the agreement. But then his son had decided his father had not been in his right mind at the time, and all the kings of Kerade thereafter had tried hundreds of times to regain Cedan through war. But the kings’ armies had always been held off at Maen-orin, which defended Imerade Pass, the only entrance into Cedan through the mountains.
This story was much easier to understand than the draggy texts in her history textbook.
“Ah, the wonders of the past,” Miss Aerna concluded, shutting her book with a clap. “Times are getting dreary these days. Now,” she turned to Katreia, the princess staring back at her wrinkled face and greying hair. “Tell me why the kings of Kerade want to reclaim our lands for themselves.”
“Um…” Katreia racked her memory for the answer. “They wanted the…uh…fish? To fish at the coast of Cedan?” Her voice wavered as much as her mind did.
“And why?” the teacher asked.
Katreia looked at the window and didn’t look away. Outside the first level room, the pages and knights were doing sword drills.
“Oh, Um, money. They wanted to get the money they could get from selling fish.” That’s unreasonable, she thought. They attack us for fish?
“Now, you know that the conflict was started by the king before the current one,” Mineile went on as Katreia’s eyes drifted back to the excitement outside the window. “But with the present king, it is apparent that he, as well as the rest, is only fighting this war to assert the might and sovereignty of the country. They are quite prosperous enough without a coastline…”
The princess’ mind then completely left the lesson, all her thoughts with the happenings outside now. She cheered the knights on as they practised their throwing aim on shields that the pages held up for them, as some fell or tumbled in pain when the other knights’ wooden javelins hit them by accident.
Finally, the seemingly unending two hours came to an end. Katreia sighed with relief, too loudly, but Miss Aerna didn’t notice as usual. The old woman didn’t smile nor frown as she stood and departed, leaving Katreia free to do as she wished for the next hours until lunch.
The first thing she did, after locating Sariell, who had finished a weaving lesson of her own, was to search for the training mages’ hall.
“Where are you taking me?” her cousin cried out as they flew down the corridors to the hall in the east wing’s second level.
Katreia smiled, still running. “I want you to meet the mage I saved from the fire yesterday,” she replied.
Once at the end of the hallway, they slowed to a walk. Enere’s training room was at the very end, so they walked the whole terrible length of the grand corridor to get there.
Enere answered Katreia’s hard raps fast enough. “Your Highness, Your Ladyship,” he greeted them, bowing. “What business brings you here?”
“Have you taken Herien in yet?” the princess replied.
“Herien? Oh, yes!” The mage trainer beamed. “He started yesterday. That boy has quite the gift.”
“And I was the one who found him!” Katreia’s voice was full of pride. “Can we see him?”
Enere nodded. “Sure, he’s not having any classes now. Back up the corridor the way you came, in room twenty-two.”
Katreia dashed straight to the door with the numbers on the plate outside, Sariell trailing bewildered. She knocked eagerly.
Akherien threw the door open, standing in the doorway. He was wearing the castle’s mage uniform—a cloak, coloured vermilion in accordance with his magic skill, encircling his shoulders and neck, over a long-sleeved collared shirt and dark pants. Now, the boy looked like a real mage, and much fresher than he had when she had pulled him out of the flames and ashes.
“Katreia!” he called, straightening his collar. “Thanks for finding me.”
“Hey, Herien!” she replied. For a moment, she wondered if it was alright for him to be speaking so familiarly with her, but then she decided she didn’t care.
Akherien turned to Sariell. “Who are you?” he asked, blinking.
“Hello, I am Sariell,” she replied. “Sara for short—pleased to meet you!”
“I’m Akherien,” he introduced himself with a bow. “Just Herien is fine, too.”
They led him down the stairs to the garden by the mage wing, where a bench sat below an arch of flowers and vines. All three children sat down.
“So, how old are you?” Sariell ventured.
“Seven!” he replied gladly.
Sariell nodded. “Same as Kat,” she said.
“It’s only my third day here. What do you think of the castle? Is there anything hard about living here?”
“I don’t think so,” Katreia replied with a smile. “Boring lessons, maybe? And everyone thinking that fighting is not for noblewomen, and all.” Akherien’s eyes widened in surprise. “I just want to learn how to fight like the boys, that’s all!”
“My dad swordfights,” Sariell said. “He teaches, too. But eastern sword-fighting is not as fun, I think.”
Already, this day was turning out well. Katreia had a new friend! She loved meeting new people, which her mother had said was not very good for a princess. She had to learn to be suspicious of everyone. But Katreia had chosen to ignore that.
“There should be a welcome banquet for you tonight,” she said, recalling how a feast was held for every new entrant into the castle ranked higher than a cook.
Akherien’s mouth opened in surprise. “A whole feast just because I joined the castle?”
Katreia and Sariell both nodded. He’s got a lot to get used to, Katreia thought.
The lunch banquet was just like any other, with the new member of the castle seated to the princess’ left—feasts were only held for mages, minstrels and scholars. As their food was served, court minstrels performed, their music creating a lively atmosphere and drowning out half of the talk that resounded throughout the feast hall.
“We welcome our newest addition to the Mage’s Hall, Akherien Solmar,” Katreia’s father, King Arten, announced to the cheers of the people. His short, thick brown hair was well-combed under his crown, his clothes and mannerisms revealing his stature as the country’s ruling monarch.
Beside Katreia, Akherien seemed a little dizzy with the attention. “This is a lot,” he said. While Arten detailed the extent of the boy’s skill even without training, the cheers and chatter grew louder. When he mentioned he was destined to be Lady Kalen’s mage-servant, the lady herself raised her glass and waved at him. At the end of the speech, there was roaring applause. The minstrels then continued to perform, and they ate.
That was the first full day of many for Akherien as a mage in the castle. Days went on as usual, Katreia’s lessons about the castle and its history becoming longer and more boring. She would have absorbed more, had the knights not been training just outside all the while. She yearned to join them and taste the wild excitement of battle, despite the constant preaching by her mother about being a “refined young lady”.
One evening in autumn, Katreia sat on a windowsill outside the banquet hall with Sariell. Behind them, within the hall, they could hear the footsteps of the servants as they hustled from one end to another—the hall was a convenient shortcut from north to south wing.
“This view is amazing,” Sariell commented, leaning on the left side of the window frame. Katreia had to agree; before them, the roofs of Dei-orin spread halfway to the horizon, a patchwork of greys, browns and reds. Beyond that was a carpet of green, the Cedan Plains, and at the edge of their view, a terrace of mountains touching the grey, scuddling sky.
The breeze stirred Sariell’s straw-coloured hair about her head. “I was thinking…” she sighed. “If I were to fall all the way to the ground and die, what would you do?”
Katreia flinched. “Well, I’d cry all day,” she replied. “I’d be so upset I’d not be able to eat.”
Sariell smiled. “Well, but I’d be in the palaces of the gods, wouldn’t I? We all go there in the end.” She paused as yet another breeze filled the sky.
To Katreia’s surprise, she began to sing. The song was one she hummed now and then—maybe a war song from the days of yore. Sariell swayed to its beat as she sang:
“Wake the guardians, Wake the guardians!
Open gates to four winds all.
Stab the castle in the heart—
Go wake the sleeping, purge the hall!”
Katreia listened to her sing the lines over and over, and soon she had the tune and words in her head as well. “Where’d you learn that?” she asked as her cousin paused.
“My mother used to sing it to me,” Sariell replied with a smile. She broke into another strain of the same song, then repeated it.
Katreia glanced down at the ground and felt herself go dizzy all of a sudden. “I’ll go now,” she said, turning and swinging her legs over the windowsill. “Make sure you don’t fall, alright?”
Laughing, Sariell waved and turned back to the view.
The instant she arrived at the door to her room, Katreia found a messenger servant standing there. He sighed with relief as she raced to his side. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting!” she gasped while the young man bowed. “Do you have a message for me?”
“Ah, yes, your mother wishes to see you,” he replied. Katreia thanked him profusely, then turned to make straight for her mother’s room.
“Come in,” the authoritative voice of the queen came through the door as she knocked. When Katreia entered, her mother stood from her armchair, her stern face shifting quickly into a smile. “Kat, you took a while.”
Katreia apologised again, citing her long conversation with Sariell. “What did you want to see me for?”
Istra pulled her dresser chair for her daughter, and she sat thankfully. “Now, I have to apologise, first, for keeping this from you, but we have been in discussions with the Queen of Kerade to have you betrothed in marriage to her son.”
Marriage. The word both intrigued and worried her. She still did not understand romance, and marriage, to her, meant eternal binding. She wondered if it would be any good if she married someone.
“Why?” was her first response.
“You see,” Istra replied, “you know about our ongoing war with Kerade, don’t you?”
“Yes, so why a Keradian?”
“You would be our gift to their nation,” she replied. “An offering of peace. There is no grander calling, don’t you see? By offering them a Cedanian queen, we will make it clear that we wish for our nations to cooperate to our mutual benefit.”
For a moment, Katreia suddenly felt like an object, a pawn to be used by her mother and father to achieve their desires. But that was only her job—to get married, and to have a family—her mother had told her that. But only now, she would have to do this in another city, another country.
“That’s a clever idea,” she simply replied.
“So,” the queen went on, “we just received their reply. The queen is agreeable, as is Eretain, the prince. All we require now is your agreement, and it will be done.”
Katreia pondered this a while. I want Mother to be happy. She’d be horrified if I were to disagree. That was the only thought in her mind as she said, “Yes, I agree.”
All the while, she hoped that she was making the best choice for the country, as well as for herself.
Istra smiled and said, “Thank you.” Those two words, in themselves, resounded with hope. “Now, don’t you worry. He’s ten now—about two years older than you. His mother says he is a nice boy. Kind and obedient. And of course, when you have married and gone to live there, we shall visit you on the regular.”
Feeling vaguely distressed by her mother’s talk of marriage, she nodded quickly. “Is that all?” she asked. Istra probably sensed her unease and sent her away, still beaming.
Katreia raced along the corridors, back to her room. She seemed to have all the freedom she wanted—she could feel it as she soared over the chequered floor, in the wind that stirred around her. But this day, this short conversation, had made her realise that she had less than she thought.
The days of autumn slipped by month by month, Katreia’s life going on as usual, with the prospect of her promised marriage adding some more colour to it. Was it right, giving herself away at such an age, when she still knew nothing about love? Would she regret it?
Mum thinks it is a grand calling, she thought, reassuring herself. She married my father for political reasons, too. It will be fine, I’m sure.
Sariell and Katreia’s friendship with Akherien grew over the months, as his own familiarity with his new home advanced. Often, all three met to talk, and their duo became a trio. The boy had adapted well to the castle life, and everywhere Katreia turned, she heard talk that he was doing extremely well in his mage training.
She smiled at the thought that she had been the one who had found someone so talented. And not only that: she had helped him escape a much worse life where no one might ever see his skill for what it truly was.
On this day in winter, the three were exploring the towers of the castle, which, to Katreia’s surprise, she had hardly ever visited before. “It’s cold,” she said, teeth chattering like castanets. It was too bad they did not have their winter coats with them. As they pushed open a door to the tower and found themselves face-to-face with a statue of the Goddess Sira, a gust of wind howled down the shaft, making her pull her arms around herself.
Instantly, Akherien conjured a crackling fireball in his palms, and the other two pulled closer, thankfully taking in the warmth. Together they stared at the sculpture: it was intricately carved, the details in the folds of cloth and the features of her wings almost appearing soft. None dared touch the statue, whose blank expression was beginning to make Katreia shiver.
“Spooky eyes,” Akherien whispered.
“Let’s go,” Sariell murmured. Agreeing, they turned to the staircase spiralling up towards the turret.
As they climbed to the top, they were surprised to find an empty room at the landing with two old bedframes. “This doesn’t look like a comfortable place to sleep,” Akherien said, the other two shrugging in response.
Opening the door at the foot of one bed, they crept out onto a walkway along the third floor of the castle. There were rooms only on one side of the hallway, and on the other was a huge number of stone animals—lions, eagles, and serpents, all staring with empty eyes.
Then they reached a glassless window in the wall, peering out onto the landscape below. At once, Katreia’s breath caught. The other turrets pointed at the sky, one each at the four corners of the castle keep. But the wind was making her fingers numb, and she stepped backward.
“It’s too cold,” Sariell whispered, as they retreated around Akherien’s flame.
“I don’t usually feel cold,” Akherien replied. “Must be the magic…”
“Well, share some with us,” Katreia breathed, and he grinned back, bringing the fireball closer to her.
“We should head back down,” he said. The three hurried back along the corridor, desperate for the warmer air within the castle. As they went, Katreia examined the statues closely. The creatures continued to glare, soundless and lifeless, lion, snake and eagle eyes narrowed as if keeping perpetual watch.
Katreia glanced up into a snake’s face, and she could have sworn that its tongue, so delicately cut into stone, had flickered in its fanged jaws.
“Does no one ever come here?” Sariell said to herself.
“The other wings, maybe, but not this one,” Katreia reasoned. “There should be other rooms here on the third level.”
They made one round trip along the main halls of the third level, seeing a great deal of empty rooms, as well as some needlecraft and weaving rooms, which Katreia could tell had been used not long ago. Now I know where we get all our dresses from. She looked down at the silk dress she now wore and brushed it out.
“I’m hungry,” Sariell suddenly complained. Katreia and Akherien both knew how bad-tempered Sariell could get when she was hungry, so they hurried to the turret and made their way back to the dining hall.
As midwinter drew near, the castle was greeted with the arrival of a new minstrel. Katreia found out about it at dinner one cold winter night. She sat down at the feast table, not knowing the reason for the feast, only to find that an unfamiliar girl was seated to her left, her wide, uncertain eyes glancing about at the gathering. In her cold, pale hands, she clutched a small harp, its arm made of wood and its base of a different kind.
“Good evening,” Katreia murmured. The musician’s head turned to face her, and she bowed.
“Good evening, Your Highness, my name is Cendreile Rivira,” she said with her eyes lowered. Katreia smiled at her well-mannered greeting.
“Please, just Katreia is fine,” she replied. “Are you a new member of the castle, then? This banquet must be for you!”
Cendreile blinked her grey eyes. Now, Katreia took another look at her. She had sandy brown hair, worn up in a few intricate loops, and her skin was so light it almost looked like porcelain. “Yes, I’m a minstrel…Sir Careden found me playing in a tavern.”
She did not continue that story, but Katreia could imagine the rest. Sir Careden had always been adamant about treating children well, and Cendreile hardly looked ten years old. “Will you be performing, then?” She nodded again, turning even paler than before. “Come on, it won’t be that hard. And you can’t be a bad player, if Sir Careden wanted you in the castle.”
Cendreile did not get a chance to reply, for Arten’s speech had begun. “Today, we have the honour of recruiting a new apprentice to the castle’s Minstrel Hall,” he announced, the entire table immediately falling into hushed silence. “Cendreile was found, half-starved, performing in a tavern for hardly the pay she was owed. Sir Careden found her playing to be extraordinary, and asked to recruit her into the castle, to which she agreed at once. Now, to give you a taste of the music she will bring to the halls, she will perform for us.”
He paused while the jovial crowd applauded. At that sound, Cendreile gripped her harp tighter, eyes darting across the hall while the table fell silent.
Slowly, she pushed her chair back, both hands ready for a strum.
From the very first note that rang from the strings, everyone was captivated. It was like a river singing through the metal cords, or the roar of the waves in Cedan’s harbour. The piece she played, a folk song, was an arrangement Katreia had never heard before. No one spoke, no one moved, only Cendreile, and her fingers ran over the strings in a wild dance, making magic.
Her last chord was followed by thunderous applause. Katreia herself was tongue tied by the music, and she clapped till her palms were red.
Cendreile finally dared to smile. Relief stole over her face as she pulled her chair back in, heaving a sigh. “You’re amazing!” Katreia gasped, shaking her shoulder.
Cendreile shook her head, beaming. “I never know what comes over me when I play. It’s like I become a different person.”
The feasting began, all full of merriment and compliments to the young minstrel. After the meals were done, Katreia had intended to talk to Sariell and Akherien, who were elsewhere in the hall, but she did not need to do so: they came looking for her at the head of the table as soon as they had finished their food.
“Whoa, you’re incredible!” Akherien put in, poking his head between the two girls.
Sariell laid both hands on the back of Cendreile’s chair. “Your playing is amazing! You should have come here earlier!”
“Oh yes, these are my two best friends,” said Katreia. “Sariell and Akherien.”
Cendreile turned around, putting down her goblet of water. “Good evening!” she squeaked. “I still don’t know if I’m good enough for the castle…”
“With skill like that, you’d do fine,” Sariell reassured the girl. “We can be your friends and help you settle in.”
Cendreile turned around and glanced about at the three, eyes wide. “R-really?” she asked.
“Of course!” Katreia exclaimed, feeling that it was her honour to have a friend like Cendreile.
She looked down, smiling. “And I was afraid I was too lowly for everyone else,” she said to her lap. “Thank you.”
Cendreile’s training with the rest of the minstrels began the next day. Through the rest of winter, the three spent a great deal of time apart—Katreia only had Sariell for company most of the time, while Cendreile began to learn songs with the head minstrel and Akherien continued to advance through his classes.
There was a day towards the end of winter when Katreia was roaming the third floor again, the weather having turned warmer. She passed the statues of the east hall, opening the door into the tower at the other end. Descending the steps, she found an identical layout, except the deity whose sculpture stood here was Balea, god of the west wind.
She started pondering her life before she knew it. She tried to draw up the faintest sound or sight from her early childhood, from one to four years old, but she simply could not remember anything.
I wonder why we forget our memories from our childhood, she mused, leaning on a snake statue. The earliest memory Katreia could recall was a sword fight—the final sword fight of the triannual eastern swordsmanship tournament, when she had been four.
The royal family had gone to grace the occasion. That year, a shocking incident had occurred. Instead of disarming the opponent or forcing him to surrender, one of the finalists—she had forgotten his name—had stabbed him in the ribcage, causing him to crumple to the ground, bleeding.
There had been a cry of shock and outrage when it had happened, but Katreia had stood up, heart racing at the sight. She’d never seen a real sword injury before, and judging by the reactions of her parents, she was meant to be scandalised. But she had been in awe—at the thought that death could be dealt so swiftly, if that blade had sunk a few inches deeper.
Istra had immediately pushed her back into her seat and covered her eyes, she recalled with a smile. Now, the thought disgusted her a little, and she understood it was terribly wrong to be so thrilled by someone’s agony. But they did say you showed your true self when you were young and unmoulded by the world.
I’m a princess. I’m going to become a ruler’s wife, and I will be ladylike. To her, being ladylike was what would make her likeable. This was what her mother and all her nurses had taught her since young. She was not the violent sort, they said. But the life of a knight did fascinate her…
She heard someone singing, and she whirled around to see Sariell, her song abruptly ending. Sariell called Katreia’s name between gasps as she ran. “Kat! Kat! I thought you’d be here!” she said as she came to a halt beside her.
“Is anything the matter?” Katreia asked in response, alarmed.
Sariell shook her head. “I ran all the way from my lessons,” she explained, still gasping for breath. “I guessed that you’d come and explore, but I checked your room first.”
“Were the classes so bad?” Katreia asked, and her cousin nodded.
“Alright, she said. “Do you want to spend the rest of our time till lunch on the rooftop?”
Katreia was agreeable. She had a coat on this time, as did Sariell. Together they returned to the rooftop.
But instantly, her teeth were chattering again, as the wild wind buffeted her face and eyes, flinging her brown hair about. They came closer and closer to the great crenellated wall of the rooftop, the walls built of rough, weather-worn stone and the dips in the walls just high enough to be climbed onto.
Without another thought, Katreia had scrambled up the wall, onto the solid stone. The wind was cold, freezing, but Katreia didn’t care at all. From here, she had a view of Cedan she had never seen before.
Cedan was so small. She could see its border from here, marked prominently by the mountain range that acted as a huge, impassable wall from Kerade. Except through Imerade Pass, of course, and Maen-orin, the city that guarded the pass, only had to fire arrows into a gully three men wide.
“Umu is kind today,” she said, gesturing at the wind. “This air is clearing my mind.” She glanced down at the deadly drop from here to the glimmering moat below. Inhaling to quell the sudden dizziness that looking gave her, she leaned against the crenellation, closing her eyes.
Sariell came up after her, her face rosy in the cold, to sit down beside her.
She stared at the view for a while. “This is beautiful,” she commented, leaning against the facing crenellation.
For a while, not a word was exchanged. They closed their eyes as the wind blew by, Katreia appreciative of Sariell as a friend. She had been around to keep her company for more than half her life.
“Sariell, does your mother want you to get married to someone quickly?” she asked.
Sariell laughed. “I don’t think so. Mother doesn’t really care, either way. Why do you ask?”
“That’s a relief,” Katreia replied. “I don’t want you ever to leave the castle.”
Suddenly, a painful realisation made her stomach sink. She had been promised to the Keradian prince. She would be leaving Sariell, forever and ever.
“Sara,” she said, eyes clouding. “You know, I’ll be marrying the Prince of Kerade. Mother has arranged it with them. I’ll be leaving when I’m sixteen.”
Sariell almost fell off the castle wall. “How could she do that?” she shouted.
“It’s for the good of the kingdom,” Katreia replied. “I’ll help keep Cedan free. For you and for everyone.”
“I wish you could be free, too.” Sariell did not sound consoled. “Well, let’s have lunch together, alright? I don’t want to lose any time with you.”
Thankful for the distraction, they leapt off the wall and went towards the stairs. Don’t worry, I’ve got nine years to go, she reminded herself. But now, she was truly beginning to regret agreeing to the arrangement.
The days passed quickly, the trio now growing to a foursome with Cendreile’s arrival. Katreia now lived in continual dread of her marriage, though she had eight and a half years to wait. Only the time she spent with her three friends kept her going, and she looked forward to the times when she could meet them.
