Chapter Four

For several minutes, it was quiet while the guard captain worked to clean off the princess’s face. He was just about to talk to Marella about having to give the princess some stitches so that the wound would heal more quickly when Kylara groaned.

“Princess?” he asked quickly, leaning over her.

“Where am I?” Kylara asked, carefully reaching up to touch her head.

“Kylara? You’re in the glade,” Marella said quickly, moving to kneel beside her friend. “The blizzard set in and Captain Nejem went out to find you.”

“What happened to my head?” Kylara murmured. “It hurts.”

“I suspect that you may have been attacked, Highness. I was just cleaning the wound,” Nejem explained. “I am afraid that it is going to be rather difficult to cover up, should you decide to return to the castle.”

“Agh… how bad is it?”

“I am terribly sorry, Highness, but will need to give you stitches,” he replied. “The gash is fairly deep and there is a rather large bruise around it.”

The princess cursed softly. “Do what you have to do.”

“This will hurt, I am afraid.”

“Be that as it may, I doubt that it would heal very quickly on its own.”

“Are you able to sit up?” he asked, offering his assistance.

“I can try,” Kylara mumbled, taking his hand and dizzily sitting up. “I think I may need something to lean against, though.”

“Perhaps we should move to the couch?” he sighed, lifting the princess into his arms again. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

“No… How did I get back here?”

“He carried you,” Marella said. “I’m pretty sure he saved your life.”

Kylara’s gaze slowly moved from Marella’s face—well-known and comforting—to Captain Nejem’s. He did not look back at her until he had set her down again and retrieved the medical kit and started to further assess what he needed to do.

“You could have died looking for me, Captain,” Kylara pointed out quietly as he began to prepare for stitching her forehead closed.

“You would have died had I not searched for you,” he replied gently. “I know it will be difficult, but I will need you to hold still for this; it will hurt.”

Kylara reached for his hands as they moved to begin. “How many times are you planning to risk your life to save mine, exactly?”

He stopped and looked her dead in the eyes. “Your Highness, if I do not stitch your forehead closed soon, infection will set in and that is one of many things that I would prefer not to deal with.”

“You did not answer my question,” she pointed out shrewdly.

“Keep a tally, then. You can tell me once I have actually gotten you to safety,” he replied firmly. “For now, you need to hold still and let me fix you up.”

“Alright…” Kylara muttered, gripping the arm of the couch tightly as Captain Nejem stuck the needle through her skin.

“So, where, exactly, were you planning on taking me if I agreed to go with you?” Kylara asked, pulling her blanket closer around her.

“Unfortunately, I have not had the opportunity to plan so far, yet,” Captain Nejem replied. “The options are open… basically anywhere except for Weland and Rahikmat is safe. A friend of mine has a trade ship based in Lambert; I could make arrangements for you to travel with him, if you would like,” he offered.

“Is he trustworthy?” Marella chimed in.

“I believe so, yes,” Captain Nejem said gently. “I have known him for ten years, and I introduced him to his wife.”

“He is based in Lambert? Is it possible that I may have met him?” Kylara asked softly.

“It is possible,” he shrugged. “He had told me that he had estranged family in Emerley. He has not returned home in some fifteen years.”

“Who is he, then?” Marella sighed, somewhat tired of the captain’s indirect language.

“His name is Harris Mason.”

“Mason?” Kylara asked, her eyes widening significantly.

“I know him,” Marella said. “Or at least I did, when we were children; he’s Riley’s older brother.”

“I didn’t know that Riley had a brother—did I?”

“No, he never told you. Riley blames Harris for the accident that made him blind.”

“Harris regained his sight after a run-in with a Mage in Eaves Village. The same sort of thing could be possible for your friend.”

“If he were not so stubborn, perhaps he would come with us,” Kylara muttered.

“How are you feeling, Highness?” Captain Nejem asked.

“Pardon?” Kylara replied, unprepared for the sudden change of subject.

“Are you alright? Do you need anything?” he corrected himself.

“I-I suppose I am alright. Marella?”

“I’m fine,” the blonde replied.

“May I get anything for either of you? More firewood, perhaps?” the Captain offered.

“This is not Emerley Castle, Captain. You are allowed to relax, here,” Kylara pointed out. “You could sit down for a while, perhaps.”

“I mean you no offense, Highness, but I do not feel entirely comfortable here, and I would prefer to maintain my station by making myself useful to you and Miss Landvik,” he replied quietly.

“Well, neither one of us needs anything right now,” Marella said. “Stand down, or something.”

He glanced at both of them and knelt with his back to the fire. “As you command.”

Kylara took a deep breath and moved over to him. “What was your first name, again?” she murmured.

“Tariq, Highness,” he said with a brief nod. “You should stay resting. We do not know how severe your trauma is.”

“Tariq, I will be perfectly alright. Would you like some tea? Coffee, perhaps?”

“Highness, I can make it for myself, and besides-”

“I am not a princess here, Tariq. I can take care of guests in my home and I would prefer to be called by my name, not my title. I am going to make something for myself; you may as well tell me what you would prefer.”

“You would not happen to have any hot chocolate, then, would you?” he sighed dejectedly.

“A soldier like you asking for hot chocolate?” Kylara chuckled.

“I have yet to find a flavor of tea that sits right with my palate, and I traumatized myself against coffee when I was a child,” he explained. “I only drink either when no other option is available to me.”

“It is a personal favorite, actually, for both Marella and myself. I shall go ahead and make enough for all three of us,” Kylara said, smiling at him. “And please, call me ‘Kylara,’ would you?”

“Highness, I really must protest-”

“My name is ‘Kylara,’ not ‘Highness,’ as I just told you, and if I were any normal girl, we would not be having this conversation,” she snapped.

“Were you any normal girl, your life would not depend on my ability to sway your opinion,” he replied stiffly. “I can make the hot chocolate; you need rest if you are to heal properly.”

“It is not the first time I have been injured, nor will it be the last,” Kylara said angrily, getting back to her feet and storming through the door Marella had used.

“Is her highness always this… temperamental or is it a result of her head trauma?” he asked, looking over at Marella.

“Kylara has to suppress her emotions because of her father—sometimes her emotions build up too much and they just sort of come out whether it’s appropriate or not,” Marella explained. “Give her a few minutes to calm down before you try to talk to her, again.”

“Is that how you handle arguments with her?” he sighed, slowly getting to his feet.

“It’s the only way to do it without getting her angrier than she already is.”

“Alright. I suppose I should bring in more firewood before this storm gets out of hand,” he sighed. “You mentioned a woodpile with easier access?”

“Yeah, I’ll show you. It’s through here,” Marella said, leading the Captain through the same door Kylara had just used.

The room he entered was a modest kitchen. The cabinets and counters were made of warm, hard wood. There was a sink in the counter against the adjacent wall. In the middle of the cooking section of the room was a small island with a wood stove and oven built in. The far wall held the back door and a thick-paned window that looked out on the snow-blanketed forest.

“The woodpile is right under the window. Now listen, if the wind or anything is too much, just come back inside. There’s no point in freezing yourself to death when we might end up needing your help again,” Marella said, unbolting the back door for him.

“Certainly,” he replied softly, fastening his cloak more securely around his shoulders. He glanced back at the Princess as she shaved chocolate to melt in the milk she was heating. He turned back to the door and slipped outside.

After closing the door again, Marella turned to Kylara and sighed irritably.

“What?” Kylara asked, looking up from what she was doing.

“Kylara, he saved your life,” she replied. “And he’s giving you the opportunity that you’ve been waiting for since we were kids. He’s giving up his entire life for you and you’re mad at him for addressing you by your title and being concerned about your well-being. What is going on with you? Why does what he calls you matter so much?”

“Because I’ve seen him before,” Kylara said.

“Well, yeah. If you hadn’t, then you wouldn’t have recognized him.”

“No, not in person—I’ve dreamt about him. I’m sure of it. We’ve sat around a campfire telling stories with him; he’s gone sailing with us; I’ve even had a few lessons in fighting from him, Marella,” Kylara explained.

Marella studied her friend and moved to stand beside her. “You’re going to have to explain why that’s a bad thing.”