By spring, Cendreile was one of the soloists of the Minstrel’s Hall, and Katreia often heard her playing at banquets and festivals.
“Wake the guardians, wake the guardians!” The voice Katreia heard singing behind her was different—more trained and tuneful, and purer. She turned and saw Cendreile with her harp on her back, coming down the corridor as she sang the folk song.
“I thought Sariell was the one who liked that song,” said the princess. The minstrel smiled.
“I like it too,” she replied, before singing the verse once more. It did have a somewhat annoyingly sticky tune, and Katreia inevitably found herself joining in.
“Where’s Sariell and Akherien?” Cendreile asked.
“Sariell has extra lessons, and Akherien’s training in the range,” Katreia replied. They went on their way to the garden. Outside, the snow had finally thawed completely, and already the grass was poking from the barren soil, and even those tiny saplings made the air smell fresher.
“Well, this makes me want to write a song,” Cendreile said, taking her harp off her back. She then began to improvise the words of a song as they walked, humming when she wasn’t sure of the words, and Katreia found herself immersed once more in the amazing world that she made with her tunes.
“You just made that up?” Katreia asked once she was done. Cendreile nodded graciously. “How did you end up in the taverns?”
Cendreile seemed not to be expecting that question. She thought while Katreia found them a bench to sit on.
“Not much reason to it,” she replied. “My parents died, and they gave me to the tavern for caretaking. They gave me a place to stay, but they were not…nice. They took the coins that were dropped in my bowl. If Sir Caderen had not found me…” She shuddered.
Katreia nodded. “Where’d you learn to play like that?” she asked.
“My father taught me,” she replied, her voice a sigh.
Katreia knew that this was probably something she did not want to talk about, but the princess wanted to understand her friend. “What happened to him?”
“He died in the floods.”
Cendreile said this calmly, but Katreia went silent, not wanting to say anything else, for fear of making her feel worse.
“It’s alright, don’t pity me,” Cendreile replied. “I have learned not to be bothered by it.”
They continued to talk about their lives to each other for quite a while. When Cendreile found out about Katreia’s arranged marriage, her face fell.
“There’s nothing I can do about it,” Katreia reasoned. “The most I can hope is that he won’t be so bad, this Prince Eretain. He’s two years older than me.” Cendreile nodded, understanding, but still upset that Katreia had to leave. Simply talking to her about it had increased its weight on her thoughts, making her dread it even more.
“I’ve got to go for some more lessons,” Cendreile soon said, looking at the sky. “I can’t be late. See you soon!”
Katreia waved to her, now contemplating her next activity. The firing range was not far from here, so she figured it wouldn’t hurt to pay Akherien a visit.
The mage-in-training was in the midst of aiming a fireball at a strawy dummy when she appeared. “Herien!” Katreia called, the moment he hurled the fireball. He leapt and sent it flying in the wrong direction, hitting a tree beside Enere’s horse, which kicked a bucket of water at the mage trainer.
“Kat!” he cried out, while Katreia burst out laughing.
Enere marched over, his shirt drenched. Katreia had expected a scolding, but the mage only seemed slightly unhappy about his wet garments.
“Princess Katreia,” he said, shaking his head. “You may stay, but only if you promise not to distract my student.”
“Promise!” she shouted, walking around the perimeter to the horse stables, not far from the pair.
Akherien tried to hit the dummy again, and from the side view, Katreia realised how far it really was. His fireball flew too far left and scorched its arm.
“Again! Focus! The farther it gets, the steadier your gaze must be!” Enere shouted.
He fired again, this time burning the sprig of hay that was the dummy’s hair.
“You don’t want to get your opponent’s helmet,” Enere shouted with mounting aggression. “I know you can do it!”
The boy attempted once more, thrusting his arms forward and gathering fire in his palms almost as quickly as a fully-trained mage would.
Three times lucky, as they said. He blew the dummy off its stick, its body going up in flames. At the side, the mage trainer clapped loudly, shouting, “Well done! Now,” the princess strained to hear the trainer’s words, “I think it’s time for you to learn a new skill. We don’t usually teach this one to trainees until they are twelve, but I think you’re ready for this.”
Akherien stared on as Enere explained it, and he took in the information, nodding.
“Try it,” Enere finished, pointing to the burning dummy.
Akherien closed his eyes for a long while. Opening them again, he threw his arms up and cried out. Fire roared out of his palms and swelled into a column taller than the tree that the horse was tied to.
“Excellent!” Enere’s voice sounded amazed. Akherien’s eyes were wide open, his face reflecting the light of the flames he had created.
I wonder how it is to be able to do magic, Katreia thought briefly.
“You far surpass your age,” said Enere, beaming. “How did you do that so well the first time?”
“I’ve practised before,” Akherien replied. The mage trainer straightened in surprise.
“Practised?” he said. “So you have known it since you were young! What a talent.” Akherien shook his head, but he was grinning.
“Where did you learn that?” Katreia asked later, as they made off towards the dining hall for lunch.
“I don’t know. I have always been able to do that, and I didn’t realise it was anything special. I guess that’s why my parents were so scared of it.”
“Why did you burn down your home?” Katreia asked.
Akherien sighed. “I didn’t mean to,” he answered. “My parents just saw me as a burden, a curse. They said my powers were from the Underworld."
“But they’re from Hara, the Goddess of Fire. Aren’t they?” Katreia asked.
“That’s not what they believed,” he replied. “I was just so angry when they chained me up. In the dark, without food… I just wanted to get out! I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
He was breathing hard, his eyes starting to well up with tears. “It’s alright,” Katreia said, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. She had not fully understood his pain earlier, but now, she knew, and she felt his actions were all justified. “You were just trying to protect yourself.”
When his eyes met hers again, his shoulders finally sank, and she smiled. “Thanks, Kat,” he said, suddenly abashed at his near-outburst. They walk onward to the dining hall, just a little more serious than before.
The year sped on. Spring ended uneventfully, giving way to a warm summer. There had been news about floods in Dei-orin destroying houses, and Cendreile had cried once or twice hearing stories of the devastation. Repairs were carried out now at haste, for Cedan had had a productive spring, and the rain was lessening.
Nothing significant happened for the rest of the year—lessons and practice went on as usual. Katreia felt her dread grow as she watched the days pass ever so quickly. If a year had managed to slip by her so easily, eight years would be shorter than she had once thought.
Spring the next year saw the arrival of a new trainee mage named Aorine. She had been discovered to have a very rare kind of magic—the power to relate to and communicate with the environment around her, feeling its state and sometimes seeing its history. It was something no one in the country had seen in centuries—a gift from Toth, God of the Earth. She had been welcomed with much excitement, and many had asked her what the banquet hall was saying to her. She had closed her eyes, touched the table, and said that the table was content, if a little bored. That had sufficed for her audience.
Then came the bright summer again, in which Arten rode to inspect Maen-orin, leaving Istra in charge of running the castle. Katreia seldom saw her mother, other than at big occasions like the Midsummer Ball. But even then, she never danced or ate with everyone else, only sat aside to oversee the proceedings.
Summer faded away into another red and gold autumn, and Katreia now found more time to spend with her friends, all their lessons growing more infrequent due to preparations for the hunt. The third floor had become their regular haunt, opening the many room doors out of curiosity. They still went to examine the statues of Sira repeatedly, sure that it hid something.
In winter, fever came to the castle, and dozens of people fell sick by the day. Then only did Katreia find out the use of all the rooms on the third floor. The castle had not seen such a surge in sick cases since she had been five. The third floor rooms formed a large infirmary, and only now was it being put to use. Her mother said that there had been a need for them at the time when the castle had been built, a great plague sweeping the people of old.
Two days before the new year, Katreia came down with the fever. It was worse than any she had caught before, and almost instantly, she found herself unable to get out of the plain little bed she had been laid in. The cold blowing from outside made her shiver, each gust giving her goosebumps, warmth returning for a few relieving seconds before another draught brought her suffering back.
Healers came to check her temperature often and refill her water glass, that being the only thing they could do for her, since fever was one of the few symptoms that were incurable. She was grateful whenever her three friends came to visit her, even though they were told not to get too close. Their conversations with her took her mind off the cold. But when they left, she was left to face her hot, dry throat and the freezing wind alone.
I wish they had made some windowpanes, she thought, hugging herself and flipping onto her front as night drew in. Some diseases were better treated in a well-ventilated room, she knew, but this was no way to leave a fever patient, especially in winter.
Cendreile and Akherien came one last time late that night. Katreia had been struggling to keep her mind rested, waiting for the cold to leave and sleep to come.
“Sariell fell asleep on the way here,” the mage explained, and Katreia nodded, shivering again as the wind swept through the room. He stepped closer and knelt down at her bedside, eyes full of concern. “Are you trying to fall asleep?”
“I guess,” she replied, holding her hot neck with her numb hands.
“Need a lullaby?” Cendreile asked. She didn’t wait for a reply, but began singing straight away. Her voice was not high and pure as usual, but as she sang in a warm contralto, which Katreia found lulling her mind to sleep, but not her shivering body.
Then she felt an explosion of warmth, and orange light shone through her eyelids. Finally, she stopped shivering, and her mind and body finally sank gratefully into sleep, the lullaby humming sweetly in her ears.
“Kat, Herien, get up!” the familiar voice dragged the princess out of her dreams, only for her to find Cendreile sitting by her head, and she sat up, glancing about.
“Herien! What?” Katreia gasped. The boy knelt by her bed, his head still lying on his elbows. A fire danced about over his head.
Can he really do that? Maintain a fire in his sleep?
Akherien stirred, the flame going out instantly, as if his concentration had been broken by waking up.
“Herien, it’s New Year,” Cendreile said while he stood, groaning. “And you’ve been keeping your fire up overnight. You fell asleep here!”
Katreia turned to him, heart swelling when she realised that he must not have wanted to let her battle the chill alone. “Thank you,” she said, realising as she spoke that her throat was no longer hot and dry. “And Happy New Year, both of you. I think I’m better!”
Cendreile descended to her side and hugged her. Akherien looked uneasy about joining the group hug, in a way he never had before, but he wished them both a happy New Year with a huge smile anyway.
They strolled down the hallways towards their rooms, talking on the way. Midway down, they were stopped by one of Katreia’s aunts, Lady Kalen.
“Just who I wanted to see—I need a favour!” she declared. Katreia smiled. She knew the lady disliked getting her hands dirty, though her kindness more than made up for it.
Between them, Akherien immediately straightened and answered, “Of course!”
It only then occurred to her right then that Lady Kalen was the one to whom he had been promised as a mage-servant. “Wonderful, wonderful,” said the noblewoman. “Could you tell my sister that I will be in the city today?”
He nodded profusely, and she thanked them, hastily returning to her room.
The two of them glanced at him. “Have you already passed your final examination?”
Akherien shook his head. “Not yet. But I am to be examined soon. And the Lady is sure that I will pass.”
Cendreile and Katreia glanced at each other. “Of course she is,” said Katreia. “You’re one of the best we’ve ever had.”
The words made his ears redden. “I have to see to Lady Kalen’s task,” he said, then excused himself, brisk-walking away.
The day passed swiftly, the castle holding a celebratory dinner for the coming of New Year. Katreia sat at her usual place to the left of her mother and father, among the nobles, and all around, she could feel the bright festivity like a warmth in the air, unhindered by doubts or disaster.
At the end of summer, the famed swordsmanship competition was to be held again, as it always was at the end of the season every third year. Katreia had dressed herself up in one of her best gowns, and one of the servants had helped her braid her hair. She looked into the dressing mirror—her long brown hair was in one long braid, her brown eyes, like her father’s, set into healthily tanned skin.
I don’t look too bad, she thought with a smile. She found herself prettier than she usually thought herself to be. But it wasn’t the sort of beauty that court women sought—it was the slight wildness in her eyes.
Together, the extended royal family rode on carriages to the venue of all the battles. Sariell would be somewhere in one of the carriages behind theirs, she knew. Akherien, too, would be coming along with Lady Kalen, for he had passed his initiation examination two weeks ago and had officially begun his service to her.
Glad to know that she would not have to watch it all alone, she looked forward to their arrival.
As they neared the arena, the cheers of the spectators became clear—from the low buzz in the air, it rose into the spirited calls and screams of those who were there to watch their favourites battle, and perhaps win.
“Katreia,” her mother leaned towards her and whispered. “This year, you are going to present the sword to the first battler.” Katreia’s heart immediately began to race at her words. Me…present the sword?
She still recalled, vaguely, how Istra had given the sword to the first man—no, not given, she had placed it in his hands with such authority that it had made Katreia shiver with amazement. Present the sword…
Breathless, she nodded quickly. She wanted to feel the sword in her hands, the scabbard, the hilt…
Her thoughts ended abruptly as the carriage clattered to a halt. Brushing her sweat away, she slipped through the exit and leapt off with the help of the footman. Instantly, she found herself facing the roaring cheers and the shouting faces of the crowds of the arena. Before her, spread out like a flat sheet, was a large circle of sand.
Memories of this place echoed resonantly in her mind. That day had been no different from this one, every sound the same, the atmosphere just as tense and exciting.
The sudden fanfare of bugles made the audience fall silent. The judge stood as the competitors strode in.
From behind the balcony railings, Katreia had the best view at the front. She suddenly felt a jolt of nerves as she thought about what she was about to do in front of thousands.
“Kat!” she turned right to see Sariell, tailed by Akherien, making their ways towards her, through the small crowd of the extended royal family. “This is so exciting! I’ve never been so excited about something I’m not going to do before! You know that Dad is taking part, don’t you?”
“He always does,” Katreia said, beaming. Sariell’s father, Lord Esrias, was the only one in the castle who knew how to use an eastern sword, others thinking them too short and light to be useful. “Good luck to him—speaking of which, I have to go up there soon, to present the sword.” She turned to the battlefield, where the competitors, numbering at least sixty, were taking the oath of fairness.
Both of her companions shouted, “What?”
“Quiet,” she replied, heart thumping again. “Mother wants me to do it this year.”
They both gaped at her. “We’ll be cheering for you!” Akherien exclaimed, and Sariell nodded eagerly. Katreia grinned back, and as the judge waved for her, she pushed past the crowd to slip out the balcony exit.
Finally, the competitors stepped aside, only two men remaining in the middle as the judge shouted his orders. He then strode over to the balcony exit, where Katreia already stood, heart thumping. She stepped away from the steps, striding towards the table where the sword lay. Putting on a dignified expression, she lifted it off the table.
It was not as heavy as she had thought. Katreia raised it in her hands as her right curled around the blade, holding the worn leather binding like a true swordswoman. And she felt like one. She felt, in the leather under her grip, the power and grace of the sword, the swift finality of the blade’s touch. She felt, suddenly, as if a hundred stories were being told through that touch.
She had hesitated a little too long. Turning, she lifted up the sword and placed it in the man’s palms. As it left her hands, she suddenly felt a longing to hold it again…
The man thrust the sword into the air, grinning. The umpires declared the tournament open.
While Katreia climbed the stairs back up to the royal family’s balcony, she began to question the thoughts that had run through her mind in that moment. It was only a sword. Why had she wanted it so badly? What had made her even imagine owning such a thing?
But she could not deny what she had felt. When she returned to her seat beside her mother, she turned and said, “Mother, can I become a swordswoman?”
“Did that fever make you go silly? No, of course not.” The expected reply. “You are a princess, Katreia. You will not become a swordswoman.”
Katreia tried not to retort in anger, but as she watched the men fight on the sand, swift and potent, she failed to hold back.
“I don’t have any choice over what to do with my life,” she growled. “You choose everything for me. You choose who I marry, what I become, what I can and can’t do—I can’t stand it!” Her final shout was so loud that all the people around them, including her father, turned to stare at her.
Her mother struggled not to retort as well. Instead, she said a short, “leave,” and Katreia obediently went.
Now, as she imagined herself with her own sword, doing what the competitors now did, the idea refused to leave her. Her friends had gotten to be trained in the things they wanted to learn. But here she was, being stifled. She hated to be controlled. But maybe that was her first test.
She would have to start by getting a sword.
“You were loud,” Akherien said as she returned to the stands. “What got you so worked up?”
Katreia glanced back to see that Sariell was sitting on a bench, already tired of standing. “My mother,” she replied.
Seeing Akherien’s perplexed expression, she went on. “I told her I wanted to learn to sword-fight. But she said no. It's always like that. My whole life’s purpose is to be her pawn and get married to some prince from some other country…”
“She's making you do that?” he asked. Then she remembered that she had yet to reveal to him that grim piece of news.
She nodded, frowning. “They’ve arranged my marriage already. It won’t be till I’m sixteen, but…”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he murmured. She sighed and continued to watch the battle. Seconds later, one man fell to his knees, conceding, and the other lifted his sword in triumph. She wished she could be the one doing that, just once. But noblewomen didn’t swordfight.
“It is alright. It will all come to pass. And I can’t do anything about it. I don’t have a choice, I never did.”
“That doesn’t sound right,” Akherien replied, frowning. They watched the fighting for a bit longer. Then he turned to her, his expression lightening. “By the way, did I mention, I like how you’ve done your hair today.”
“Oh, do you?” she replied, tossing her head to swish the braid about. “I am quite pleased with it, too.”
Finally, after four hours of battle through the morning and noon, the final came. Esrias was one of the competitors, much to Sariell’s excitement. Even she had come to the railings to watch her father take on this momentous fight. “Go, Dad!” Sariell shouted.
The battle was swift as their eyes could follow. Neither man seemed intent on giving up, as they leapt and dodged like acrobats, swords slicing the air in attempts to disarm the opponent. Neither conceded.
The man, Esrias’ opponent, suddenly landed a solid blow in the wooden armour over his right leg, and he jolted back. A small spot of blood bloomed from behind the wood—the blade had passed clean through. Beside Katreia, Sariell’s gasp of terror hurt. “Dad!” she shouted, trying to keep her voice down.
To a roar of cheering, Esrias conceded, and his opponent was declared the winner. He managed to stand, despite the pain, and meet the other man, shaking his hand. The audience applauded loudly. Katreia, Akherien and Sariell applauded as well, though worry for Esrias’ injury made them a little less enthusiastic.
Before the crowds, the winner went to the table, and amidst their cheers, Arten presented the ceremonial shield to the champion. He took them in hand, bowing, and raised the shield high, the cheers rising with his movement. Suddenly, Katreia had a fantasy of herself standing there in his place.
Oh yes, she would learn the sword. She didn’t care what her mother or her family, or anyone in the castle thought. It was what she wanted.
“Are you thinking about becoming a swordswoman?” Akherien asked all of a sudden.
“What?” Sariell gasped, looking closely at Katreia, who was staring at the champion, mind whirling with such thoughts.
She nodded. “I…I don’t like being a princess. Everyone tells me what to do. If they say I can’t learn something I want to, then I can’t. I am sick of it. But…I don’t know how to start. I can’t let my mother know. She still has power over me.”
“Oh.” Sariell’s voice was sympathetic. “Why do you like sword-fighting so much?”
“I like watching these fights! I fantasise about it, being so powerful. They can defend, and they can kill. I want to be so deadly!”
“You want to learn to kill?” Sariell asked. “Are you sure? It’s…not very nice to kill people…at least I don’t think so.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Katreia wanted to learn to fight, and that included learning the skills needed to kill. It was better than being a helpless prize.
Later, everyone went to meet Esrias to check on his injury, which the healers had mended in time, and also to commend him on reaching the finals. While Sariell went to tell her father how good she thought he had done, Katreia stood back from the crowd, and Akherien remained with her.
“You seem very determined,” he said, watching the people gather around Esrias.
“Are you going to tell me off, too?” she asked.
“No, I think you should learn it. I think it’s only right… Just like the castle gave me a chance to train, I think you should have that chance too. But you’ll need a sword, won’t you?”
She nodded. “And I’ll never get one without my mother finding out,” she sighed.
It was two days later that a gentle knock woke Katreia from her dreams. She tried to open her eyes in the dark. Was there someone at her door? She would have to check.
Lifting her heavy eyelids, she found herself staring at the left wall of her bedroom, where her dressing table stood. Pulling her legs and then her body out of bed, she rubbed her eyes.
She unlatched the door, only vaguely wondering who wanted to see her so late at night.
“Huh?” she whispered when she saw that the person who stood at her door was Akherien. “Why are you here?”
“I couldn’t do this any other time,” he said back as he entered. Then, he raised something in his hands that glinted in the moonlight through her window, and Katreia gasped so sharply that she was afraid she might have woken someone. “How…how did you get this?”
The mage held a sword in his hands, with a short blade, one edge curved.
Reaching out, almost frightened, she took it from his hands. It was heavier than the one she had held that day, but one touch of the scabbard gave her the same terrified awe.
Holding it, she suddenly felt jealously protective of it. It was hers. She had to hold onto it.
She turned to Akherien, staring suspiciously at him. “How exactly did you get this?” she asked again as she knelt to tuck it under her bed, in between her old floor cushions.
The boy smiled sheepishly. “It was easy,” he replied. “I took it from the armoury. I thought no one would miss it, there’s so many swords in there.”
“You—what?” She said that word as loudly as she normally talked, and he gestured for her to be quieter. “Why? I mean—thank you—but, is it so easy to steal things from the armoury? Was it a lot of trouble? Tell me, please!” Her heart was hammering so fast that her face was starting to heat up. A sword, in her room. Stolen. Was this just a dream?
Akherien shut the door behind him. “It wasn’t hard,” he replied. “I just asked for permission from Enere to visit during practice, then I hid until it was dark and put out all the lights so I wouldn't be seen. I used to nick things from my parents like this all the time. Well—” he glanced at the sword in her hands— “Do you like it?”
She leapt to her feet and threw her arms around him, so tightly that he began to gasp for air. “I can’t believe you did this. You must be crazy.”
“I just saw how much you wanted it,” he replied earnestly. “If your parents are going to decide everything else for you…you deserve this one thing. That’s what I think.”
She smiled as she walked to open her door, waving him over. “Now, I need to sleep.” But she hardly felt sleepy anymore. “But thank you. Seriously. And don’t get caught on your way back.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, stepping out. She closed the door and drew a deep breath, exhaling. Now she was alone and quite sure she was awake, she knelt by her bed to feel for the sword—and there it was. She pulled it out and lifted it, carefully drawing it with a snick from its sheath. The blade gleamed in the hints of moonlight falling through her window.
It was breathtaking. And Akherien had to be completely mad.
At the crack of dawn, King Arten was greeted by a loud, urgent knock on his study door. “Come in, please,” he declared. The messenger who stood there was panting hard.
“Your Majesty, Your Majesty!” he gasped.
“Catch your breath first,” the king replied. Gratefully, the messenger stood up, allowing his breath to return to normal before he delivered his message.
“Your Majesty, the Sword of the Palaces has been stolen!”
Arten’s calm shattered. He took hold of the man’s shoulder and echoed his words back. The messenger nodded nervously.
This was bad, very bad. That sword simply could not be lost. It was a god-given sword, a sword that would find its owner, the one who would rise to defend Cedan, who would be feared and honoured throughout the lands. It would choose a bearer, and the one it chose would finally draw it and wield it in battle, and they would be named the Sword Prince or Princess.
But now, it was gone. Some lowly thief or servant had stolen it. And only the king, the queen, and the sword masters who had taken the oath had been told of its real meaning. All others were forbidden from knowing its true fate—precisely to avoid a theft like this.
“Tell the guards to carry out a thorough search of the servants’ quarters!” he told the waiting messenger. “It must be found!”
No use regretting it now, he thought. He uttered a prayer and sat down.
As Katreia had predicted, the rest of the castle had quickly found out about the theft. The only drifts of rumours that she caught were that a valuable sword had been stolen.
“Valuable?” Katreia later questioned Akherien on the rooftop, under the mild glow of the sun.
“It was quite easy to see, being hung on the wall, so….”
Her brow furrowed. “This means I have to keep it hidden. If anyone finds out that I have it, it will be taken from me!”
She had hidden the sword inside the hollow space behind her dresser, where surely no one would look without knowledge of its presence. Perhaps she should wait for the furore to die down before she found herself a teacher.
“The weather up here has been very nice,” she said instead, walking over to the crenellation in which she often sat. As far as she could recall, she had never come up here in such agreeable weather. Once again, she clambered up the grooves onto the top of the wall, sighing as she turned to face the mountains in the distance, trying to see if she could spot any land beyond them. She had never been to Kerade before, and yet that was where all of her future lay.
It will come to pass. I’m sure I’ll live through it, and be happy after that. But before that, she would grasp at all the freedom she could find.
“Kat, I can’t be gone too long,” Akherien called over. “Lady Kalen told me to be back soon.”
She frowned, but nodded. “Don’t work yourself too hard!” she called out, and with a wave, he departed down the walkway.
Katreia looked down over the edge of the wall. Has it already been three years since Akherien came to the castle? She still remembered the sight of him in the burning house like it had happened last week, when she had found him in the depths of the fire. Time was passing too fast. If only she could make it slow down and linger in it. But she had six more years with her friends, her family, and her home.
Lord Esrias did not live in the castle, for he spent too much of his time travelling and teaching students across the city of Dei-orin. So the next time he was in the castle on his once-weekly visit, she was there outside his door first thing in the morning, knocking on the wood.
“Lord Esrias,” she called. She did not have to wait long before the blond man came to open it.
“Ah, Princess!” he exclaimed, one hand on the door handle. “What a surprise. Did you have something for me to attend to?”
She shook her head, glancing down the corridors, heart in her throat. No one was approaching, so she took her chance to speak. “Lord Esrias, could you—would you—do you have the time to take me in as your student in swordsmanship?”
Esrias straightened, eyes widening in surprise. “You?”
“Yes, a student,” she replied earnestly, gripping the doorframe. “I know you’re surprised. I know you think that I, as a princess, should not even think of becoming a swordswoman. But I want to! I know it deep inside.”
“But do you have a sword?”
She glanced again up the corridor, before gesturing for him to let her inside. He acceded, shutting the door behind him. “Yes,” she said. “I have a sword. But you can’t tell the castle about any of this. My request or the fact that I have a sword. Because my mother won’t let me learn otherwise. That’s an order.”
Esrias was frozen, not blinking or moving, seeming to be putting things together in his head. “You have the stolen sword.”
“You have heard about it.”
“My wife told me. But the sword, have you…have you tried drawing it yet?”
“Yes, I did,” she replied. “It wasn't hard at all.”
At that, the lord paled so much she worried he was about to faint. “I…I can hardly do something your mother disallows,” he breathed.
Katreia’s heart sank. What did I expect? “Please!” she pleaded. “My life is limited enough! I’ve had my marriage to the Prince of Kerade arranged, and I only have six years left here, and now I can’t even have this?”
Lord Esrias looked down into the princess’ eyes, which were full of hope and anger. Unbeknownst to her, she had drawn the Sword of the Palaces, the sword around which a legend was centred, that the one who drew it would grow to be powerful beyond measure, and would help seal Cedan’s freedom.
It was no story; he had tried to draw it once, when his swordsmanship training had finally ended, and he had taken the oath of secrecy as a rite of passage. He had tugged at the hilt, and seeing that it didn’t budge, had admitted defeat. But here, young Katreia had seemingly drawn it as if it were nothing.
Whether he liked it or not, she was destined to become a swordswoman.
“I…accept,” he said. “I will be your teacher. I will not tell anyone about any of this, and I will train you to the best of my ability.”
Katreia, who had been about to shout, froze and looked up. “Really?”
“Yes, of course,” he replied. He would lead her to the bright future that awaited her, no matter how unlikely it seemed. It was simply his duty.
Once again, he had the urge to tell her of the true meaning of the fact she had drawn the sword. But it was a strict rule that only the King and Queen could divulge that knowledge to anyone.
He thought of informing Arten or Istra, but he did not know if they would respect the prophecy over their desire to guard Katreia from the ills of violence. And he simply could not be responsible for shattering her dream like that—a dream he had harboured as a boy himself.
So he simply waved the princess goodbye. Seeing the bright smile on the girl’s face brought him a smile of his own.
“Thank you, Lord Esrias!” she exclaimed again, bowing before racing away, footsteps seeming to fly over the ground.
Katreia arranged for the lessons to happen once a week, before dawn every Abalea day, the resting day of the week, when he visited the castle. They would happen atop the keep wall in the northern wing, where she knew hardly anyone ever went. She had picked the time to be just before sunrise, in case anyone might come up for a breather any other time of the day. Every week, she was to find Lord Esrias in the two hours before dawn and learn to swordfight.
As Katreia ascended the stairs, her sword clutched nervously in her hands, she wondered why Esrias had shifted from frightened to agreeable about teaching her. Now that she thought about it, she felt guilty that she was making the honest swordsman keep such a big secret. But the deal is done. I’m not going back on it!
She had half expected to arrive at an empty rooftop, feeling very stupid for changing into trousers for nothing. However, Lord Esrias stood there by the wall in that empty space between two turrets, as promised. He turned and smiled, and once they had ended their short discussion about the plan, the lesson began.
“Show me your sword,” he first said. Katreia drew it from her belt and handed it to him. He examined the hilt, which had a complex string of symbols engraved on one side, a bright row of three gemstones on the other. He nodded. “The scabbard?”
Katreia undid it from her belt and handed it to him. With great expertise, he sheathed it again, then gave the hilt a little tug, before handing it back. She slipped it back onto the belt, slightly intrigued but not thinking much of his strange actions.
“Now, we can begin.”
The two hours proved fruitful. The lord demonstrated a few basic manoeuvres—a forward stab, a side-cut, and a downward cut. He corrected her sword hand’s hold repeatedly, and she complied without argument or annoyance. Once her arm had mastered the movements—this was not hard with the sword being so light—he showed her the footwork, how never to keep her feet too close together or too far apart as it would slow her down, how to step back or aside after a lunge, in anticipation of a counter.
As the sun began to rise over the edge of the land, Katreia stopped, panting, after a footwork practical test Esrias had just set for her. The lord stopped as well, and a grin appeared on his face. Katreia let her sword drop to her side, and she grinned back, feeling good about having completed her first lesson.
“Natural,” was his assessment of her. “You have an innate sense of the motions, even though you’ve hardly watched that many swordfights.” She bowed her head in thanks. “You have a long way to go yet, but it will reward your efforts.”
“Thank you, Lord Esrias,” she said, forehead damp with sweat, despite the late autumn weather. She bowed to her teacher and raced away across the stone floor, spirits light.
Sariell knocked on Katreia’s door not long after she had finished changing out of her training clothes. The lady smiled as Katreia opened the door to let her in. “I was thinking we should go explore the garden again,” she said. “You know, to spend some time talking. What do you think?”
“Yes, that sounds good,” Katreia replied. “But first, I want to go take a bath.”
Sariell nodded. “Come to my room when you’re done! This Abalea day should be spent well!”
I really should tell Sariell—I mean there’s really no reason not to, thought Katreia as her cousin left. But still, she felt that the fewer people were in on the secret, the less likely it would be for it to leak out. Now, only Akherien and Esrias knew about the sword—Akherien didn’t even know that her lessons had already started.
Once bathed and changed into a gown with long sleeves and a scarf to go, she made her way to Sariell’s door as promised. It was in the west wing on the second floor as well, and it took almost no time to find.
Moments after she did her special knock, Sariell was out of her room, all dressed up for the cold as well, a knitted hat on her long golden hair. “Come on!” They ran down the checkered floors of the hallway together, dimly lit by the last flickers of the torchlight.
The day was beautiful. As they emerged from the side gate into the garden, they found all the branches already bare, only their thin shapes cutting the sky. The sun was still rising, and the orange on the bare earth was slowly fading away.
Another person stepped through the side gate behind them. Both girls glanced back to see one of the squires—Katreia was sure that she had seen him before.
“Good morning…um, what was your name?” Sariell greeted him. He glanced back at her, a little surprised. He was half a head taller than Katreia, and his light brown hair was long enough to touch his shoulders, but he hardly looked much older than themselves.
“I am Qenerain, my ladies,” he greeted them, bowing. “It is a lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Isn’t it just?” Sariell beamed as he came up beside her. There and then, snowflakes began to drift in curtains from the sky. As all three looked up, they saw the swirls of the first snow filling the castle grounds.
“Winter has begun!” Katreia exclaimed, smiling up at the sky. It seemed odd, suddenly, how she found that time passed too fast, and yet she felt as if the last time they had celebrated the start of winter was years ago.
When they had seen their fill, both soon turned to leave. “Have a good day, my ladies,” Qenerain said. They waved, smiling, before returning through the eastern side gate.
“What a lovely boy,” said Sariell. “I wonder if he’s joined us recently, or graduated from pagehood.” She stretched her arms. “Well, that was fun! I must go to my sewing class now. I’ll see you at lunch.”
“Don’t prick your fingers too much!” Katreia waved her goodbye and turned to race back up the stairs.
It so happened that she almost crashed into Akherien on her way to her room. He had been looking for her, it seemed, and he leapt when she came barrelling in from behind. From here, she could see that he had started to grow out his hair, his jet-black locks falling almost to his shoulders.
“Herien!” Katreia exclaimed as he whirled around.
“Kat! Finally!” Akherien grinned as she came to a stop, then lowered his voice. “You’ve found a teacher, right?”
Katreia nodded. “The first lesson was this morning,” she said.
“Did it go well?”
She nodded eagerly. “I like it,” she replied, and his smile widened. “I think I’m going to keep going. Were you waiting for me for something?”
He shook his head. “I just had an hour between my tasks, and thought I should come see you.”
She beamed. "Let's just talk, then?” she asked, and he nodded eagerly, whiling the time with her till the servant brought a tray of steaming supper to her door.
Faithfully, every week, Katreia ascended to the rooftop for her lessons. She learned new moves with the eastern sword, and with practice she became familiar with its weight and length, even the resistance it met as she swung it through the air.
Besides that, she became more familiar with her teacher, Lord Esrias. She had begun to notice how similar some aspects of his character were to Sariell’s, and she didn’t find it hard to believe that the two were very close. Katreia hardly got to talk to her own father; he was always away doing things his position made necessary, and had hardly spent any time with her since her days as a young child.
Half a year had already passed since her first lesson; she was eleven now. Since then, much had happened. Kerade had attempted again to force Maen-orin, this time with new mountain trebuchets. After a long, hard siege, they had withdrawn once again. She had watched the smoke rise in columns above the mountains.
Katreia laid her sword on the rough granite of the low dip in the huge wall. Esrias looked up at the sky, where the moon still hung in the ocean of blue, among the stars. She was exhausted; they had just had a mock practice-fight, and from the heavy rise and fall of his shoulders, Katreia could tell that Esrias was tired as well.
He’s almost forty, she thought. And surely he would like to retire from these classes soon… But he seemed keen to teach her, so she carried on with him.
For now, they did not move from their spots. “Now I am sure that you were born to do this,” he called over with a trace of a smile. She cocked her head to one side, not sure if he was only praising her for the sake of making her smile. “Honestly, I did not expect it at all. Most noblewomen don’t enjoy this sort of activity. I asked my daughter, and she said she’d rather not learn to kill, and all.”
“Of course she did.” Katreia knew Sariell; she didn’t seem the kind who liked violence, though she had a criminally oriented mind. She was growing out of playing tricks and stealing things, though, and did not seem very eager to do things she could be reprimanded for anymore.
Esrias nodded, sighing. “I was hoping she might want to learn, that I might make her my student,” he explained. “Well, I know you are very close to her, and maybe this is the closest I will ever get.” He straightened. “Come on, let’s finish the lesson.” She nodded, picking up her sword. Though it was still before sunrise, the air was already growing warm with the arrival of summer.
She continued to practise her sword forms and manoeuvres, Esrias insisting that she perfect every single one before they went on. Though the repeated execution of lunges, steps and swings was strenuous, she never gave in to the exhaustion, remembering how she had a point to prove to her parents and to the world.
After the peak of the heat in the middle of the year, days grew gradually colder. Another year had entered its second half, and the coming of autumn and death only served to remind Katreia of the fate that was drawing nearer. She had four and a half years more, before she had to leave the castle and this life. When had her nine years been cut down by half?
She was almost as tall as her mother now, and much stronger than her. The only thing beautiful to her about the passing of time was how the colours of autumn swept across the land. As she sat there at the desk during a History lesson, she repeatedly glanced out at the trees of the garden outside. Too bad her mother had gone to Maen-orin for the annual inspection; she had heard from Geography lessons that the mountains had no trees and that the weather there was even colder than here.
“...to solve the food shortage crisis, no one was allowed to buy more than a specific weight…”
She looked out the window, away from Miss Aerna’s lecture, into the red and yellow trees, every breeze shaking the brightly-coloured leaves from the canopies like a shower of golden rain. She would go out to admire the autumn day, after this stuffy History lesson.
“...And that’s all for today,” Mineile finally concluded. Katreia heaved a silent sigh of relief. She greeted her teacher and ran out of the classroom, longing for the crisp coldness of the autumn morning.
At the west side gate, which led into a garden grove, she stopped to take in the cool of the morning. It was cloudy that day, but not unpleasantly so.
A strong, cold wave of wind crashed into her face—an unnaturally strong wind. Had Balea, the west wind, just swept past her? It certainly felt that way. Among the falling leaves she walked, between trees, over the soft grass and crackling leaves. Further on, among the apple trees, she saw the figure of a young girl sitting at the roots of one of the tall, gold-leaved trees, asleep.
Running there, Katreia recognised her as Aorine, her hair almost as red as the leaves themselves. Her eyes were closed peacefully, her blue dress fanned over the earth. She had come to the castle at seven years old, and she had been here for almost two years already. The princess had often seen her at practice in the field north of the castle—her unique powers made it hard for anyone to teach her, except for Argenia, an experienced seer mage.
At that point in time, Aorine blinked her eyes open and glanced up at Katreia. Their gazes met for a few moments, before the mage sat upright and bowed. A few leaves had drifted onto her dress, so she brushed them out.
“Please, carry on if you want!” Katreia gasped. “I was here to enjoy the scenery.”
She stood. “No, never mind about that,” Aorine replied. “I was speaking with the grove, that’s all. It is quite happy…”
“Speaking with the grove?”
“Yes…well…everything lives, did you know that?” Aorine replied. “They have voices. They speak to those who can understand and bother to listen. Your grove is a little lonely, but it’s content.”
“Well—we’ve got very few plant mages, that’s why,” Katreia said. “So, what kind of mage are you, actually?”
She paced about in the leaves. “Some of my seniors said my type of magic is a branch of mind magic, like an Espier,” she replied. “But others argue that I’m more of an earth mage. It’s just…confusing.”
Katreia nodded, vaguely sympathetic. “It must be.”
“Sometimes I kind of envy Akherien. He’s your friend, isn’t he? He knows exactly what kind of mage he is.”
She nodded, eyes drifting across the grove. “What do you think of him?”
“Master Enere always says that he’s talented,” Aorine replied. “And he is! Oh, you should see how quickly he lights the torches.” Katreia couldn’t help a proud grin. “Lady Kalen is really lucky to have a mage-servant like him!”
“So is the castle,” Katreia replied with a smile. “Are you thinking of becoming a mage-servant?”
“Perhaps. I think Lady Aille would be my choice, if she wanted. She cares a great deal about the cleanliness of the castle, and cleaning makes the stones happy.”
“Perhaps you could ask her…after she's had her baby.” Aille had been pregnant with Sariell's sibling for a few months now, and the whole castle was excited to welcome a new addition.
The pair looked up at the treetops. “Your Highness,” said Aorine then. “Do you like being a princess?”
“Usually I do,” she replied. “The only people who can tell me what to do are my parents. But I must listen to everything Mother tells me. And I can’t learn the things I want to if she says no.”
“Well, I guess I’m quite lucky then,” the mage noted. “If anyone ever told me I couldn’t hone my magic skills, I’d be quite upset.”
Noon was slowly arriving, and as it did, the sky brightened. Even so, the weather hardly warmed up. Both girls decided to go for lunch, and Katreia did so grudgingly, her long moment of well-needed peace over.
With the fading of autumn, winter came. Katreia’s lessons continued, even in the blustery, dark cold, and Katreia felt guiltier than ever that she was making Esrias do such things, knowing he was soon to be a father.
Then, one winter night, she received a knock on the door from a messenger, who told her in a hush that Lady Aille had given birth.
She stood there in the room with Esrias, Aille, Sariell, and her parents. Esrias was seated beside his wife, who cradled the baby, talking to her husband in hushed tones. In the dimness, she saw all their faces softened by the firelight, and briefly, the princess felt all the tensions among them melt away.
“What is his name?” Katreia asked.
“Mum has been too tired to decide,” Sariell laughed softly. The unnamed baby continued to sleep in his swaddling clothes, unaware of the cold beyond the door.
Katreia felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see her father beaming at her. “Can you imagine? You were just like that, just shy of twelve years ago.”
“Karrenian,” mumbled Aille, stroking the baby’s downy head, lifting her head to Esrias. “How about that?”
“Karrenian,” he replied with a smile. “I like it. I wonder what kind of future awaits you, my son…”
Then the curtains billowed out, and a cold gust swept the room, making the candlelight flicker. Suddenly awakened, Karrenian began to cry. Aille held him closer, closing her eyes as she began to sing:
“Be at peace now, nothing’s wrong.
In the night, the light burns strong…”
“Mum used to sing this to me,” whispered Sariell, closing her eyes.
The baby fell silent with each line of song. Aille continued to sing her lullaby while the rest in the room turned to watch. Finally, as the wind died down, he fell back into a quiet slumber. The candle finally went out. Aille’s singing faded, and only the wind was audible in the dark. But no one felt the cold as they stood in a wordless vigil.
Karrenian stayed in Aille’s room, and Katreia hardly saw him outside it. But she often went with Sariell, Akherien or Cendreile to check on him. He still spent most of his time sleeping, and was delighted when anyone came into his room when he was awake. By next spring, he was a lot bigger than he had been in winter the previous year.
The boy was often a talking point when she went for her swordsmanship lessons with Esrias. “He’s a noisy one,” he commented. “Almost as much as Sariell was when she was his age!” Somehow, the idea of Sariell being a helpless baby like Karrenian was hard to envision.
For her birthday last year, her teacher had bought her a set of proper swordsmanship training clothes, because she had gotten too tall for her old, shoddy training gear. Gladly, she had accepted it, happy to put aside her old outfit. Her limbs felt freer in the new shirt and breeches, and she looked quite good in the outfit too, if she did say so herself.
On her way back from the class that morning, she took a detour into the turret of the northern tower. She had seen the statues of Sira and Balea in the south and west respectively, and she wondered if the pattern would hold. Sure enough, as she pushed the door open and descended the stairs, she found a third winged figure at the bottom, with the long braided hair of Umu, God of the North Wind.
But this tower landing was different from the others. It did not have a door back into the castle halls, and as she tiptoed around the base, inspecting the tall sculpture, she noticed something odd about Umu’s statue. His pedestal was raised significantly higher, unlike the other two who sat hardly a finger’s length above the ground.
For several minutes, she knelt and studied the base of the sculpture, wondering if there was a trick, something hidden beneath the base. But after several minutes, her knees and palms hurt. She sat down heavily on the edge of that raised pedestal…
And the pedestal on which she sat suddenly began to recede into the recesses of the turret. She yelped and leapt off just as her perch descended past the height of the floor, staring down at the hole that it left, gaping.