“It means that I don’t need convincing. I just want to know more about this guy before we go gallivanting away with him.”

“How soon do you think we’ll be going, then?” Marella sighed.

“Not sure yet. I just want to know… who we’re dealing with, I guess. For now, though, he still thinks that we’re undecided, and that’s just how I want him,” Kylara explained.

“So the anger-?”

“An act, for all intents and purposes, though I would prefer him to stop titling me every three seconds. In any case, this should be finished, soon.” She gestured to the steaming milk before stirring it with a wooden spoon.

“Alright, I’ll check on the Captain, then,” Marella sighed, turning back to the door.

“Prince Brandr, there is a young woman here to see you. We are unsure how she reached the Castle in this weather,” a Wellian messenger told the Hikmati prince.

“Where is she?” Brandr asked, using his puppet in spite of the fact that he had no protection for his true body.

“She awaits you in the ballroom, Highness,” the messenger replied.

“I shall see her shortly,” Brandr said, quietly closing the door before cursing. “Iva…”

Brandr quickly dressed and made his way down to the ballroom, looking for his supposed guest. It wasn’t long before he felt a dagger at his throat.

“Is this the face you wear, this time, Brandr?” the woman—in truth, little more than a girl—asked, clearly unconcerned with titles.

“What are you doing here, Iva?” Brandr hissed, pushing the knife away. “I told you that I would summon you if you were needed.”

The woman he now faced stood less than five feet tall with chin-length, midnight hair, dark almond skin, and venomous green eyes. “I just made your life easier, Brandr. Princess Kylara is out there just waiting for you to rescue her.”

“What?” he growled.

“I was just a couple of miles from here when I spotted her taking a walk in the woods, so I knocked her out, moved her under some decent cover and came to tell you,” she explained proudly.

“You idiot! She is human,” Brandr bellowed. “She cannot survive like we can.”

“Well you wanted her dead, didn’t you?”

“After I married her and had legal rights to Wellian land,” he growled.

“Who’s to say that you didn’t marry her?”

“Wellian Law. At least twelve Lords and Ladies have to swear that they attended the wedding, and sign the marriage certificate for weddings involving the nobility,” Brandr replied irritably. “What in the nine hells is wrong with you?”

“And you can’t force them, because?” Iva asked.

“Force twelve Wellian nobles and just hope that none of them have to be killed and thereby setting up more work for myself?” he replied. “I cannot simply threaten or control every person in the world. I have never been strong enough to manipulate more than seven people at once, and I am out of practice as it is. Why do you think I keep you in my employ?”

“So, Tariq, tell us more about yourself,” Marella said, cupping her hands around her warming mug.

“Is that a point of interest?” he asked, warming his semi-frozen hands over the stove.

“Well, you seem to know a significant amount about us, and we know so little of you—it hardly seems fair,” Kylara said. She tilted her head toward the iced-over windows. “Besides, it is not like we have other things to do.”

“I suppose so,” he agreed quietly. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, why do you work for Prince Brandr?” Kylara asked. “Especially if you disagree so much with what he is doing.”

“Prince Brandr used to be a good man,” the Captain replied. “He took me in as a ward after my father died; he looked after and educated me.”

“Well, then why you? Why did he pick you as his ward?” Marella asked.

“It was a request from my father. He was killed in a skirmish en route to settle a dispute between two of Brandr’s regiments. They were just going to cut through the south-east corner of Weland when a Davinian guerilla troupe cut them off,” Tariq explained. “When Prince Brandr heard that my father had been killed in action, he instantly gave me quarters in the Palace and hired tutors for me. He was never the way he is, now, until I was fourteen and his first wife died.”

“First wife? How old was he, twelve?” Marella scoffed.

“One hundred and thirty-six, actually, though he has looked twenty-five for as long as I have known him,” Tariq said. “Even when I was a child.”

“So how old is he now?” Kylara asked, though she struggled to keep all her skepticism out of her voice.

“He will be one hundred and forty-seven in two and a half months,” Tariq said easily. “But you have not seen his true face, remember? Though even if you did, you probably would not believe me and he would appear much closer to your age, Highness.”