Carefully, she peered inside the hole, and found a series of rungs carved into the side, which descended out of sight. Wherever the statue was, she could no longer see it.
Her heart leapt into her throat, and she stopped breathing. It was several minutes before she heard the groan of stone resume, echoing up the tunnel as the statue began once again to rise.
Then she remembered that her sword was still hanging on her belt, and that she could not afford to be caught in the hallway carrying it, so she sprang to her feet and sprinted back to the halls. Where did that strange passageway lead? Did no one know about this? Why had no one ever mentioned it? What other secrets did the castle hide?
When Katreia met Akherien in the hallway outside her room the next morning, she called out gladly as he came racing down the corridor. She had not seen him in at least a week, and she had begun to wonder if she should go find him in the mage’s hall herself.
“Kat! Just got back from sending a message to the cooks,” he explained. “Did you do you-know-what yesterday?” Katreia nodded. She had told him about the arrangements long ago. He glanced up at the ceiling in thought. “It’s been more than a year already. How are they going?”
She smiled proudly. “Lord Esrias thinks I’m good at it,” she replied.
“And to think you almost weren’t given a chance!” He grinned, giving her a pat on the back. “I knew you’d be amazing.”
She laughed. “Well, thank you for your help with the plan,” she replied. Recalling her original objectives, she then said, “Do you have some free time today? I have something to show you.”
“Yes, of course, as long as Lady Kalen does not have more jobs for me,” he replied. “Which she usually does. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll skip my chores to go with you!”
They stepped outside, and she shut the door behind her. The hall was silent outside as they walked in step. “What exactly is going on?” he asked as they headed towards the tower.
“I don’t actually know how to describe it,” she replied, turning to look at him. He was now a little taller than she was, though he had been trailing till last year. His hair had now grown past his shoulders, and today, he had it tied near his nape. “It’s those statues in the towers. I went to check the one in the north tower, and it was…different.”
“That whole tower is different,” he replied. “There’s no door on the first floor.” Katreia found herself smiling at the thought that Akherien knew the place so well already. A few years ago, he had been gaping at the drawbridge in the front.
They took the long way, going up to the top floor of the east tower and along the top of the wall towards the north tower. There, they descended the stairs to find the statue of the God Umu standing where she had found it.
“Watch this,” she said, then stamped hard on the pedestal of that sculpture. As before, the statue began to sink into the floor, taking a circle of stone with it. Behind her, the mage gasped in shock.
“That statue has been…hiding this?”
Katreia knelt by the hole it had left, reaching into the darkness to feel for the footholds carved into the side of the passageway. “There’s a ladder here,” she said. Akherien came to kneel beside her, and as he stared into the hole, his expression grew slack.
“What’s in there?”
She glanced down into the darkness, then said, “Why don’t we check?”
“Er, after you,” he said. Nodding, she put her feet into the hole, searching with the toes of her shoes for the footholds carved into the side. They were deep, and she found good purchase with her feet. She shifted her entire weight onto the ladder and descended to the next.
Then she pulled her head into the hole, and she found herself surrounded by darkness.
Katreia continued to descend, rung by rung, climbing past where the statue had retreated into a recess in the wall seemingly made to house it. Her dress almost tripped her once or twice. Not long later, she saw her companion’s silhouette blot out the circle of light above. Together, they proceeded downward in the blackness, towards whatever waited for them at the bottom.
Arms and legs moving mechanically over the footholds, Katreia was beginning to get bored. From the looks of it, this tiny passageway led all the way to the bottom of the castle.
As they neared the bottom, Katreia began to hear a sound: a booming, irregular and soft, like the pounding of a drum. It was like the pulse of a song. She realised, all of a sudden, that she had heard it before, walking near the base of the north tower, but had always assumed it to be the servants hard at work with the laundry or the grinding of grain, its full force held back by the weathered walls.
“Do you hear that?” Akherien’s question confirmed her thoughts.
“I wonder if the source is the secret the statue is hiding,” she replied, climbing the remaining length down. As she glanced downward into the echoing depths, she suddenly noticed the warm glow of something beneath her feet, just around a bend. Light! Would there be a way out? The sight gave her hope.
At last, Katreia jumped the last couple of feet down, and found herself surrounded by a circle of torches. The wall opened on one side into a horizontal passageway, tall enough for her to stand in. The booming echoed through the walls now, and every beat made the dim torches flicker in their sconces. These were of a different design from the ones in the castle above, she realised. They were tarnished, as if not polished for centuries.
Centuries? Katreia glanced about. Around her feet, the earth was pockmarked with holes. What are those? They look like they were made very long ago…
Everything about the little room had the feel of one no one had visited in ages. But someone must have visited before. Many someones. And the flames burned on the walls around her, seemingly needing no fuel.
Akherien finally clambered down the last of the ladder and landed in the room after her, and his eyes immediately began to survey it. “This place looks incredibly old,” he whispered. He stepped towards a torch and lifted a hand. She watched with fascination as the fire leapt into his palm, whirling around his fingers. “These flames were lit a quarter of a century ago…at the least.” Then he lifted his hand, the borrowed flames trailing it, and they leapt from his hand and split, each ember shooting into a different sconce in the room.
When they did, the flames ascended hungrily, brighter than before. Akherien smiled as Katreia’s mouth widened. “Five years of training have done wonders,” she said, elbowing him. He looked abashed by the praise, shuffling a foot on the floor. She glanced about. “Well, I’m not sure what this place is for, but we should probably head back up, though. Or maybe…” She peered down along the secret hallway, pointing.
“I’d love to see where it goes,” he replied. Together, they started down the worn old passageway. Katreia looked down at the ground ahead of them as they talked. There were footprints here, she noticed—footprints of different sizes and makes, of boots and greaves.
The walk was much longer than they expected. As they went, Katreia and Akherien talked about their lives of late. “You’ve settled into the castle really well,” she said. “You know it even better than I do!”
“I’m trying to make the most of this chance you gave me. I’m thankful every day that you found and rescued me from my parents’ house, you know.”
Her eyes widened, for this was the first time she had considered how much her choice that day had changed the trajectory of his life. She grinned, patting his back. “We’ve grown so much since then. I can’t imagine saving you from your own fire now.”
“I suppose I have gotten better at using my magic.”
“That’s an understatement!” she laughed.
An hour after they set off, a point of light appeared at the end of the torchlit passageway. Both seeing it, they sprinted onward, eager to reach the exit at last.
They finally found themselves standing in the path of a beam of light a while later, and saw a short ladder that led upward and out of the strange tunnel at last.
As soon as Katreia was outside, she found herself standing in what appeared to be an abandoned shed, bright light streaming in through the gaps below the roof. She took in a breath of the air and laughed. It was over.
Akherien soon pulled himself up through the hole and came to stand beside the princess, who was examining the small shed, perhaps a carpenter’s abandoned workhouse. Then he straightened, frozen in place. “This is the siege escape route!” he gasped, turning to Katreia. “It’s been hidden by the statue all along, and no one figured it out! You found it, Kat!”
“Escape route?”
Akherien sighed. “Someone hasn’t been paying attention to her History lessons,” he said.
“Well, you wouldn’t if you had Miss Aerna as your teacher,” she retorted. “So, what is it?”
“This escape route used to be used a lot in the past, when Kerade was attacked from the southeast," he said. “In the situation of a siege, the people of the castle would escape by this hidden passageway, but it quickly went out of use when we seceded from Kerade as our own kingdom. There’s supposed to be a secret to why no one could ever capture the castle of Dei-orin, but that too was lost with the location of the passageway.”
She shook her head. “How could my family have forgotten that?”
He shrugged. “Maybe the Keradians remember, but they kept it a tight secret, just in case it was misused.” He stepped closer. “Don’t you understand? You just found a passageway that has been lost to Cedan for centuries!”
Katreia stood there for a while, taking in the information he had just given her. It was so much easier paying attention to history when Akherien was the one telling it. “That seems like a problem,” she replied. “If Kerade’s armies ever reach the castle.” Then she walked once round the abandoned shed, searching for the door. It was a rusty metal flap in the wall, locked from the inside. “We should really get back to the castle soon.”
Together, they turned back to the entrance of the passageway, clambering back inside.
Later that spring, Katreia showed the escape route to Sarielle and Cendreile, and they went to explore it once more, this time making some more time for the trip. Seasons passed one by one, Katreia’s skills with the sword improving rapidly, garnering a great deal of praise from Lord Esrias.
“You’ll be fully-fledged by the time you’re fourteen, I reckon,” he told her. Fourteen, she thought, with a familiar jab of disappointment. Two years before she had to get married. Then, she realised that it wasn’t so bad—it left her two years to show everyone what she had learnt, before she left Cedan for once and for all.
She was still twelve, but autumn was already drawing in. Then, it was here, and it was passing. She spent days with her friends, watching leaves fall in the grove, or taking a moment to herself between meals.
It seemed that Qenerain, the squire whom Katreia and Sariell had met in autumn two years ago, spent all his time in the garden in autumn—every time they went out to take a break, he would be sitting there, under a tree or on a bench, brown hair now neatly cropped, ruffled by the autumn breeze.
“Do you live out here in the garden?” Sariell asked one day. “We see you every single time!”
Qenerain looked up at the two and nodded. “Same thing I wanted to ask you, my ladies,” he replied with a smile. “You know, knights don’t have much to do in autumn, during the hunt. Only the archers work at this time, and some of the mages. We have a lot of time on our hands.” He then leaned back against the tree, eyes closed.
“It’s like that for us as well,” Sariell sighed. “Too much time, too little to do.”
“I don’t know, I think I quite like having the time to linger,” Katreia said.
“I won’t have little work for long, though,” Qenerain replied. “I’ll be joining the Royal Guard next year.”
“Oh! Congratulations!” Sariell exclaimed with a grin, and when the squire next looked at her, there was a sparkle in his eye. “I look forward to you joining the guard. Your service will be invaluable to the castle, I know it.”
“If it means seeing your lovely smile more often, then I certainly cannot complain,” he replied.
Katreia turned and noticed that Sariell was blushing furiously. Covering the bottom half of her face with one hand, she stepped back. “We should probably go,” she said in a laugh, meeting Katreia’s eye. “It was nice talking to you.”
“Well, have a good day, my ladies,” he greeted them, and Katreia felt Sariell’s hand clamp down on her wrist, dragging her back up the garden path.
Katreia turned. “Are you quite alright?” she asked. Her face was still red.
“Did he say that my smile was—” Sariell’s feet wavered from the path briefly.
“Yes, yes, he did,” she replied, opening the east gate for them. “You seem quite eager about it.”
Sariell nodded, glancing past Katreia into the distance. “No boy has ever…” Her mouth clammed shut. “I’m hungry.”
Somewhat surprised by the change of subject, Katreia followed Sariell towards the hall towards their bedrooms, where the servers were perhaps already waiting to offer them their lunch. Without asking, she had a feeling that some change had come over her cousin.
They returned to the garden the next day, Sariell more eager than ever before.
“Qenerain!” she greeted the squire as they approached amid the afternoon warmth. He smiled at her arrival and waved from the bench in which he sat, then her mannerisms became shy and flighty all at once.
“Hello, Lady Sariell, we seem to be making a habit of meeting each other,” he said, bowing to the two.
“It’s nice—it’s a nice place in autumn to rest a while,” Sariell replied in a stammer.
“We think similarly,” he replied, watching her intently.
“Oh yes,” she added. “You said you are becoming a member of the Royal Guard next year? You’re very young to qualify.”
He beamed proudly. “My commander picked me for it,” he replied. “Ah, but there’s someone younger than me joining! His name is Mino, and he’ll only be twelve next year! You should see the way he rides. It’s like he knows what his horse is thinking!”
“Perhaps he does,” Katreia said absently. “There’s kinds of magic like that. I’d like to see how you fight. You must be very good!”
“I’m not sure it’s my skill with weapons that got me selected,” he replied bashfully. “Well, if ever you leave Dei-orin, I’ll probably accompany you.”
Sariell sighed. “I wish I were part of the royal family sometimes,” she said, looking at Katreia. “With you—and the other guards, of course—always ready to guard me.”
“I’ll finish my knight training first, of course,” Qenerain piped up. “And anyway, Lady Sariell, I’d love to be your guard too. It would be my honour to defend a lady so fair.”
“I—oh,” the lady breathed, gaze falling to her feet. “That would be a privilege.” Katreia had never seen her smiling as widely as she did now.
They met Qenerain every day after that, and then Sariell began to go searching for him in the Knight’s Hall. Katreia supposed it didn’t matter for Sariell that he was a squire and she a noble—she was not from the royal family, so she was not restricted to the couplings that her parents chose. They weren’t sixteen yet, in any case, and some flirtation was not amiss.
“Oh, Kat,” Sariell sighed on the rooftop as autumn turned to winter. “I think I’m in love.”
Katreia shook her head. “Hadn’t you already realised?”
Once again, the princess thought about how she was already promised to Prince Eretain. But what if someone started to love her? They would have to live unfulfilled, for she could not accept them.
And what if she fell in love? She preferred not to think of such a situation. All it would do was create a huge mess.
“He’s so kind,” Sariell sang. “And patient. And oh, he’s going to be a knight… But I’m not sure what he thinks of me…”
Katreia continued to listen to her, though she did not quite know what to say to any of this. Their lives were on completely different trajectories. She would never experience what her cousin felt.
“Katreia,” Istra said to her daughter one afternoon in the middle of spring. “We intend to take you on the next inspection trip to Maen-orin. You should get used to travelling long distances.” To prepare me for my journey to Cier-orin, she thought.
“Can my friends come along?” she asked nervously.
The queen thought for a moment. “I don’t see why not,” she answered, and within herself, Katreia heaved a silent sigh of relief. With her friends around her, she felt she could do anything her mother wanted. “Good, then, you will set off in the second-last week of summer, with me this time. And the Royal Guard will accompany us, as well as your friends—namely?”
“Sariell,” she replied. “And Akherien, and Cendreile, please.”
Istra nodded at each name. “I’ll have to ask Kalen and Master Cielin first, but we can arrange it.”
Katreia grinned. “You’ll help me ask them?”
“Oh, were you thinking of doing it yourself? Well, then,” her mother replied with a smile of her own, and Katreia groaned. Istra laughed. “You haven’t changed, have you? Come on, it will be good practice.”
“Sariell! I’m going on an inspection trip to Maen-orin. Do you want to come with me?” Katreia caught the lady at the north side gate.
“Sure,” she replied, one hand on the gate. She had come here again, as had become her daily routine, but it seemed the newly-minted knight bad yet to appear.
“That’s good, then! We leave on Ametha day two weeks before the end of summer. Be ready by then!”
Sariell nodded once, eyes wandering across the garden. “I’ll be ready!” she exclaimed.
Later, in the grove, the princess found Lady Kalen and Lady Aille strolling the grounds. “Lady Kalen,” she called out, running over the grass.
“Oh, Princess! I heard from Aille about the inspection trip,” Kalen answered, halting in her tracks. “I just sent Akherien to collect our breakfast…have you told him about it yet?” Katreia shook her head and waited, sitting down on the grass.
Aille glanced down at her. “Don’t you be sitting on the grass, young woman,” she said. “The gardeners just enriched it!” Grudgingly, she stood up, dusting out her skirt.
Akherien returned to the grove very soon, both ladies’ trays of breakfast balanced in his hands. “Kat!” he exclaimed as he stepped through the west side gate and passed the food to the lady.
“I reckon I could use a mage-servant myself,” murmured Aille as she took her breakfast. Katreia wanted to tell her about Aorine’s interest, but she decided that that was for the girl to tell her herself.
“Herien, do you by any chance want to go on an inspection trip to Maen-orin with me?” she asked.
At this, he his eyes widened, and he nodded eagerly. “Of course,” he replied. “You could ask me to go all the way to Kerade with you, and I’d do it.” Beside him, Lady Kalen clicked her tongue, and he looked chastised. “I mean, Lady Kalen, may I go for a week?”
Kalen eyed him. “I would hate to be without you for that long…but I cannot deny the princess her wish. You may.”
Katreia grinned. “I suppose it'll be both our first times in Maen-orin! I heard it has a lot of mountains, and…”
“Oh! Yes, it’s on the mountain range—it is the coldest settlement in Cedan. It has the best military defences in Cedan, too.”
“Did you really listen to every word of your Geography classes?” she said, elbowing him in the ribs. “How did you not fall asleep?”
“Our teachers were different, weren’t they?” he replied with a laugh.
“Count yourself lucky that I won’t be telling Istra about this,” Aille muttered, before taking a bite out of her pastry.
Cendreile was next. “Would you like to come on the next inspection trip?” Katreia called across the performance hall, where the girl was putting down her harp.
“Only if my master allows it,” she replied, eyes darting to the conductor.
“Oh, that’ll be no problem,” the lead minstrel called over. Cielin was a slight man, his auburn hair neatly cut. “She has no performances in that period. And, well, I don’t think I could say no to Your Highness!”
Katreia supposed there were some benefits to being a royal after all. Beside her, Cendreile nodded, pondering the date. “I’ll make sure I'm ready to go,” she replied with a smile, and Katreia thanked her, before racing away through the halls.
One more arrangement had to be made. That Abalea day, she went up to the rooftop, walking through the orange torchlight in the echoing halls to meet Esrias.
“Lord Esrias,” she said first, as she came to stand before him. “You know that I am going to Maen-orin, right?”
He nodded. “My daughter has told me,” he replied.
“I won’t be coming for that lesson, so don’t wait for me here. Take a rest. We’ve been doing these classes tirelessly for these past three years…”
“Oh, no, it’s no problem at all,” he replied. “But as you wish, I shall take a rest during the week you are gone.”
Then Katreia drew her sword. “Let’s start today’s class, then!”
Esrias smiled and nodded, drawing his own sword. “I often wonder,” he murmured. “Why is it that my best student has to take her lessons in secret?”
Her lesson began like any other; Katreia was now almost as fast as Esrias, though not as agile, and certainly not matching his skill with handling the weapon yet. It had lightened so much with three years of practice, the blade once a treasure, now a tool and companion. She had to thank the lord for teaching her and complying with her for secrecy, but it never felt like a good time to do so.
She practised a routine of leaping and attacking. The wind carried the greeting of dawn, and the bird calls grew louder in the wake of the sunlight.
“Have a good day,” Esrias said as she stopped to rest. “Lesson’s over.” She dipped him a quick bow and departed.
The season passed fast, Katreia and her friends spending more time in each other’s company since their teachers, masters and parents were giving them more independence as they reached teenhood. Spring ended and summer began; they often walked about indoors on the third floor as the heat of the days increased.
Today, Sariell was leaning against the wall between a snake and an eagle, their huge looming shapes making her look small. Cendreile sat on the pedestal of an eagle and strummed her harp absently. Akherien was inspecting a stone lion’s marble flank.
“How long will our trip to Maen-orin be?” Cendreile asked then.
“One week,” she replied.
“Who else is going to Maen-orin with us?”
The princess thought for a while. “My mother this time,” she said. “Commander Ronnel and the rest of the Royal Guard, which is—fourteen men. And the four of us.”
“The Royal Guard?” Sariell exclaimed, face brightening.
Katreia nodded, raising her eyebrows. “Still thinking about him?” she asked, making her blush.
“Him? Who?” Cendreile and Akherien exclaimed.
Ignoring Sariell’s protests, Katreia told them about the new knight of the Royal Guard, whom her cousin was completely besotted with. “It’s not my fault!” Sariell exclaimed. “He’s kind! And beautiful! He’s got this…something about him…” She stopped and sighed.
“You’ll be looking forward to the trip then,” Cendreile replied, and Katreia laughed.
Sariell looked down at the ground. “I didn’t know being in love felt like this. It’s so much stronger than I thought it would be.”
“Well, that’s one of us who’s fallen,” Katreia murmured. “Anyone else?”
Cendreile shook her head. Akherien drew his lips into a line and looked aside.
“You,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “Is there someone?”
His eyes widened. “What? No!” He folded his arms in front of him, and the other two laughed.
“How about you, Katreia?” Sariell asked.
She shook her head. “I can’t,” she said. “I’m already promised to someone, and I’m not allowed to fall in love with anyone else.” She frowned.
“But love cannot be forced, or prevented,” Cendreile murmured.
“Well, if anyone could force it, it’s my mother,” she growled, kicking at the stones.
The subject of their conversation drifted on to their families, and it didn’t seem like it would be as dreary of a summer day as they had thought. It hurt now more than ever to think that she would be leaving them soon; their earlier conversation had reminded her of it.
Three more years. I had better enjoy them.
The preparations for the Midsummer celebrations came again, and Katreia decided to help with the decorations when she had the time—her lessons were getting more infrequent, and there was not much else to do as she waited for the journey.
The princess plucked sprigs of flowers from the huge wooden bucket that stood at one side, filled with flowers to be arranged in tall vases along the walls in preparation for the ball.
As she came up to the huge entrance hall, she saw a servant already arranging flowers in the flower vases, the stalks topped by fresh blooms. She shifted them about, trying to find an arrangement she found appealing.
Katreia walked over to stand beside her, putting her flowers into the next vase a few feet away. “You don’t have to make every single vase perfect,” she said.
The servant turned and curtseyed deeply, her plain white dress spotted with stains. “Thank you for your advice,“ she said.
“You ought to take a break,” the princess replied. “You work so hard all the time… May I know your name?”
She perked up, seemingly not expecting that question. “Wilenne,” she replied.
Katreia nodded. “How’d you come to work at the castle?” she asked, then, as they proceeded with the flower arrangement.
“My parents were servants as well.”
“Are they not anymore?”
“They’re not alive anymore.”
Katreia found this a surprise, to say the least. She pushed the stalks of the remaining flowers into the next vase, two vases away from Wilenne.
Once the flowers were done, Katreia stepped back and observed the dance hall. Airy and lit by lamplight, the flowers stood out against the bright floor, which was made of marble. The floor had been treaded upon by thousands of feet since the castle’s construction—it was the best-kept floor in the castle, used for the Midsummer Ball every year.
“That looks great,” she said.
The servant ran out of the door and returned with a big golden banner gathered in her arms, feet dodging around the fabric every few feet. “Let me help,” Katreia said. She did not feel enthusiastic about it, but Wilenne looked like she was having a great deal of trouble with its length. They pulled chairs from the other halls to stand on and hooked banners onto the racks on the pillars.
“Are you the only servant doing this?” Katreia asked.
“The others have other things to do,” Wilenne replied. “I volunteered to help decorate the hall. I do it every year.” She finished tying the end of the ribbon to the right side of the door and leapt off the chair. “Now, we need to set the chairs for the royal family. I mean, you and your parents.”
The chairs Katreia had always sat on at the Midsummer balls were dragged all the way from the storerooms in the next wing, making Katreia think for a moment about all the work that the servants put in just to prepare for the event.
She was happy to be able to help, at least, in some small way. She didn’t care that her dress was all ruffled by now. Why did her mother insist on such long, restrictive dresses, anyway?
Finally, they stood at the door and looked on at their piece of art. Wilenne grinned. “You’ve been a great help!” she said.
“It’s my pleasure to contribute for once,” Katreia replied with a smile. “You are quite bold, talking to the princess like that. But I like it.”
Wilenne looked embarrassed. “You acted as if I were your friend, right from the start,” she said. “So I thought it right to do so as well…”
Katreia grinned back. “It’s no problem,” she answered. “In fact, I’m glad you can treat me that way. Well, have a good day.”
Wilenne bowed, and Katreia walked out the door, waving back behind her.
A month on, on Ametha day as promised, Katreia had herself ready at the castle gate, dressed for travel. A huge group was gathered—her best friends among them. The baggage train was being loaded for the two week trip, and the princess watched as the bags were strapped to donkey backs, boredom beginning to creep into her mind.
“I was wondering where you’d gone,” Akherien said, coming up beside her as she stared down into the moat. “I think we’re all bored.”
Katreia turned around to look, and a distance away, she saw Sariell in deep conversation with Qenerain. “Except Sariell,” she noted, eyes returning to the moat. The greenish water swam before her eyes. There was a pause of at least a minute, in which Katreia observed her shaky reflection, before turning back to her friend. “So, how’s your work been lately?”
Akherien turned to look at her. “Easy, you could say,” he replied. “All I have to do is do what Lady Kalen tells me to do. Fetch her food, kill roaches, send messages on her behalf. I like it.”
The princess nodded. “That sounds pretty boring, if you ask me,” she replied.
“Well, it’s much better than what was waiting for me, back in town. I think I’d have died in that house if you hadn’t come,” he replied. “You could say I did believe my parents a little, that my powers were from the underworld…”
“Then I’m glad I did find you,” Katreia replied with a smile. “It’s wonderful having you around in the castle, too. I hate to imagine what it would be like if you weren’t around.”
He shuffled his foot, the way he did when he wasn’t sure how to take a compliment. “Happy to be here, too.”
She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around. “You two, they’re all waiting for you,” Madhan said. “Go and mount, quick, before they leave!” Katreia only realised then that the entire train and guard were waiting to leave, and her mother was watching them with a frown.
“Should have stood facing them,” Akherien said, grinning. “Well, let’s go!” They ran to the horses that had been provided to them and mounted, and together they set off into the morning light.
Everywhere they rode as they passed through Dei-orin towards the highway, people cleared the roads to allow them past. Katreia had only ridden through the city a few times in all her life, and this reverence still surprised her. They kept in formation—two experienced members of the Guard in front, a few rows of three after that, then Istra, two guards flanking her, and the same with Katreia. Sariell, Cendreile and Akherien were right behind her.
They finally left the city behind in the mid-afternoon. The buildings and roofs gave way to fields, the same ones that had surrounded the temple of Hael. The road led on to the highway, a stark grey road of stone, well-worn by the hooves of travellers’ horses.
The summer day was clear, and as they entered the road, wide enough for five carriages to travel side-by-side, their formation loosened a little, maintaining roughly the same positions—except now, the spaces between the horses was wider, allowing them to canter.
Katreia had taken a few horseriding lessons—her mother had made them compulsory. She only knew how to tell her horse to stop and go, and to steer it minimally; she had no idea how to make it speed up or slow down, and simply let it follow the rest of the herd. Her horse followed the pace of the rest, and she found it only a little too fast for comfort. At least it kept her awake.
“Kat! This is fun!” Sariell’s joyful shout reached her before her cousin rode to her side. “Where do you think we will sleep during the journey?”
Mino and Qenerain had ridden up to either side of the two. “We shall be sleeping in tents,” the older of the two said. “We’ll be too far past any inns to be lodging there.”
“Rain!” Sariell cried, and the knight returned her smile broadly.
“My lady,” he said, head bobbing in a bow. “How are you now? Do you like riding?”
Sariell nodded, face now turning to him. “This is the best day for riding anyone could ask for,” she said.
“I hope you have a wonderful trip,” he replied, watching Sariell with an unknightly excitement.
“It is an excellent day,” Mino agreed from the other side, nodding once to each of them. He was the youngest of the party riding with them, and his short stature stood out among the group of knights and nobles. “I hope we can make this ride as smooth as possible for you and your friends.”
They stopped at the small town of Kari-atana on the outskirts of the city for lunch. The food was not as rich as the castle’s—traditional plains dishes were less huge—but it was just as tasty.
“We get our meat from here,” Sariell told Katreia, mouth full of bread. They stood and ate, in the plains tradition; their horses were tethered in a small pasture and grazing as well.
By the end of their meal, Cendreile had already composed a song about the plains of Cedan. She played it for everyone as they proceeded, riding hands-free on horseback with her legs wrapped tight around her horse’s flank. Some were still humming the tune of her joyful little piece as they returned to the highway and exited Kari-atana.
The afternoon passed with a great deal of talking. By then, the formation was lost—only the basic structure of the knights riding on the outside and her mother and friends inside remained.
As the knight had predicted, they did not reach Acsen-orin by nightfall. As darkness fell upon the travelling group, they stopped on the roadside and rode out onto the plain, setting up a camp for the night. The knights and their squires were experienced campers, and they set up the tents extraordinarily fast, all entering their own to rest and lay out the sleeping mats that had been carried by the baggage donkeys. Dinner was served personally to her tent, but she ate outside, by the fire, where a few of the knights were gathering and telling stories.
At the end of the day, every inch of Katreia’s body ached. She fell asleep instantly on her soft sleeping mat.
Their next day saw them riding along a seemingly endless stretch of straight road, nothing on either side except for grass and an occasional river that crossed their path, over which bridges were built. Lunch and dinner came from food packed on the donkeys, and it was stale. It appeased everyone’s hunger, at least, and so their second day of travel ended.
The third day went on like this, but by afternoon, they were at Acsen-orin. Lunch was a lot better than the day before, and they stayed till nightfall, lodging in an inn for that night. Maen-orin would not be far now, Katreia overheard some knights saying.
The princess was up early the next day. They were ready to begin down the final stretch of the highway not long after sunrise, so they began their trip earlier than usual.
In the evening, the castle of Maen-orin, situated above the rest of the city on one of the mountains, came into view, perched among the lower peaks of the range. As they arrived at the foot of the mountain, they suddenly became aware of desperate shouts and screams for help.
“Horses,” said one knight, gesturing at the two beasts standing among the mountain rocks. Then they saw where their owners were.
A huge grey snake, long enough to wrap around a horse several times, slunk among the mountain crags, neck raised in the air. Its tail was curled around a man. Its jaws were wide, its fangs erect, tongue flickering.
As if of one mind, the Royal Guard turned their horses, commander first, to ride up the short slope. Katreia recognised the snake now—it was an oubrei. Its venom was potent enough to kill a person in seconds. But the greatest danger with oubrei wasn’t their poison: it was their intelligence.
The knights launched into a battle, leaping off their horses with their swords brandished. Uncoiling from around its prey, the snake dove in a deadly strike, though its target leapt aside just in time. The two captives began to flee, but Commander Ronnel circumnavigated the fight to pursue them. “You’re not going anywhere, Keradians!” he bellowed. Gasping, Istra lifted a hand and traced a circle in the air. Ice walls grew to surround the two men.
Katreia’s gaze flew wildly across the battleground. She wanted to help them. She felt her arms and legs call for the rush of the battle. But her sword was not with her, and she could not do anything useful. She saw Cendreile to her right, quaking in her saddle, and Akherien to her left, frozen with terror.
For minutes the knights spiralled around the snake in formation and javelins flew, but always it slithered in swift S-curves, impossible to catch. Katreia flinched, fingers itching for her sword.
The creature's eyes grew wild as it tried to track the circling of its attackers, its tongue flicking about—perhaps searching for an escape.
Then it coiled back, all its muscles bunching.
The knights surged in.
Before anyone could understand what it was doing, it sprung out of the closing circle of knights in a colossal leap, its shadow falling over the entire phalanx. In that single bound, it shot over the battlers and landed on the other side, shooting over the stones in fluid waves to corner its chosen prey—
—Sariell, screaming, cowering behind her horse's head.
The knights had already turned and charged by then, but they were just a little too far away.
Katreia heard the sharp stab of fangs in flesh. She felt her heart stop.
Sariell screamed, and suddenly nothing felt real. The snake writhed again as the girl’s cries dwindled to nothing.
“Sara!” Katreia screamed, sure that this was only a nightmare. The girl tumbled to the rocks, her horse bolting away.
“Kill it!” Commander Ronnel shouted. The knights charged in to surround the snake as it raised its head from its victims, eyes dizzy. Among them, she saw Qenerain recklessly charging and slashing, his teeth bared as if he had turned into a monster himself.
Blood stained its fangs again. With one tear, it bit down on Qenerain’s head, fangs closing around his neck. His body tumbled onto the rock below, blood still rushing down his half-severed neck.
Two dead.
But there was a clamour of hooves and a rippling of scales, and in a blink, she saw that it was coming towards her, its fangs flashing in her vision.
Katreia did not have to think in the face of death. The venom gleamed on its fangs. She snatched the reins and pulled, and her horse obeyed, darting away with a haste and agility that seemed to surprise everyone in the circle.
The snake landed on the ground in a burst of earth, Istra screaming out her name. Ice froze its tail to the ground, and fireballs exploded all along its neck, making it writhe and hiss in agony.
She was only just aware of everything else happening in flashes: her mother thickening its ice prison up the length of its scaly body, Akherien finally breaking from his daze to fling a wheel of fire that wrapped around its head, the scent of charred flesh rising over the battlefield long before the oubrei had crashed to the ground.
The silence descended upon the scene, and Katreia could hardly see what was happening through her tears. The knights were searching the perimeter now, one of them marching up to the pair of Keradians with his sword drawn.
She screamed Sariell’s name as she dismounted, kneeling down beside her body, but she was cold and silent, and she would never say a word again. Her mind spun with memories of her voice—the way they had walked together on the top of the keep wall, talking about life. Every memory was like a dagger blade in her heart.
Aching too much, Katreia turned away from her cousin's corpse and rose to her feet. She found Akherien behind her, hands shaking, tears pouring down his face. Seeing someone else cry was different from crying herself. It made her want to diffuse their pain.
“Herien,” she said hoarsely. “Thank you. You saved my skin there.” He nodded mutely back. He always froze when he was terrified. She wondered if it was from remembering.
She wrapped both arms around him, starting to cry into his shoulder. She felt his tears dampen her hair, and at least, knowing her sorrow was shared made it stab a little less.
The journey had to go on. They had almost reached the castle already, and the inspection of the defences couldn’t be deferred.
There was a snick of a blade, and when she turned, the two Keradians lay dead. They must have been spies. Katreia could hardly bring herself to care.
“Our allies cannot be buried here,” Istra said, kneeling by Sariell and Qenerain’s bodies. “Not in this poor soil. The oubrei will dig them up. We should cremate them.” Katreia’s heart ached at the thought, looking upon the two, eyes closed, as if they slept side by side.
They built the best pyre they could, out of stacks of old blankets and stones from the mountainside. Istra waved Akherien towards her and motioned towards the pyre with solemn instructions, and he glanced at Katreia, perhaps for reassurance, and she nodded at him.
Haltingly, he lifted a finger to touch the edge of the nearest blanket. Fire bloomed across the pyre and rippled across the kindling. He choked back tears as he did so. The flames grew to engulf the pair, rising and sending petals of ash into the rippling sky while everyone around them said a prayer to the palaces.
At nightfall, they finally arrived at the castle. The guards let down the drawbridge for them. The inspection was to begin the next day, and they received their rooms for the night.
The Maen-orin castle was smaller than the one in Dei-orin. It stood across a wide valley along which a road ran, the mountains on both sides lined with crenellated walls, fortresses from which attacks were launched. One of the fortresses enveloped the castle, accessible by means of long paths from the drawbridge. It was built in a far more militaristic style, the sheer cliffs around them almost as steep as the tower walls themselves.
Katreia didn’t take much notice of the surroundings as she dismounted inside the gate and had her things taken by the knights, thinking of nothing but Sariell. Inside her, it was colder than the coldest of winters. There was a hole where Sariell’s laughter and smiles had once sat.
Even at night, after dinner, her mind was confused and lonely without her cousin’s company. She had been there her entire life, Katreia realised. She could always rely on Sariell to bring her joy.
Sleeplessly, she crept through the halls in the dead of night. The guards were asleep, and she crept up the stairs to the windows in the keep walls.
Facing the landscape of Cedan, she let the cold highland air engulf her.
Again, pangs of sorrow tore through her heart, and she wiped away the tears from her face. “Sara,” she gasped, leaning out through the window, staring up at the moonless sky. “Sara!” She screamed as if the gods would hear her and let Sariell come back, walking up the mountain paths. She wanted the gods to hear her and know her anger. Her throat ached and her nose streamed as she continued to yell in the freezing night air.
“It’s cold up here.” Katreia only became aware of Akherien’s presence when he spoke. “You’re waking half the castle.”
She swallowed. Her throat was sore. “Please, let me be,” she said, voice low and harsh.
“Of course. I just didn't want you having to be alone with it,” he replied. “I miss her too.”
His words made her stop and turn. Akherien’s face was blurred by the tears in her eyes. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. She became aware of the biting cold and began to shiver, her nightgown too thin to keep out the cold. She glanced up the hallway. “Maybe it'll be easier somewhere warmer.”
As they began to walk back to their rooms, he lit a flame in his right hand and held it close to her. She leaned into its warmth, and his.
As they turned towards the hallway, the fire lit the face of a small figure coming towards them—Cendreile.
The minstrel stopped beside Katreia, bowing her head. “I’m sorry, this must be hard for you,” she whispered. The princess nodded, and together they returned back down the stairs, into the hallway below.
The inspection was completed. Katreia watched as her mother interviewed the guards, watched as their leaders tested their proficiency and demonstrated the effectiveness of their weapons. Katreia began to wonder to herself why she had asked Sariell to come. It was her fault that her best friend had been there when the snake had died, wasn’t it? But it was also because of her that Akherien had been there to take down the horrible beast. Perhaps more people would have died if he had not come.
Still, guilt kept her awake for both days of the inspection, and by the time the trip had come to an end, she was extremely tired.
Katreia ended up riding with her mother on the return trip, because she kept falling asleep on her own horse. “Katreia, I hope you get a good rest when you’re home,” Istra’s voice broke through her sleep. She laid a hand upon her daughter’s shoulder. “I’m sorry your first inspection had to be such a harrowing one. Now, you should sleep if you need it.”
She caressed her daughter’s hair, and that motion finally lulled her to sleep.
The last two days passed better than the first. Katreia slowly found her guilt and sadness ebbing in the comfort she received from her friends and her mother. Their dinners were lively, and one night, Istra offered up a prayer to the two dead before they ate. They had both been beloved, Sariell and Qenerain, and all the knights toasted to the pair with their mugs of mead.
Katreia was sure that both would not be sent to the Underworld. She even helped to comfort Cendreile, who wondered if she had contributed to their demise, by not helping in the fight.
They arrived in the castle of Dei-orin on the evening of the third day. The news about Sariell and Qenerain spread through the castle fast. By the next day, the funeral was planned and arranged, then carried out in the main hall, though the absence of coffins made this one different from all the rest.
As the days passed, Katreia realised how different life was without Sariell. Nothing to do when both Akherien and Cendreile were busy, no one to walk in the garden with. Esrias, as she found out on her first lesson after the trip, seemed to have aged ten years with the death of his daughter. He didn’t teach with the same vigour for a month after that, and often, he sat with Katreia before their classes, talking about the girl who had left a hole behind in their lives.
Though he did recover eventually, he was never quite his old lively self again.
By autumn, Cendreile was a soloist for the Minstrel’s Hall. She had made her first performance in front of the entire castle, at the entrance at the south. She had stood in the hall and played, the notes of her harp fiery and fast in a technically challenging war dance. She had earned the thunderous applause of everyone, and the approval of the lead minstrel.
That winter, Katreia found herself free for almost every day. She was lying on her bed on one particularly cold day, trying to fall asleep. Cendreile already had students, so she was not going to be free for six days a week. Akherien had accompanied Kalen to the city for yet another shopping trip. Therefore, she was alone with nothing to do .
A knock on her door woke her. Katreia found a messenger waiting for her at the door.
“His Majesty wishes to see you,” he informed her. Her father never called on her personally unless it was something quite important. She hurried up to her father’s study.
As soon as she arrived, Arten presented Katreia with a letter scrolled up tightly. Istra was seated at his side. She unscrolled it and read.
King Arten of Cedan,
Greetings. As you may know, it pains me every day to watch this senseless war persist. But you must understand that my husband, the king, believes that asserting the Keradian people’s pride is more important than peace.
Even so, I still believe that a marriage between my son and your daughter is a fortuitous match, and it will make it clear to him that this cannot sustain.
For that reason, we intend for your daughter to be brought to our castle to get to know our son, as well as her future home, better. The length of the stay is your choice, and it would be best if not more than five accompanied her—an entire guard and train in Kerade would draw attention and stir discord.
We hope that the marriage can be sanctified as soon as your daughter is of marriageable age. We look forward to your reply.
Yours sincerely,
Queen Sylphen of Kerade
Katreia lowered the letter and digested what she had read. A visit to her husband-to-be in Kerade. Her marriage, at sixteen. She wanted more than ever to pull out of the agreement, but the plan was too far along already, and too much depended on its success, so she could not.
Come now, he’s human as well. It can’t be that bad, being married to the Prince of Kerade.
“You agree to attend a visitation to Kerade?” asked her father. She nodded. “Good, then. How about next Spring?”
Despite the disaster of the last trip they had made northward half a year ago, Katreia found that she enjoyed travelling. The sooner the better, she decided. She wanted to get it out of the way, so she nodded again.
“Now, to decide your travelling party,” Istra said. “Your father will go with you this time. And I am supposing you will want your friends Akherien and Cendreile along as well, but…” She turned to meet her father’s eye. “We do worry a little about that particular selection.”
“What? What do you mean?” Katreia pleaded. “Is it because of the attack last time? Akherien is perfectly capable of defending us, and Cendreile will keep the journey from being horrible and dry, you remember how it was!”
Istra nodded thoughtfully. “It’s no matter. You can handle yourself.”
Was it Katreia that Istra was worried about, now? But they clearly did not want to pursue the matter, so she moved on, too. “Well, other than those two, I think we need someone who can handle the horses, so how about Mino as well?”
“A fair choice,” Arten replied with a nod. “I think quite highly of the boy myself.”
“Do you want us to inform them?” asked her mother.
Katreia shook her head. “I’ll let them know myself,” the princess replied. She turned to leave the room, already feverish with anticipation.
On Abalea day, the princess went for her usual lesson before daylight. The winter was slowly fading, and it was growing easier to train in the cold night than it had been just a week before.
Esrias stood still after a round of mock fighting. “You’ve become an excellent fighter,” he said.
She smiled. “That’s a lot coming from a tournament finalist,” she replied.
“Ah, yes, maybe you’ll like to take part in the swordsmanship tournament in two years’ time?” he said. “We’ll find a way to break it to your mother. I’m sure she would relent if you found the right way to talk to her about it.”
Katreia perked up at the thought, but then her shoulders sagged. “I won’t be able to,” she replied. “I’m promised to Prince Eretain of Kerade. I’ll leave before the tournament…”
His eyes widened. “Ah, that is unfortunate,” he replied in a sigh. “But you are an excellent fighter, and I did hope you could try it just once… Well, I hope you are allowed to use your sword freely in your new home.”
“All ready?” the princess called out to her three companions. The day for the start of their journey to Cier-orin had finally arrived. Mino had gone to collect their horses from the stable, and Katreia’s father waited beside her. She was excited, but it wasn’t a pure, positive excitement; she felt restless and unsure. What would the prince be like? Demanding? Impatient? Selfish?
All these questions would answer themselves with time. Hoping for the best, she waited for Mino to come back with their horses.
“Have a safe journey; may the four winds guide you!” Madhan greeted them. There were more strands of grey in his hair this year. With that, he wound the chains and the drawbridge went up with a clatter of metal.
Spring had begun about a week ago, and the rain had been frequent. It had just showered the previous night, so the sky was clear and the smell of morning grass was fresh.
Akherien looked up at the sky and drew in a deep breath. “Haven’t seen such a fine day in a very long time,” he commented. His voice had changed by now; he now spoke in a bright, lilting tenor. “We should have a smooth ride.”