Kylara shot him an annoyed glare. “My name is not a title, Tariq.”

“In Rahikmat it is illegal for a peasant-born person to refer to any female nobility by her first name unless used in conjunction with a title,” he explained tiredly. “It is a difficult habit to break when doing so would generally result in the death penalty.”

“Death penalty?” Marella asked with arched brows.

“We are not in Rahikmat, and I would very much appreciate it if you would not remind me of the station that I do not even want, yet hold as a birthright,” Kylara explained. “However, since you leave me no other choice… I order you to call me only by my first name. Am I understood?”

“Yes, you are perfectly understood,” Tariq replied. “Though I must say that you have been well-groomed for the title and responsibility you are supposed to inherit.”

“If my father had his way, I never would have been taught to read, much less do anything else that involves intellect.”

“No wonder… it was your father’s idea to bring Prince Brandr here to kill you,” Tariq reminded her.

“Sounds like something he would do,” Kylara murmured, sipping at her hot chocolate.

“I wish there were an easier way to inform you of this,” he said carefully.

“How did you get into my room?” Kylara asked, her eyes sharply moving to meet his.

“Pardon?”

“The first night you came to warn me. How did you get into my room without the door?” Kylara said her gaze intently on his. “You did not even approach me from the side of the room that leads to the hall; you just… melted into the shadows.”

Tariq sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I had hoped that would not come up… I have certain talents in magic. Shadow Walking is among them.”

“You’re a shadow-walker?” Marella whispered. “I thought that magic had died out.”

“No, it is still around. Those of us who can do it just keep it much quieter than those who could do it in the past.”

“What else can you do, then?” Kylara asked. “You said Shadow Walking was only one of the things you could do.”

“I am sorry, but I would prefer to keep that to myself unless it becomes absolutely necessary to reveal the full extent of my abilities,” Tariq replied. “I have made the mistake of trusting too soon, before, and I would prefer not to repeat that experience.”

“Are you expecting that we will turn on you?” the princess asked skeptically.

“Princess Kylara, people have died because I trusted too early. Hundreds of thousands of people. I am not going to cause massacres like that again,” he snapped, anger and pain mixing in his eyes.

“How do you cause a massacre, exactly?” Marella asked.

“I presume that neither of you has seen a battle field… you would never understand,” Tariq said coldly, gripping the edges of the island and staring straight into nothing.

“Explain it, then,” Kylara said firmly.

“You know how people say that War is Hell?” he asked quietly. “They are wrong. Anyone who says so is sugar-coating it for their families; to give them some semblance of innocence. It can be the most beautiful spring day or the worst storm in history—death does not care about weather conditions. Whenever I get put at the front lines, I wait for some men on the other side to be killed by arrows and trebuchets before I carry out my orders. At least then they die knowing what their end was. They die quietly.

“It is the ones that are left that get to see just why no army has faced that of Prince Brandr and come out with any sane survivors. Or at least, that is what they think. Those soldiers that return home speaking of the darkness moving over the battlefield like a mountain… they are talking about me,” Tariq explained, his voiced stacked heavily with hatred, pain, regret, and unrestricted self-loathing. “That is what happens when I tell people about my abilities; my curses.”

“Intense…” Kylara murmured. “Though I hope you realize that you just raised more questions than you answered.”

Tariq’s eyes flicked back to hers and he smirked ever-so-slightly. “Were I a decent writer, I might write a mystery book.”

“Maybe you could take it up as a hobby?” the princess sighed. “I prefer dancing, myself, since it is the one physical thing that I am encouraged to do; I had to learn how to ride a horse from Marella.”

“It was a fun week,” Marella added fondly. “We were, what? Ten?”

“Near enough,” Kylara replied with a brief shrug.

“She really is quite talented… just not in an entirely ‘proper’ capacity,” Marella explained.

“From what I have seen, I would think she would be talented in more than one arena. Stooping to help a peasant find food in a castle, for instance. You gave me some very good advice on which kitchen to try for the acquisition of food the day I arrived,” he sighed. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome,” the princess said, smiling slightly.