“It might still rain, you can never be sure in spring,” Cendreile said, looking up as well. She had worn her sandy hair in two buns, and her dress had a side split for riding. When Katreia's eyes followed, she found the sky quite empty. She hoped it would last.
They mounted as soon as Mino came back with their horses. After the long winter break, they all looked restless, ready to travel the entire distance to Cier-orin.
“Let’s go now,” Mino almost could not contain his excitement. He was younger than her, Katreia recalled.
Arten rode first, and the rest followed close behind him. With only a group of six, they did not have to keep at a trotting pace, and could speed up to a gallop immediately. As they sped through the empty streets, Katreia could see the flowers on every windowsill trough and flowerbed, petals opening and buds held high in every colour, beaded with dew. They soon left the streets behind and entered the plains—grass flowers, not as brilliant but still beautiful, had appeared all around them dotting the fields in white.
They reached the highway by mid-morning. Now, Arten and Mino rode ahead, and the other three went in a rank behind them. There was a great deal of conversation as they went—about their lives and jobs. Katreia realised that it was a lot more interesting than talking to the knights—they all came from different lives and had more to learn about each other.
“My parents are merchants,” Mino said from the front. “They were the ones who told me to try getting a job at the castle.”
“Ah, my mother was a hat-maker and my father was a boatman,” Cendreile added. “Father taught me the harp. He made my harp by hand!” The instrument hung in a case from her back. Her horse was pale-furred, like the rest, almost matching her skin.
“You’ve done really well with it,” said Akherien. “I'm sure your father would be very proud!”
“I try to make the most of his gift,” she replied with a smile. Katreia saw a quiet understanding pass between their gazes, and she wondered if they often talked, perhaps of how living in the castle had spared them of worse fates.
They managed to reach Kari-atana before lunchtime, and decided to break early. Then they continued, faster than before, hoping to cut the journey to Maen-orin by a day.
They carried on beyond nightfall under Arten’s instructions, Akherien now leading with a bright flame floating over his head. Apparently, maintaining flames without hand motions was not at all easy, and this was yet another silent mark of his skill that he hardly seemed to think anything of.
Their dinner was late, the group of five setting up their tents and eating bread and fruit for dinner on the roadside.
It began to rain as they were going to sleep. Alone in her tent, Katreia lay and closed her eyes, lulled by the patter of drops outside. When sleep began to weigh her eyelids down, she blew her candle out and curled up in her bedroll, pulling her blanket over her.
Following this trend of riding past nightfall with firelight to guide them, they made it to Imerade Pass by the morning of the fourth day. This time, they did not take the side road to the city, instead following the highway, which disappeared beyond the pass, between the grey mountains.
“Identify yourselves!” The lead guard at the high gate of the pass shouted down at the group of five. More guards marched before the gate itself. They glanced at each other. “King Arten of Cedan,” Mino finally declared, riding a few paces ahead of the party.
One of the men at the gate stepped forward and examined the group. “Quite a small guard,” he commented after greeting the king. “Considering you’re headed into Kerade.”
“We don’t want to draw attention,” Arten replied. “We are on a visit to the capital.”
“For…negotiations, I hope,” the guard said, but did not wait for an answer. He called over to his fellow at the gate, and together they opened it. They bowed as the six of them rode through.
Beyond the gate, the pass widened until they reached the end of the valley and carried on on foreign roads.
“Aorine would have been very useful here,” Akherien commented as they sped down the highway leading through the empty foothills. “She’d be able to tell where the nearest city is. I hope we don’t get lost. And I hope the people here don’t recognise us as Cedanians.”
Katreia had not thought of asking Aorine along, but now she wondered why it had not occurred to her. “Our accent would give us away,” Arten replied. “But I’m quite sure we’ll be able to figure it out.”
It turned out that they would not have to. On the road through the town on the other side of the mountains, they found themselves stopped by a knight waving a sword to signal them from the side of the road.
“King Arten!” The riders’ horses began trotting towards them as they slowed.
The first to arrive before them was a woman, her long, wavy blond hair held in a bun. She looked about forty, maybe close to fifty, and her mannerisms were those of someone highborn. “Good afternoon, King Arten,” she said.
“Good afternoon, Queen Sylphen. Have you waited long?”
“About an hour, not a great deal.”
Katreia’s eyes then shifted to the youth to the right of the queen. He was taller than Sylphen, and perhaps seventeen, she guessed, his hair a similar colour to Sylphen’s. He had to be Prince Eretain. Wavy, shoulder-length locks framed his fine features, and he didn’t look half terrible, or evil at all.
He glanced up at them and smiled. Katreia returned it, noticing there was no coldness in his expression. This is my future husband, the thought jolted her fully awake.
“Is that the Prince?” Cendreile whispered beside her. Katreia nodded. “Well, he is quite handsome, at least.”
But as they began to ride together, Katreia found she already had mixed impressions of him. The way he talked was mild and well-mannered, always just a little too meek. He wouldn’t hurt or abuse her, she was sure; he was perfectly pleasant and measured, speaking only when asked to.
They were soon riding northward towards the castle of Cier-orin, which was no more than a day away. But when they said a day’s ride, they meant a day of full-speed galloping. The two Keradians rode extraordinarily fast, and Mino commented once or twice about how hard they were pushing their horses.
“You seem to know a fair bit about horses,” Sylphen commented after he observed their mounts were tiring. They stopped on the roadside and talked while their horses grazed. “We’re just very excited for you to see the castle, you see…”
Meanwhile, Katreia finally attempted to make conversation with Eretain. “Good day to you,” she said, coming up from his left. He turned and returned the greeting. “Did your parents push you into this arrangement as well?”
“You could say so,” he replied. “My mother. Father is the one who thinks the war should go on. Mother knows that I hate such conflict, though.”
She tried for a smile. “Well, neither of us can pull out of it, and a whole lot is riding upon our cooperation. So…” As they talked, and she came to realise that Eretain was dull to her in almost every way, she began to wish that this were not true. But it was too late. For Cedan’s sake, it would have to work out, one way or another.
“Hello, Your Highness,” Cendreile said as she walked up beside Katreia. “I hope you are well after travelling to meet us.”
He turned to her. “Who are you?” he asked.
“She’s one of my two best friends,” Katreia replied. He nodded.
“Let’s return to the road,” Mino’s voice cut them off. He mounted quickly, and the rest followed suit.
On the next leg of the journey, the Keradians remained in front with Arten.
“So, what do you think of him so far?” asked Akherien, coming up from her right.
“Boring,” she replied. “That’s the only way I can describe him. I don’t really want to be stuck with him forever. But I don’t have a choice.”
He shook his head. “It all doesn’t seem very fair,” he replied, and she was glad she wasn’t the only one who felt so. “But you make friends very well, and I’m sure you’ll find his good side soon, too.”
“I really hope so,” she replied, laughing. “It’ll make my life ten times easier.”
The castle of Cier-orin was similar in many ways to the one in Dei-orin—Cedan’s bid for independence had only been a century ago, after all, and till then, the two countries had been one. Their horses were taken to the stable by a servant girl, and their bags were unloaded to be taken to their rooms.
The similarities did not end there. Within, the structure of the castle was similar—three floors, four wings, and a main hall in the middle of the first floor, the dining hall on the second. The tour of the castle took two hours, and in that time, Katreia’s father had been allowed to rest in the nobles’ hall.
The prince had the task of showing the visitors everything—Katreia had asked for her friends to follow along.
“It is just like the castle of Dei-orin,” Mino said as he looked about.
“Is that so?” Eretain replied, and he nodded in response. They had entered the north wing of the second level—where Katreia’s room would have been located in Dei-orin. The walls here were just a little taller, and the stones were different. It seemed that this was where the royalty lived as well.
The King of Kerade waited with Sylphen and Arten for their return. Blond like his wife and son, he looked tired, haggard from whatever work he had to do. If her father had looked exhausted, Navedis was in a worse state.
Still, the king’s face possessed some of the handsomeness that was mirrored in his son’s countenance.
“So, this is Princess Katreia?” he asked as she came, not smiling much. “She’s a beautiful girl, if a little…wild. I can see it in her eyes. Have you talked to her yet, Eretain?”
The prince nodded. Only then did she recognise that he wasn’t too keen on becoming her husband either. He wasn’t even looking at her.
Evening had fallen a while ago. Now, they received their dinners from the servants who came. They did not meet the prince at all thereafter—they were shown their rooms in the guest wing. The bed was amazingly comfortable, at least, and after four nights of sleeping in a tent, she fell asleep easily on this soft mattress.
For the next four days, Katreia was free to do anything she wanted. She would be treated as a member of the castle and follow its practices, as would her friends.
Katreia spent the morning sleeping, as she always did. After having breakfast, she threw herself back onto the bed and went to sleep again. Then for the rest of the day, she tried to explore as much of the castle as she could. Somehow, most of the people she met knew who she was. Everyone—servants, knights, and other people whose jobs she could not identify—bowed deeply to her when she passed.
Do they already think of me as their future queen? The thought itself made her feel a little sick. She would never get used to this place. She wanted to stay in Cedan, where everyone she had known since young lived.
But then again, what could she do about that? She knew that her becoming Queen of Kerade in time to come would be what secured her nation’s freedom. Why should her own feelings prevent that?
Katreia strolled along the north wing of the second floor, in deep conversation with Cendreile. “I feel like my future is all closed up,” she said. “I don’t want to leave Cedan…It’d take me forever to get to know everyone here again.”
She did not say what was truly in her mind: that Eretain might not allow her to swordfight in the open, if he disliked battle so much, and that it might continue to be a shameful secret for the rest of her life. She hadn’t meant to, but the emotional impact of all her speculating about her future made a tear appear in her eye.
“Kat…don’t worry about it,” Cendreile replied. “I’m quite sure we’ll get to visit you, provided your marriage does bring peace…”
Cendreile was a year older than Katreia, but a little shorter. Though she had never been quite as bold as the princess, she was wiser, and probably knew more about the world, whether through her own life or through the ballads she had to learn.
There were footsteps behind them. Katreia turned to see Eretain coming towards them. “Have a nice chat with him now,” Cendreile said. “Find out more about him. I’m sure there’s something interesting hiding in there.”
“Good evening, Katreia, and Cendreile,” he greeted them then.
“Hello,” Katreia replied, turning. “I was just wondering about something. What do you enjoy? What would you do if you had nothing else to do?”
Eretain looked wonderingly upward. “Well, I quite like sitting with the musicians of our castle and listening to them sing,” he replied. “I find songs quite enchanting, if you know what I mean. The stories that hide in the layers of their music…”
“Then you must hear Cendreile play,” Katreia replied eagerly, turning to her friend. Eretain would love to hear her playing, she was certain. “How about now? You have your harp on your back.”
“I—I’m not sure,” Cendreile answered, staring right back at Eretain. “I haven’t prepared anything…”
“Oh, please! You could invent a song on the spot and it would be more beautiful than any war dance.”
Eretain halted, eyeing her in interest. “I thought that that might be a harp you were carrying!” he said. “I would be honoured if you would play for me, but you need not do so, if it discomfits you.”
Cendreile went quite silent. Nodding, she pulled the harp out of the case on her back, then put it down on the floor, strapping the harp over her shoulder in its place. Eretain watched eagerly, eyes sparkling in a way Katreia had not seen till now. Did he prefer the arts over battle?
Cendreile took in a deep, hard breath, turning pale from nerves as she tuned the harp, plucking one string at a time. But Eretain was riveted. Then, the girl began to play.
For a few minutes, both were silent as Cendreile’s fingers raced agilely across the strings, playing sequences of chords that struck fascinating and true, melodies that seemed to speak stories in their own right. It was a Cedanian folk song, arranged to such complexity that it took Katreia a minute to recognise it, and when Cendreile began to sing it, the princess began to hold her breath. It was like the gods were walking among them, dancing to the tune.
The last, trailing notes were followed by their applause, the echoes of their clapping bouncing all along the hall.
“That was…spectacular,” Eretain breathed. Cendreile smiled and blew out a sigh of relief. “I never dreamt that anyone could play so well! Pray tell, how long did it take you to become so skilled?”
“I have been learning since I was a young child,” she replied, clutching the harp tightly. “Most of my life, I think.”
“You play better than the head minstrel here! Do you play for the Castle of Cedan? They are lucky to have you.” The prince smiled, nodding at them both. “It’s grown quite late. Perhaps you should both sleep—good night.” Cendreile bowed her head once and departed, and Eretain watched her leave, until she had vanished into her room.
Just like that, there was a shift. Eretain spent much of his time tailing Cendreile, asking her more questions about her learning and her skills, even asking if she would play for him. Each time, Katreia watched her agree without a second thought, the two of them laughing whenever she made a mistake on the strings.
They were having yet another lively conversation in the north wing when Katreia returned to her room that evening. “—we once found a strange statue in the castle that retreated into the ground, and it led into a strange passageway!”
Now she was telling him about the castle’s secrets? Was there something about this prince that she was not perceiving that was so plain to Cendreile? He hung onto every word she said, Katreia realised.
The two turned as her footsteps approached them. “Hello, Kat!” she called. The princess smiled and approached.
“Good morning, Katreia,” Eretain greeted her with a bow. “How are you faring?”
“Well enough,” Katreia replied. “I wanted to talk to Cendreile privately.”
“Ah, that is alright then,” he replied, shooting Cendreile another glance and exchanging a smile with her, before dismissing himself and leaving them.
Katreia turned. “You’re getting along with him better than I am,” she said simply.
Her friend blinked. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she cried.
“No, do not be. He’s taken to you far more quickly, and that is no surprise.”
She smiled oddly. “He’s a wonderful conversationalist, I’ll admit.” She bowed her head again. “I'm sorry, I don't mean anything by that.”
“It’s perfectly fine,” Katreia replied. “The two of you care about the same things, and so you became fast friends—so be it! I don’t like him much, so I’m glad at least one of us does. Well, I’ll be going to catch some sleep now, and maybe you should too.”
The minstrel seemed surprised by her sudden dismissal, but she followed as Katreia had instructed anyway.
“Like this!” The shout interrupted before Katreia could find her own door. A moment later, the corridor was plunged into darkness as all the torches were snuffed out at once. Katreia yelped as her foot banged into her door.
“Um…could you light them again?” Mino’s voice echoed. “I think Princess Katreia is there.”
“Kat?”
“Oh, Herien!” Katreia laughed. “I’ll never get to my room at this rate.” She turned about blindly in the dark, and a second after that, all the torches flared back to life. Akherien and Mino were at the staircase at the end of the hall, staring at her.
“You should be in the Royal Guard, really,” the knight said. “You’d be very useful. Good night, Your Highness.”
She gave them both a wave that they returned eagerly, then opened her door to depart, smiling to herself.
Each day of the stay there, it became clearer to Katreia that Eretain only had eyes for Cendreile. They were almost always together when she found them. She hardly felt jealous, but it came across as strange that the trip was going in such an odd direction.
Instead of Eretain, Katreia spent all her time with the other two. They sat on a parapet facing a forest outside the castle as the last day of the stay ended. The garden was to their right, the sweet smell of flowers reaching them.
“This castle’s systems are exactly the same as ours,” Akherien said. “The servants do the same tasks. Everyone lives in the same wings.”
“Odd, isn’t it?” Mino muttered. “Well, Katreia, how do you find the prince?” The wind ruffled his already-messy red-brown hair.
“If I liked him,” she replied, “I wouldn’t be here. He is the most uninteresting person I have ever met. I resent that I must marry him. Cendreile should be the one.”
They both stared at her. “That explains why she isn’t here,” Akherien said, pacing circles in the grass. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her in a while…”
In the garden, Cendreile sat beside Eretain, both happy and guilty that the prince was paying her so much attention, instead of Katreia.
Again and again, she turned away from Eretain and tried to convince herself she should not be with him; again and again she found herself surrendering to the joy of speaking with someone who seemed already to know her thoughts so well.
At times, she forgot that he was the prince and that he was betrothed to Katreia already. She would never dream of taking the princess' place—she wasn't royal enough for that—yet when she wasn't thinking about the politics of it, her heart strayed towards him.
It all seemed both wrong and right at the same time. In the time they had been together, they had discussed the full span of history, culture, politics, and even shared songs. Was she meant to forget that they had had these conversations by tomorrow, when they went home?
She had heard many a song about love that had nowhere to go. They called it beautiful and the pain deep as the sea. She now understood why they did, when her own heart ached at the sight of a boy who, in six days, she had realised could have been her lifelong companion, if things had been any different.
But everyone else knew Eretain was meant for Katreia. Her best friend would marry the Prince of Kerade, and the kings and queens of both kingdoms would finally agree to a common future.
“You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” Eretain said. She remained silent and nodded, heart beating madly. “I really wish—I mean, Katreia doesn’t like me, but…I…” He inhaled deeply, then sighed. His dark green gaze reached into hers. “I don’t think she’s a bad person at all. But if I could choose…”
Cendreile began to blush, glancing down at her lap. The words caught in her throat. Her chest ached, and then she felt him lay a hand over hers, and her head spun with confused joy.
The next day arrived sooner than expected, and somehow, Katreia felt relieved. They were leaving the castle and returning to Cedan, and the princess had been looking forward to it.
At the front of the castle, they mounted and said their goodbyes. Cendreile kept looking back as they departed with Arten and Sylphen in front.
“Cendreile,” Katreia said, coming up beside the girl. “You'll miss him, won’t you?”
She turned to the princess, then away again, unable to hold her gaze. “He said…” Cendreile’s voice was shaking. “I don’t understand why, I'm so sorry.”
“It’s alright,” Katreia repeated. “The only problem is…well, everything. I’m…a royal, I suppose, and the marriage is going to mean. But if we could switch places, I would gladly do so.”
“Thank you for your kind sentiments,” Cendreile replied with a bob of her head, at least some of her terror settling. “Why don’t you like him, though?”
“He’s boring.”
“I don’t find him boring,” the minstrel replied. “What kind of boy would you like?”
“Someone who isn’t boring,” Katreia replied. Cendreile laughed. “I suppose I won’t know till it happens.” But would it happen? She hoped not—things did not need to get messier than they already were.
They continued to converse throughout the journey, the rest joining in at times. It took them six days once again, with Sylphen leaving them at the pass halfway.
“I hope that this has been a most fruitful visit,” said the queen as they parted ways.
But now, more than ever, Katreia hated the arrangement to which she had so easily agreed.
Katreia continued to attend her lessons with Esrias faithfully. She began to notice that she now found it easier to meet Esrias’ expectations than before.
It amazed her how, once, she had been practising such basic moves as stabs and cuts. In four years, she had grown so much. Esrias often told her how most of his students from the city took anywhere between six years and a decade to complete their training with him.
“Katreia,” Esrias said the moment she appeared on the moonlit rooftop. “Today, I think…for a few weeks, I have been thinking, in fact, that you are now ready to take your final test. I hate to imagine that your talent might have been lost, had you not found me when you did…and I am ever so glad that you did. You have made me a very proud teacher.” He paused and smiled. “You gave me the satisfaction it would have given me to teach Sariell.” He shook his head, as if trying to refuse the memory of her death. “Let’s not hesitate any further; I need to test you one last time. You must win a fight against me.”
She nodded and bowed, bittersweet joy stirring in her chest. “You are the greatest teacher I could ever have asked for,” she replied. An autumn gale swept her hair back where it hung tied on the back of her head. She could suddenly say the thanks that she had wanted, for so long, to give the swordsman, her teacher. “You need not have done it all for me. But you did! Thank you so much, Lord Esrias!” She could not play any instruments, could not ride well, and could not do any magic, or even be polite—but she could do this.
“I will gladly continue practising with you whenever you wish,” he said. “And anyway, you can call me ‘Uncle’ instead of ‘Lord’.”
She chuckled. “Let’s start the battle then, Uncle Esrias,” she said, drawing her sword. Esrias followed suit.
The princess was as tall as Esrias’ eyes, and she hoped she would be a worthy opponent. But to beat the one who had taught her, who had memorised her style of fighting? She did not think it possible.
“Whenever you are ready.”
Metal clashed against metal, parries and counters meted out with skill and speed. Sometimes, Katreia thought he would disarm her, but she held on and fought, using all the skills she had been taught, and the quick thinking they came with. Her footwork was precise, and she was as agile as he was. She didn’t allow herself to tire or let down her guard.
Steel clanged and scraped against steel. The swords, strong since their forgings, clashed and threw sparks. Esrias’ sword bore the dents and scrapes of prolonged use, but hers was scarred in places, too. She didn’t allow it to shift her attention as she fought.
She twisted her sword around her teacher’s in a hopeless disarming move. He took the upper hand and threw her sword up into the air. For a few dizzying seconds, she watched, then dodged and leapt to catch the hilt. It landed securely in her palm, and she wrapped her fingers around it, certainty returning.
Esrias had taken the chance to attempt a direct attack. Her feet carried her out of the way as he sailed past.
Now! She whipped around, quicker than Esrias could react, and hooked his pommel with her blade. As she pulled, she smiled—the sword flew out of his hand, his grip unable to retain it. She dove to pick it up. It was lighter than her own, she realised with surprise.
She lifted both swords and pointed them at him, beaming in triumph. “Wonderful, just wonderful,” Esrias said, smiling back. “It’s nice when a fight feels like a breath of fresh air. I hereby dub you a full swordswoman. You are no longer my student. I am no longer your teacher. You know all that there is for me to teach you, and it has been my pleasure to do so, Katreia.”
She clutched her sword, speechless, as she handed his back to him. She was a swordswoman. She had succeeded. Now, no one—not her mother or her father—could take that away from her.
“Thank you, thank you!” she exclaimed, remembering not to be too loud. The lord smiled at her, then turned to face the sky. A line of pink had appeared on the edge of the land, and she wished him goodbye, before leaving the rooftop.
I’d better hurry, she thought, racing down to her room. If she was ever caught holding the sword, then it would be gone forever. Her parents had long stopped trying to investigate the theft and had given the sword up for lost, but there was no doubt they would take it back if they saw it.
Well, I won’t have to worry about getting caught in the halls anymore, Katreia thought with relief as she shut her room door behind her.
But how would she proceed from here, till the day she was married to Eretain? Two years, no matter how short it seemed in comparison with the rest of her life, was a long time. How much would happen during that time?
For the rest of autumn, it was clear Cendreile was still thinking of Eretain. She began to write letters, each of which Katreia pretended was from herself and had sent in her name, though Cendreile wrote in Old Sevadian—a language they had both learned—who had actually sent the missives. Each letter, it seemed, heightened her lovesickness.
Katreia worried at times for the minstrel. Would she nurse her unfulfilled love for the rest of her life, just because he would be marrying Katreia instead?
Nevertheless, the year turned swiftly through the seasons, and in half a year, Cendreile and Eretain had written a dozen letters back and forth. For Katreia, days became emptier, and with Cendreile always occupied, either by her performances or her teaching, she found herself with only Akherien for company when he did not himself have any errands to run for Kalen.
Many a time, no one was there with her, and she spent many days alone, wandering the places where she used to walk with Sariell, watching the training of new knights and mages. Life went on around her, and she had no choice but to join in and play her part in the show.
She was fifteen already! Next year was her last year of freedom. Her birthday was in autumn, so she would only be marriageable by then. Spring would be the best time for marriage, since it was Hael's season. Then, it would all end—her freedom, her carefree days, her time in the castle. Tears fell from her eyes at the thought.
It was nearing the end of autumn, and Katreia smelled something strange through her dreams. She coughed and woke up to find that her room was filled with unbearable heat—and an orange glow beyond her eyelids.
Her eyes flew open, and she only just managed to stop herself from screaming with terror. There were flames burning her door down, eating away at its edges, which crumbled into the glow.
Everything was blurred and scalding, air hot as the fire itself as she leapt to her feet and began to snatch her most precious belongings, shoving them into a leather case. The sword? She shoved the sword in and decided she would take care of that later.
Something stirred in her memory—a day when she had been seven, and standing in a burning house, the fire whirling all around her, and death lurking nearby. Holding her breath, she readied her shoulder and rammed into her door.
It gave way at the lock and flew open, but before she had fled outside, the flames vanished from its surface. She leapt in shock, blood roaring in her ears, eyes blinded.
“Kat, Kat! Don’t worry!” She recognised Akherien’s voice, and her knees wobbled with relief as the fire mage appeared in the doorway. “Follow me.” He took her hand and helped her through the flames, batting them away as they went. But for every fire that he put out, another sprung up behind them. They coughed with the smoke as they ran, stooped, through the halls.
Through the depths of the flames, she heard a splashing of water. “The mages,” he said as the sounds of pouring came closer. They were close now, and the flames were closing on them. “Come on, let’s make a break for it. I can’t put the whole thing out. Ready…go!” Together they shot through the roaring flames, and the princess could only see an endless tunnel of fire, and her dearest friend silhouetted in its light.
I can’t lose him! She thought, chasing and knowing that her life depended on staying right behind him. Just like that day eight years ago, she didn’t care about the embers singeing her hair and dress, forcing her despair down as she ran like a madwoman.
They raced headfirst into a spray of water, and found themselves face to face with a water mage being tailed by two servants with buckets. The pair tumbled out of the smoke and into the corridor, where the stones were charred and the banners lay in piles of ash on the floor. Already gathered there were her mother, her father, and Kalen.
As the mage carried on with putting out the fires, Akherien grinned, laughed, and hugged her. “Thank the gods!” he shouted. She squeezed him back gratefully. “I must go back and find the rest.”
“Thank you,” Katreia wheezed. “You can do it!”
Then he turned back to the source of the smoke, already receding with the efforts of the other mage, and ran back into the fray.
“He’s become very brave,” commented her mother as Katreia came to join her. “He was trained well.”
“I don’t think the training had much to do with it,” Kalen murmured as she hobbled over. “Akherien has always been eager to use his skills to help.” And the adults nodded at each other, while Katreia smiled with relief.
An hour later, everyone was safe at the staircase landing. The ice and water mages had beaten back the fire to the other tower, though the smell of smoke still hung on everything. By then, the whole castle was awake. The fire had begun in Lady Kalen’s room, when she had failed to put out her candles. Other than the lady herself, who had broken her ankle while fleeing, everyone had escaped with only minor burns.
Akherien and the two water mages who had put out the blaze—Yoren and Elnaia—were celebrated as heroes at the dinner that evening. Though everyone was still in a daze, the wine flowed in plenty.
While the repairs were being carried out, the nobles and the royal family were relocated to the empty rooms in the other halls. Katreia was placed in the mage’s hall. After dinner, she found Akherien at a window, gazing out over the darkness beyond and the speckles of light across the inky dark.
He looked away from the city when she came to join him. “Do you still remember that day eight or nine years ago?” he asked. “You saved me then. Today felt a bit like that.”
She smiled at the thought. “When I woke up to the fire, I began to relive those moments again, briefly,” she replied.
“Me too. I forgot where I was for a second. Then I realised what was happening.”
She turned, and their eyes met. Thinking about their first meeting, she realised he had not changed all that much: he was slightly taller than her now, his features weren’t so boyish, and his hair fell beyond his shoulders. But besides that, he was the same person—dark eyes still curious and questioning, bright with doubt like the day when they had met.
She found herself sinking into the comfort of that familiar gaze. Then, remembering she would be leaving him behind a year from now, her heart ached. “I’ll miss you the most, I think,” she said. “When I go to Kerade.”
“I—I’m honoured,” he replied, and she could see that the words made him bashful, the way compliments always did. His gaze darted back to peer out over the city. “But don’t miss me too much. There will be people there who want to be your friend, too.”
The castle repairs were completed around the start of summer, and although the new banners had yet to be woven, the nobles were allowed back into their wing at last. Still, the fire had left some small scars here and there: stains of soot, little piles of ash gathering in the corners, and the smell of smoke that could not be covered by any floral perfume.
This year, Katreia had decided to help with the Midsummer Ball decorations yet again, despite her mother’s quiet disapproval. Cendreile had offered to help as well, and together with Wilenne, they cleared the floor, hung up the decorations, and arranged flowers around the room. There were roses and jasmines, the colours setting the walls aglow.
“Katreia, you should dance this year,” Wilenne said as they wiped the floor with rags. “You’re turning sixteen soon, aren’t you? I’ve never seen you dance.”
“Mother wouldn’t be happy about me dancing with others,” she replied. “She won’t want me falling for someone other than my future husband. Not that I like him at all.” Her eyes darted to Cendreile across the hall, who was humming as she cleaned the marble tiles. “What’s that song?” she called over. “It sounds familiar."
“That song that Sariell used to sing, remember?” she answered.
“Wake the guardians, wake the guardians!
Open gates to four winds all.
Stab the castle in the heart—
Go wake the sleeping, purge the hall!”
As Cendreile sang each line, Katreia’s mind seemed to suddenly awaken to the words for the first time in her life. For years, the mystery of that song had haunted her, its meaning unclear. But the words, the words—they carried a message! Even if the royal line of Cedan had forgotten the secrets of the castle, perhaps they were remembered in the songs that the people passed down.
Guardians… Dei-orin has never been defeated in battle… A secret lost with the location of the passageway…
It was too plain to miss now. “Open gates to four winds all”—the four statues of the deities, all facing their respective doors. “Stab the castle in the heart”---the heartbeat that had come through the circle of torches, far below the ground, at the bottom of the siege escape route, where the earth had borne the wounds of a dozen sword blades. And guardians? That part, she wasn’t sure of the meaning of, but there was only one way to find out the answer.
“You know that song as well?” Wilenne asked. Cendreile nodded.
“It’s a message!” Katreia cried. “The key to the castle’s defence! The four tower doors on the third floor must be opened. And someone must descend to the siege escape route to sink a sword into the ground!”
Cendreile nodded as realisation dawned on her face. “I hope we never have to use it,” she replied.
“It doesn't hurt to know, even then,” Katreia replied. They carried on with the decorations and cleaning, the princess livelier than before.
Midsummer day arrived, and after the great feast in the hall, the dance commenced in the ballroom that the trio of girls had so meticulously prepared.
Though the royal family always sat in their chairs at the head of the hall, Katreia had never been able to sit still in them. As always, she rose to her feet and entered the chaos, greeting all the people she knew and wishing them a good summer, as was the custom.
Tonight, she had dressed up for the occasion, in a blazing vermilion dress with muslin draped from her shoulders to her elbows, her hair in a braid that hung well past her shoulders. There had already been a few compliments from the guests and castle residents alike: she was not the only one who thought the maids had done a good job.
Her thoughts went to Wilenne’s words. She was of the age where dancing would be appropriate. She had been observing the crowd for a while, and regardless of what her mother thought, a few dances could hardly do her harm—she was sure, by now, that she simply could not fall head-over-heels in a single evening.
“Ah, Your Highness,” called Amuray, a member of the Royal Guard who was just a little older than herself. “Are you out to dance this year, at last?”
“Yes, perhaps I am,” she answered with a curtsey.
“May I have your first midsummer dance, then?” he asked.
As the minstrels strummed and fiddled, Katreia said, “Of course you may,” and allowed Amuray to take her hand and her shoulder to guide her, since he seemed to know the dance already. He had brown hair, neatly cropped and gently tousled, and she thought he looked quite fetching out of his armour for once, but she felt no stir of attraction.
Dancing wasn’t too hard; the footwork made her think of an elegant swordfight. She could allow her partner to choose the steps, and she would follow effortlessly. Katreia bade Amuray goodbye with mutual bows, and went in search of another dance, starting to comprehend the allure of such a night.
She switched partners a few times, dancing with nobles, knights, mages, and even a few servants who had sneaked in with the appropriate clothes. Some of them could not take their eyes off her; it was really quite enjoyable.
As she wished another distant member of her family goodbye, her eyes crossed the hall to the orchestra, and she thought at once of Cendreile. The poor thing would hardly get to dance tonight if no one gave her an excuse to leave the troupe. She dodged between couples towards where the minstrels sat by the chairs of the royal family, tuning their instruments between pieces.
“Cendreile, why don’t you come join me at the ball?” she asked as the harpist was twisting a peg on her instrument.
“Oh, Katreia, that’s very sweet of you,” she answered, lifting her head. She wore a silvery dress studded with gems, just like the rest of the minstrels in the orchestra. “But I don’t think I want to dance.” Her gaze grew distant then.
“I think Kat has the right idea,” came Akherien’s voice from over her shoulder. “You shouldn’t let such a night slip away. One missing orchestra member wouldn’t matter!”
Katreia turned. She had glimpsed Akherien here and there across the hall, having a few dances himself, though hardly with the same excitement as she had. He too had dressed up for the night, wearing a dark gold-trimmed shirt, matching trousers, and a small red cape that reminded her of the mage uniform.
“I— It’s not that,” Cendreile said. “I just don’t think I would enjoy it as much as you would.” And again they could see that lovelorn agony in her eyes that still showed itself now and again. The other two glanced at each other, Katreia shrugging. “In any case, I do enjoy playing and watching how people dance to our music. It's like seeing it take on a life of its own. Why don’t you two have a dance, then? The next piece is starting soon.”
“I’m not sure it’s safe,” Akherien said. “I keep stepping on other people’s toes.”
Katreia laughed. “Come on,” she said, taking his hand and leading him a few paces back from the orchestra.
The first notes of the dance rolled across the hall. Akherien seemed to be trying his best not to step out of beat, eyes always returning to their shoes.
“You’re not so bad,” Katreia said. “This is hardly more difficult than a sword fight, if you ask me.”
“Oh, of course. You’re probably great with footwork now. I’m starting to think I wouldn’t be able to step on your toes if I tried.” He finally dared look up from their feet. “Have you graduated from your lessons yet?”
“Why, I have,” she replied, eyes darting to her parents to make sure they were out of earshot. “I defeated my teacher in a duel, and he christened me a full swordswoman.”
“I knew you would master it!” He beamed proudly, as if he had attained that achievement himself—and to her fascination, the sight of his smile made a pulse of heat ripple through her chest, almost like he had shot a fireball into her ribcage.
“It couldn’t have happened if you hadn’t given me the sword,” she said, just a touch out of breath. “You really are an extraordinary friend.”
She had known Akherien for a very long time, and perhaps she could read his moods well because of it. His gaze had become vague and dreamy, like his mind was wandering. Then the music swelled into a more dramatic chorus, and around them, everyone changed their pace to match. Katreia followed suit—leaping and laughing, twirling whenever she pleased. Every time, her steps seemed to match up perfectly with his, and he would catch hold of her again, as if he had memorised her movements even though she was making them up as she went.
“How do you do that so well?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “A good dance partner, I think.” As he always did when he was complimented, he began to look embarrassed, and his eyes dodged away from hers.
The music ended in a flourish, and Katreia stumbled to a stop with a laugh, letting his hand drop back to his side. “Well, that went better than you led me to believe it would,” she said.
“I’m glad you thought so,” he replied. Then he straightened up and added, “I think I’ve learned a thing or two from that. I should head onward and see if I can find more people to practise with. Goodbye!”
“Oh, I was hoping we could have another,” she sighed. “But that’s alright, enjoy yourself!” He waved her goodbye and hurried away, and she stared after, watching till he had vanished from view.
Then she turned back to where her parents were seated and rejoined them at their chairs. “Back already?” asked Istra.
Katreia sighed and sat down heavily, eyes still scanning the crowd. Akherien certainly could vanish quickly when he wanted to. “I think I’ve spent all my energy for now. Why don’t you two dance as well?”
Both shook their heads. “I’m not sure it would be good for my image if I started tripping over my feet,” Arten said with a sigh.
Istra clicked her tongue. “I told you dancing was a bad idea,” she said.
Katreia pouted. “What? Why? I’ve been having a great time!”
“I don’t like the way you look at that mage boy,” she replied. “Take your eyes off him.”
Katreia then became aware that her eyes were still searching the crowd for Akherien. She shook her head to disperse her thoughts, but her pulse was racing in her ears at her mother’s implication.
No, she could not pursue that thought. She closed her eyes and focused on the music, trying not to picture dancing with him again.
Two days later, news reached the castle that echoed like a death knell through all the halls. The messenger sped straight to the king’s audience, and he read it to them gravely:
“The Keradians have defeated Maen-orin!”
Suddenly, the entire castle knew. Katreia knew what it meant—if they were past Maen-orin, then there was no line of defence from there to the castle, and it was too late to mount any sort of defensive manoeuvre on the plains, now. It was best, now, that they used the five days to ready the castle defences. For most of their knights, this would be their first true battle, except for those who had returned from Maen-orin. How well could they do?
Katreia recited the plan over and over, hoping this untested plot would prove at least useful. By now, she had already told her allies about it—Cendreile, Akherien, Aorine, Mino, and Wilenne—and in these last nervous days, she gathered the five to discuss the plan of action again, where everyone should go on the day of the attack.
Everyone in the castle fell into a panic. Weapons were taken from the armoury, the knights and mages rehearsing their forms and formations. She pulled the sword from behind her dresser and tied its belt around her waist as the fifth day of waiting dawned.
They came without warning. Everyone was in position by then, the way they had been drilled for decades, and the first rain of arrows would begin any moment now.
The trigger for her plan—to wake the guardians—would be the breaching of the gate. None of them would be able to talk to each other, so she had to hold faith that they were carrying out their parts as scripted.
She stood at the statue of Umu in the north tower, hiding behind his spread wings, ready to descend.
Somewhere far away, she heard the wave of roars and the thwack of bowstrings, close and unreal, like the end of the world. She heard only echoes of the battle cries from here, her legs trembling with fear.
Then, with a single, conclusive bang, the drawbridge came down.
At once, she sprinted to the door that Umu faced and threw it wide open. Wind blasted through, now that the passage was open from the floor above to the one below. She shuddered and turned back to Umu, then stamped down upon the pedestal.
She watched the statue retreat into the floor, and then her feet found the footholds carved into the inner wall of that dank passage, and she scurried down as quickly as her legs would allow.
The descent ended as she caught sight of light and heard the ancient heartbeat rise to encompass her again. And beyond the beating, she heard…voices?
Katreia leapt at the silhouette of a man sprinting up the hallway, head spinning as their face resolved into one she knew. “Eretain!” she gasped.
The Prince of Kerade stared. “Katreia?” he shouted. “How—how did you know?”
“No, I didn’t! You betrayed our secret to your father, didn’t you?” But of course—Kerade’s royalty might remember the passageways, even if Cedan’s didn’t.
Eretain sighed, letting his sword fall to his side. “No, I came to warn you.”
Then from behind him, he was joined by a thunder of footsteps, and a band of five warriors came bursting through, dressed in leather armour. “And to lead the soldiers to us, it seems!” she shouted.
One of the five men bellowed, “Get out of our way! Or do we have to kill you first?”
“If you can,” Katreia snarled.
She could see that these men were holding axes and broadswords, and not experts in their weapons, like she was. They charged her down the narrow passageway, and she side-stepped their soaring clubs, lunging under their strokes to plunge her sword into the gut of the first. Katreia dodged and flew around them. They made it clear when they were about to strike, and they swung slowly, so she had more than enough time to leap out of harm’s way. But even in a narrow passageway that forced them to fight two at a time, being outnumbered was starting to tire her, and by the time she had sent a second man sprawling on the ground in a pool of blood, she was panting with the effort.
One man’s axe missed her head by an inch. Suddenly remembering her original goal, she sprinted backward, faster than they could follow. Lifting her sword in front of her with its blade pointed downward, she knelt and plunged it into the earth beneath her feet.
The heartbeat slowed…the torches flickered in their sconces.
Throughout the castle, deaf ears heard the call, and stone awakened.
The soldiers of Kerade had flooded in through the keep gate, and now, they heard the guardians’ cry.
Standing by the door to Sira’s tower, Mino gasped in shock. The gargoyles they had seen on the parapets, the snakes that had once twined around the pillars of the halls, and an army of lions and eagles all came pouring through the halls from all sides, pouncing upon the Keradians with their fangs and claws of stone. One by one, the creatures brought Keradians down in the north wing. Every Cedanian was spared. The tide was turning.
The beasts were impervious to the spells that the mages rained down upon their foes and the showers of arrows descending from the crenellations. They were flooding down the stairs to attack the Keradians on the drawbridge. They were pouring through the courtyard to tear their foes in two.
Deep down in the ground, Katreia was facing the last three men of Eretain’s guard. She knew how to use their momentum against them; all it took was knowing what they were about to do next, and choosing her steps such that they missed, or threw themselves onto the end of her sword. She ducked under a swing, used her foot to throw the attacker off balance, and as he tumbled, she plunged her sword into the base of his skull with a crack. His eyes widened and he collapsed, spitting blood.
“I didn’t think you were this good at fighting,” Eretain gasped, and Katreia managed a grin through the spray of blood. But she could feel her limbs starting to ache from the effort, and as she was taking stock of her own state, the second-last man came flying down the corridor at her.
Then a stream of fire whipped past his head, and the man doubled back, stunned by the flash of flames.
“Kat!” cried Akherien’s voice from behind her, and before she could turn, several things happened in rapid succession.
Katreia had only ever heard about Akherien’s terrifying skill with fire from what others said about him. Of course, she had seen him burn down his own home, but that had been almost a decade ago, when he had hardly been trained.
This was a thought she only had after the fact, when the two attackers already lay dead. But for several blinding seconds, she watched the flames arc out of every torch sconce in the hallway, like water spilling out of overflowing cups, and whirl into a great wheel—like the one he had used to kill the oubrei, but many times larger—moving like a living beast, engulfing the heads of the two men in a glorious dance. It clung and crawled through their every orifice even as they tumbled to the ground, screams turning to wheezes. She saw fire burning through their leather chestplates, as if the flames were seeping up through their lungs.
It all happened in ten seconds, but they were the longest ten seconds in the world.
By then, Akherien had raced to her side, and she brandished her sword while her ally sent the flames back into their sconces.
Before them, Eretain knelt among his fallen knights, both hands lifted in surrender. “I told you,” he said, “I came to warn you. My father, he's planning to come through here and take your father's life himself!”
“Easy for you to say when you're a step away from your death!” Katreia shouted, but then she heard a distant banging from farther up the hall, and she readied her sword again.
“Eretain?” bellowed the voice of a man whom Katreia had only met once before, booming up the hall.
She watched in horror. From farther up the passageway thundered the king himself, eyes flashing angrily, teeth bared. Unlike the warriors, he wore a full suit of metal armour, the lavish armour of a king, and when he found his son kneeling, he pointed his sword at the boy and snarled, “I knew it! I knew you planned to thwart me!”
“Father—I—” Eretain wheezed, turning to face his father. He gritted his teeth and shouted, “None of us want your stupid war anymore!”
“You fool,” Navedis roared, kicking his son to the ground. Eretain shook as his father planted a foot on his chest. “You and your mother thought you had overruled me with your little plan, didn’t you? Well, did you not consider? You could have your wife after I annexed Cedan—as a war bride!”
Eretain struggled against his father, but he was not a fighter, and his father bore down on him, pointing his sword at his son’s outstretched neck.
Katreia and Akherien glanced at each other, but neither was sure of the right time to intervene.
As Navedis bowed over his son and pressed his sword into the youth’s skin, Eretain’s other hand reached for his own. “Repent, now! Grovel, you wretch!” the king roared, not seeming to see his son inching the blade closer.
And then, with a thrust faster than the pouncing of a snake, the prince twisted and drove the sword up through his father’s chin, into his skull.