“Speaking of food, I would like to offer what services I can to make dinner this evening,” Tariq declared, straightening slightly. He glanced between Marella and Kylara, grinning at their somewhat confused expressions.

“Isn’t that hours away? We can just decide then-” Marella pointed out.

“Ah, but if I do not claim he honor now, then you two will conspire to do everything for yourselves, leaving me to twiddle my thumbs,” he replied quickly.

“Are you good at twiddling your thumbs, Tariq?” Kylara asked with a demure smirk just spreading on her lips.

“Not noteworthy,” he replied suspiciously.

“Perhaps you could use the practice, then,” she suggested.

“I have no interest in becoming a professional thumb-twiddler; I assure you that practice in that arena is completely unnecessary,” he replied calmly.

“Well, if you are certain,” the princess shrugged.

“It is a delight to know that you have a sense of humor,” Tariq sighed.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“So what should we do until I make dinner for you enchanting ladies?”

“Play a game, perhaps?” Marella suggested. “Probably more than one—it is only noon after all.”

“We could start with a more substantial lunch than hot chocolate, then,” Kylara said. “Though, I think I need to lie down for a short while,” she added in a murmur aimed at Marella.

“You okay?” she asked quickly.

“What is wrong?” Tariq added, moving to support Kylara.

“Nothing, do not worry yourself over me. I just feel a little dizzy… and sick,” Kylara replied.

“You may have a concussion,” Tariq sighed. “I will take you back to the living room to-”

She pulled away from him. “First of all, I can take care of myself. Second, I have a room upstairs and I am perfectly capable of reaching it on my own.”

“Please at least let me make sure that you reach your room safely?” Tariq asked. “We have to be careful.”

“It is just upstairs; I can make it on my own.”

“What if you are wrong? The blow to your head knocked you out for at least two hours,” Tariq replied, following her toward the stairs. “What if you become dizzier than anticipated and fall from the top of the stairs, thereby causing you more trauma?”

“I am perfectly-” Kylara stopped and sat carefully on the bottom stair.

“Are you alright?” Tariq asked, quickly kneeling in front of her. “Do you need anything?”

“Marella,” Kylara whispered her eyes unblinking and full of terror.

“Just stay here while I fetch her,” he murmured before going back into the kitchen.

Marella was at Kylara’s side within moments. “What’s wrong?” she asked, forcing Kylara to look at her.

“That woman… the one who tried to kill me… s-she’s at the castle; she knows Brandr well enough to call him by his name,” the princess whispered. “I see her talking to him.”

“What are you talking about?” Marella asked.

Kylara glanced up as Tariq came back and didn’t answer.

“Tariq would you excuse us for a moment? I can look after her,” Marella asked, taking the hint.

“Certainly,” he replied slowly. A few seconds later, he was safely tucked back into the kitchen.

“It’s the dreams… the ones that keep coming true. I can see them,” Kylara said, afraid of her own words. “In my last dream—the one I told you about—the woman who was going to kill me stabbed someone else because he got in the way. I think she killed Tariq. Marella, she’s in the castle right now to discuss something with Brandr. I-I don’t know if we should even go back home before we leave.”

“Are you going to tell Tariq about all of this?” Marella sighed, pulling her friend into a hug.

“I suppose I have to, eventually. I mean, whatever information I can gather from these dreams might be useful,” Kylara replied. “I just don’t know where to begin to explain this to him.”

“You could start at the beginning,” Marella suggested. “I know it’s crazy, but it might have to work.”

“Could you maybe help me to my room?” Kylara asked softly. “I hate to keep asking you to do stuff for me, today, I just… well I keep needing your help.”

“What good is a friend who isn’t there when you need her?” Marella replied, smiling slightly as she helped Kylara to her feet. “Still dizzy and nauseated?”

“Less nauseated, but still somewhat dizzy,” Kylara answered, stumbling over her own feet as they crested the stairs.

“Clearly,” Marella sighed. “So what do I tell him? You know he’s going to ask me what’s going on.”

“For now just tell him that it’ll be explained when I’m up for dealing with it,” Kylara murmured, easing herself onto her bed. “Thank you, Marella.”

Next Chapter: Chapter 5