The hall reverberated with the thud of King Navedis’ corpse onto the ground, his head landing atop his son’s torso. All three stared, before Eretain finally flung his father off and flipped over, vomiting.
The uneasy silence was broken when a new pair of feet landed behind them. “Katreia, it worked!” shouted Wilenne, her voice bouncing off the walls. “The Keradians have fled! But—but—Cendreile, she’s fading fast.”
All three gasped. “You must—you must let me see her!” Eretain shouted, wiping his mouth on his wrist.
By now, Katreia was certain that the prince had been speaking the truth from the start. She knew letting a member of the enemy into the castle would be seen as an act of treason, but then again, he had just assassinated the king who had commanded the siege in the first place. And his eyes were so darkened by terror, she could hardly deny him. So she let him race ahead of her as they followed Wilenne, ascending the ladder back into the tower.
It was fortunate that they would not have to pass through the main castle halls on their way to Cendreile. Their friend lay in a sick bed on the third floor, blood pouring into a bandage that was wrapped around her waist, the red liquid blooming like a flower on the gauze. Her breaths were shallow, each one agonised. She turned her eyes to them as they entered the sick room.
“Cendreile, Cendreile!” Katreia called, kneeling beside the minstrel’s bed and clasping her cold hand tightly. Eyes half-closed, Cendreile murmured incomprehensible words. Before she knew it, tears were spilling from her eyes, memories of Sariell flashing through her mind. “Please, not again. Please.”
“Cendreile,” said Eretain, bursting and falling to one knee. “Cendreile, stay with us!”
Cendreile opened her eyes a crack. “E…Eretain,” she breathed. “You’re here.”
“I am! Don’t leave us, please!” he pleaded, tears shining in his eyes.
The girls’ weak grip tightened around Katreia’s hand, and her breaths gradually slowed, her eyes closing.
A healer waited at the door; she came in and took the girl’s pulse. “She is still alive,” she said. “Just asleep. But she will need to be watched closely.”
“You should go, Eretain,” Katreia said. “They don’t know yet. They’ll not be happy you’re still here. Go back the way you came in.”
He nodded, brushing Cendreile’s hair back, kissing her forehead, and wishing her goodbye. Then he rose to his feet and bade them all a solemn goodbye.
Katreia lingered in that room with Akherien and Wilenne for the remaining daylight hours. The healers’ rooms were full of the injured today, and everyone would be busy for a time. Wilenne soon left when she was asked to see to repairs, and only the pair remained, talking to their friend in turns whenever she briefly woke, side by side on the only chair in the room.
It became impossible for Katreia to ignore that every time she brushed against Akherien, she felt another hot pulse through her body, just like when they had danced.
Hour by hour, a fever crept over her, slowly clouding her senses. And she sat there and watched him with a sigh, a decade of self-denial crumbling to nothing.
But she did not think it wise to speak of it, not when the marriage plan was so close to fruition—and so likely to succeed—so she did not.
Katreia returned to check on Cendreile the next morning. As she stepped into the room, she gave a cry of joy. Cendreile was sitting up in her bed now, drinking out of a cup of water and changed out of her old dress.
“Cendreile!” Katreia shouted, running to kneel by her bedside. “I’m so glad you’re awake.”
She smiled weakly. “The healers helped plenty. But it will take me a while to get better. Cielin and the rest of the minstrels visited today.” She closed her eyes. “Was I seeing things, or was Eretain here?”
Katreia smiled. “He was. He came to warn us of his father's sneak attack, and he came to see you, even in an enemy’s castle.”
At this, Cendreile sighed. “I wish everything could change,” she said.
“So do I,” Katreia replied, fingers curling on her lap. “So do I.”
The stones of the first floor were bathed in blood after the battle, and that day, the servants had a huge job on their hands. But then the rest of the castle began pitching into help, and everyone toiled together.
Katreia watched, amazed, taking a rest from her own section of the wall. How much Sariell would have loved to see this day, she realised with a familiar pang. But of course, she was probably watching from the Palaces, perhaps humming to herself, the way she always did.
Day by day, Cendreile recovered her strength, leaving her room more often and sitting to play for her friends when they visited. Katreia found Akherien at her door almost every afternoon without fail, and though she knew it was wisest to send him away, she accepted all his invitations to walk together, heart aching quietly.
Summer sped into autumn again. Kerade was in turmoil, and Sylphen was made the regent while Eretain was too young to rule. But in Cedan, everyone was at ease. Even Katreia wasn’t thinking about her marriage to Eretain—and when she did, she realised that life with him would by no means be suffering. That was how she wanted to think of it.
Still, she was frustrated, and she longed to be free of her fate, and she vented it by practising with Esrias on the rooftop before dawn.
One evening, Aorine was strolling in the stables when she found the door to the armoury ajar. Curiosity and obedience battled within her, but curiosity won, and she stepped inside.
There was a pair of knights inside, polishing their weapons. They glanced at her when she passed, but saw that she was simply another of the castle's defenders, and did not pay her any more heed.
Waving her thanks at them, she glanced about as she walked. Rows of weapons hung around her, some covered in dried blood, which she could smell. It seemed an unpleasant arrangement, so she knelt and spoke to the ground.
((How are you?)) She asked.
((Old, very old. Millions have walked on me. It has been dim here, and cold, and bloody.)) She nodded and continued to look.
((What is this?)) she asked the wall, looking at the shadow of a sword that had once hung on a rack, but had been taken away.
((The Sword of the Palaces. Stolen…I allowed it to be stolen… I should have held it tight…))
Aorine’s memory had been jolted, and she remembered a story she had been told, of a mythic weapon stolen from the armoury. She had been honing her skills in seeing backward into the past through her powers, so she closed her eyes and began to scan through the wall’s annals, year by year. She ignored the knights who came and went, asking for earlier and earlier years, keeping her eyes on the shadow of the sword, darkening as time flowed backwards.
Then she saw a hand reach out, and in visions before that, the sword was right there. ((Forwards a touch,)) she beckoned, and as the images slowed to show her the thief, Aorine gasped.
It was unmistakeable, his black hair, even the incriminating mage’s uniform. She couldn’t believe it, but here was proof—Akherien, Enere’s pet student till his graduation—had stolen the sword. The only way to find the sword would be to reveal that Akherien knew where it was. But he would be arrested, and the punishment for such a theft was life imprisonment…
What could she do? Reporting this was the right, lawful thing to do. But her friend…
“There is to be a hearing today at noon regarding the theft of the Sword of the Palaces.” The message had been passed among all the nobles of the castle. As soon as Katreia heard it, she felt as if she might faint in front of Cendreile, the one who had told her. She put on a show of nonchalance, even as her heart screamed.
How had Akherien been found out? She hoped that it was a false alarm, that the wrong person had been found. But she could not find him in the halls anywhere, and her worries mounted.
As she entered the amphitheatre at noon, she found her mother at the lectern, presiding over the hearing as the arbiter. And facing her, she saw Akherien in the seat of the accused, manacled beside a guard. The sight pierced her heart like a thorn.
This was my fault! She thought with a pang.
Istra called for the session to begin, and the entire theatre fell into a hush.
“Aorine,” declared Istra, pointing at the girl. Of course, she was the one who had discovered the thief! “Please explain to all of us your assertions and how you came to them.”
“I visited the armoury yesterday,” she said. “And I called on the armoury wall to help me find out who stole the Sword of the Palaces. I can ask a place to show me the past, you see. So I asked the wall to show me what had happened that day. And then I saw him—he looked very much like Akherien, just younger… He took it, and left, and that is all I saw…”
“Have your powers ever shown you anything false?”
“No, never.”
“So you believe that Akherien was the one who took the Sword of the Palaces?”
“Y-yes.”
Istra ordered her to sit down, and she did, shaking visibly from where Katreia sat at the back of the audience. The queen looked mercilessly down at the proceedings. “Does anyone have an objection to Aorine’s account?” he said.
The room was deafeningly silent. Then, Enere rose, and said, “Well, do any of you see any reason for Akherien to steal the sword? He cannot have sold it, because I would have seen his finances massively grow, which I did not.”
Istra nodded in thought. “Do you have anything to say in your defence?” she asked, facing Akherien.
“No, nothing,” he said. Katreia felt her heart plummeting. Having no defence was as good as admitting to the crime. Everyone seemed to know this—there was muttering across the theatre now. None of it sounded pleased.
No. She could not allow Akherien to be sentenced to lifelong jail because he had done her a favour. If she could prove she had it, perhaps she could take the fall for him, and her mother would be more lenient to her…
Immediately, she slipped away from the audience, her heart pounding like a drum. Thank goodness her room was so close to the theatre…
The Sword of the Palaces was behind the dresser, as always. Holding it safe in her hand, and hoping she wasn’t too late, she raced dizzily back up the halls and burst back into the theatre.
“Do you plead guilty of the charges against you?” Istra asked solemnly.
“Yes,” Akherien said. Everyone gasped.
Istra sighed. “Where is the sword?” she asked then, but he did not have the chance to answer.
“No! It’s not his fault!” Katreia shouted, bursting from the audience.
Every face turned to her, and she suddenly felt exposed. But she stood her ground. Murmurs began in the audience.
“Katreia!” Istra gasped. She ignored her.
“It was me!” she shouted, drawing the sword from its scabbard and raising it. “Here it is! Your precious sword! I’ve always wanted to become a swordswoman, and my mother knows that. But she banned me from taking that path. So I defied her. I decided to learn, and I needed a sword. Akherien stole the sword for me! He knew I wanted this. He took it for me, not for himself! I should be the one who is punished.”
She strode towards her mother, close enough for her to inspect its shape, its make.
“You can see for yourself—it's the real thing. This is nothing but the truth! Come now, sentence me!”
She glared challengingly at her mother.
Istra stood. She wasn’t angry, only shocked. Katreia found this odd. Everyone else was either quiet or startled, but none as much as she. “Did you just draw…the Sword of the Palaces?” the queen asked disbelievingly.
Katreia nodded, then laid the blade atop her lectern. “Do you really think I’m incapable of drawing a sword, even?” she asked.
Istra’s eyes widened as she took in the weapon. And the next words that came out of her mouth were not the ones Katreia was remotely expecting:
“The Sword Princess has been found!”
The atmosphere inside that amphitheatre shifted instantly. The audience was chattering, muttering, and many eyes stared at her. Sword Princess? She had only heard stories that mentioned such a name…
“Oh, but of course you don’t know! Katreia, this sword—the Sword of the Palaces—was forged by the gods themselves. No one since the beginning of time has been able to draw it, not one of the masters who have ever come before you! It is said that the one who draws the sword owns it, and will be known as the Sword Prince or Princess. They will rise to become a great hero, and defend Cedan with it.” Then the queen paused, her face lighting up with realisation. “In taking the sword from the armoury and giving it to you, Akherien wasn’t stealing it, but returning it to its rightful owner. So, to me, the matter is clear!” She turned to face the audience again. “I officially declare that the accused is free of all charges.”
This was followed by applause, ill-befitting a hearing, and through it all Katreia stared, head spinning, as gazes lifted to her with a new and confused awe.
What was going on?
In these moments of confusion, Katreia liked to turn to the things she could control. As soon as the audience began to file out of the theatre, Katreia ran down the steps to where her mother stood folding up her documents, and the two mages talked in the seats beneath.
“The truth is, I think it was really brave of you to do that for Her Highness,” Aorine murmured, looking at Akherien. “And very brave of Her Highness to own up. I…I didn’t know there was a prophecy about her…”
“Neither did I till today,” Akherien said. He turned as she leapt off the last step into their midst. “Making an entrance like that… You scared me for a moment.”
Istra came down from the arbiter’s seat and approached her daughter. “Oh, Katreia, my daughter,” she sighed. “I’m afraid it has become quite clear…that I have been wrong about you. And I would hereby like to apologise. I didn’t realise fighting was your true calling—but I should have known I wasn’t being fair. That day, the day of your Blessing…when instead of receiving it, you ran into a burning house, I should have realised.”
At that, Katreia laughed. It really had started that day, hadn’t it? “All you did was make my resolve stronger. You helped me a lot, actually.”
“If I could help with one thing,” Istra sighed, giving her daughter a pat on the back. “You’ll never stop scaring me with all your caprices, will you?”
One by one, the hearing attendees left, but Akherien lingered in the hall, glancing at her from time to time. After a while, Katreia began to think he was staying on purpose, and she waited, too. She peered out of the archways as her mother left, then turned back to the theatre to find him standing in the middle, staring at the empty seats.
“I was so worried for a minute,” she said as she reached the bottom of the steps. “I thought they were going to sentence you. You didn't even try resisting the accusations.”
He shook his head. “But I did commit the crime. I knew this could happen someday, back when I did it. And I accepted it.”
She sighed. “Thank you,” she said. “For risking jail for my sake.”
“I had to,” he replied. “You saved my life when we were children. It was only right that I returned the favour.”
“There’s no need to repay that, Herien,” she said, starting to smile. “You being alive is all the repayment I need.”
Neither of them spoke for almost a minute, though she could see that much was brewing behind his gaze.
Then he clasped his hands together. “I’ll—you know—I’ll really miss you when you go,” he blurted out, starting to pace about. “It’s autumn already. Only one season more, and then…”
“Herien.” He turned, and when their gazes connected, her mind began to race. There was too much to say—how did she begin? “I know I was promised to Eretain when I was seven. I never fought back because I thought my mother’s decision was set in stone. But I don’t think it is anymore. Not after today. You know, seven years old was when I met you, too—I’ve known you longer than I’ve been betrothed to him.”
Katreia fell silent, suddenly out of breath. Akherien was watching her intently, perhaps trying to puzzle out her meaning.
“I want something different now!” she went on. “I want to fight this because of you. You've always made me feel brave enough to fight. And, well…” She could no longer hold his gaze, and her eyes darted away. “If I were being honest, you're the one I want in his place.”
Akherien stared on in a daze, eyes very wide. “Oh…really?” he breathed.
“Maybe not the forced betrothal part.” She laughed nervously. “What I mean is, you’ve always been special to me. From the day I missed my Blessing to save you, I've felt…”
She did not have to go on. Akherien reached for her arm to pull her closer, and before she understood what he was doing, he kissed her, full on the lips.
Katreia stared into his eyes, blood rushing to her cheeks. Oh…
He pulled back and looked away. She still had yet to move or speak. Her face was hot like she had stuck it in a fireplace. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I know I shouldn’t.”
At these words, she resolved at once to resist the betrothal with all her means.
For now, she pulled him in by the hand, and they flew together in another, longer, kiss.
In the weeks that followed, the news came out that Istra was pregnant with a new child. Everywhere she walked, Katreia could feel the entire castle abuzz with the news. But that was not to be the end of the momentous revelations, for in the morning, there came a letter from Kerade’s castle. It was all Queen Sylphen’s writing, and it changed everything.
The letter was lengthy and full of historical details, but the most important part read:
“As of today, we offer Cedan’s royal family full sovereignty over their kingdom, and we wish the kingdom all the best in times to come. I hope that we may continue to sustain ties.”
And with that letter came a smaller note, this one from Prince Eretain himself. Arten and Istra read it in their study with Katreia in attendance, and when they finished, they turned to her.
“Did you really tell the prince he was boring?” asked her mother.
“What? Not to his face,” Katreia muttered. “Even if it is true.”
“Katreia. We’re very lucky that our relations with Kerade are improved as they are, with the new regent. But it appears that he wishes to call off the betrothal, as it is no longer politically necessary.”
“Perfect. We both do!” Katreia shouted, to perturbed looks from both parents.
“And he has taken interest in one of your friends.”
“She’ll be delighted.”
Arten and Istra looked at each other, between bewilderment and exasperation, but it seemed the Prince of Kerade had left no room for any bargaining. Neither ceased frowning as they began to set new plans in motion. Again, they asked if Katreia wished to have the betrothal called off, and she assented even more eagerly than the first time.
“Then could you bring us the girl, Cendreile?” asked Arten, and Katreia was all smiles as she sought out the minstrel in her room and brought the nervous girl back to her parents.
The King and Queen then disclosed the entire contents of Eretain’s letter to them, and at the end, Arten asked, “Do you wish to become betrothed to Prince Eretain of Kerade?”, though he still appeared perplexed at this turn of events.
Cendreile haltingly replied, “I’d like that…but I’ll need a bit of time to settle with the thought of leaving Cedan.”
On the eve of Cendreile’s departure, Katreia was strolling together with the minstrel along the third floor of the castle, there among the stone lions, eagles and snakes that had returned to their roosts.
“I suppose I’ll be learning how to be a princess soon,” Cendreile said with a smile. “I only regret leaving the Minstrel Hall behind. And you, of course.”
“You’ll be bringing your music to a place that needs it,” Katreia replied, patting her on the shoulder. Everything had felt lighter since the end of the war—the long storm had ended, and they had held on through it. “He’s a good person. Eretain. Even in the direst situations…he makes the right choices.”
“Did something change your mind about him?”
Katreia laughed. “I still think he’s dull,” she replied. “But I also think he will care for you.” Then she sighed. “Well, with my betrothal called off, I suddenly have more freedom than I’ve had in a decade. I hardly know what I’d do with it. Maybe start practising with my sword in the open.”
“How long did you do that in secret?”
She counted on her fingers. “Six years.”
The other girl smiled. “I am quite impressed. We were friends for that entire time, but I never noticed. Except I did wonder how you were so strong, sometimes.”
Katreia laughed. “Sorry, I had to make sure as few people as possible knew.” She propped up her chin on her elbows. “Well, Herien was in on it the whole time, too.”
Cendreile thought about this for a moment. “He had to be, considering the sword and all,” she reasoned. “I didn’t think he had done something so…perilous. But that’s just like him.”
“To be helpful to a fault? Even when it endangers him?”
“Especially when the person he’s helping is you,” the minstrel laughed.
Katreia sighed. “I think I’ve fallen for him.”
“Oh.” Cendreile turned away from the window, suddenly attentive. “You should tell him, then. He’s quite in love with you, you know. Or, he was, the last time we talked about it, but he had already decided to keep it from you…”
Katreia inhaled sharply. “You’ve talked about this? When?”
“A few years ago,” Cendreile replied.
At these words, Katreia felt dizzy, a hundred memories flooding back into her mind. The whole time she had thought compliments made him shy, had that only been because she was the one saying them? The day she had suspected him of secretly harbouring feelings for someone, had that someone been her?
All the times she had complained to him about her betrothal, even the week he had come along at her bidding to visit Eretain, all of it done for her sake…
“This…explains a lot,” she whispered, touching her knuckles to her lips at the memory of being kissed.
Beside her, Cendreile sighed, lifting her gaze to the sky. “Remember how there were four of us once? I suppose we’re all scattered now. Sariell is with the Palaces now, and now I will be going to Kerade.”
“It’ll always be the four of us in all my memories,” Katreia replied. “And anyway, we can still visit each other whenever we have the time. Can’t we?”
Cendreile nodded. “And we can write letters in between.” She took two steps towards the princess, then threw both arms around her. “Please, take care, Katreia,” she said with a sob. “I will see you again…soon.”
“Wake the guardians, wake the guardians!
Open gates to four winds all.
Stab the castle in the heart,
Go wake the sleeping, purge the hall!”
Why did she still sing the words so sadly?
Katreia’s life had changed completely in the year since the end of the war. Her mother had given birth to a son, and with a boy to be the future ruler of Cedan, Katreia had found the weight of the succession removed from her all at once. But she had continued to learn—and then to teach—the sword, resolving recently to compete in the next swordsmanship tournament. The entire castle—Esrias included—was eagerly awaiting the day when their princess would fight in their name.
Even then, she missed the past. As Katreia strolled up the dark corridor where the stone guardians silently watched, she remembered, and wished she were a carefree child again, wandering these halls with her three friends, without a worry about the future and everything it held.
But I worried quite a lot as a child, didn’t I?
Perhaps she should be thinking, instead, of all the things that she had to be thankful for: that she no longer had to hide her prowess with the blade, or avoid ever risking falling in love in the name of keeping a pledge to their enemy. Cedan hardly had an enemy any longer, and in its place was an ally, dramatically changed by the upheaval of its succession.
The present, she was starting to realise, was made of layers of the past. The seeds of today’s blessings had been sown the day she had thought she had missed a blessing, and had saved a boy from a burning house instead.
The sun had set. She took a few more steps down the corridor as the hall dimmed around her. Then, up ahead, all the torches flared to life in the sconces. Blinking in surprise, she whirled around to find Akherien with his hand raised in the direction of the lights, smiling as their eyes met.
“I had a feeling you’d be here,” he said, then exclaimed in surprise as she lunged forward and scooped him into her arms.
“Herien!” she cried, leaning in to kiss him. She pulled away again, grinning. “Sorry, I’ve just been up here thinking. About all the things we got up to as children. What a time it was…”
He smiled as they slipped apart. “It was, though I would like never to live it a second time,” he said.
“Me neither,” she said. “What with that stupid betrothal, and not being allowed to learn the sword…and you having to hide your feelings from me.”
Akherien still wore his embarrassment plainly, pulling his arms close and pacing restlessly. “Oh, don’t remind me…”
“But I do miss Sariell,” she said. “Even now.”
“Me too. I still walk past the spots in the garden where she used to lurk, and imagine her there.”
Katreia sighed. “The place feels like there’s something missing without them. Her and Cendreile.” She lifted her eyes to the starry sky. “What do you reckon Cendreile is doing now?”
Akherien thought on this question for a moment. “Making every hall brighter with her voice, I’m sure,” he replied.
She reached out to take his hand, and they turned away from the stone guardians, walking back towards the tower. Perhaps one day in a few decades, or centuries, the guardians would have to be woken again. But maybe it was a good thing that they continued to slumber for now.