One day toward the end of summer, Captain Droln was assigned to one of his usual posts, keeping watch on a busy corner of St. Mykos Square. It was a task he enjoyed, as there was plenty to see from where he was. Seated upon his horse in the shadow of St. Mykos temple, he could keep an eye on the citizens that wandered between market stalls or sat on the edge of the great fountain in the middle of the square.
Among the bustling noises of cart wheels and the voices of the crowd, he thought he heard his name being called. Looking around, he soon spotted a colorfully dressed group nearing him. It was Prince Tolké that had called his name, and he did again, waving. Even among the others who were dressed splendidly, he stood out in a vibrant red tunic and robe; even his two sashes were the color of iron heated at the forge.
Droln dismounted as they got closer so that he could bow properly; Tolké had told him that if they were alone, he would not need to bow, but as they were surrounded by witnesses, he of course showed the respect that was expected of their difference of rank.
“Captain, you remember my brother’s wife,” Tolké gestured to the woman beside him. “Princess Yurí. As well as her attendant Lady Andra. And you met Jayor and the others at a dinner.”
“Yes, of course,” the captain bowed again to them all, and they returned the greeting with deep nods and a brief chorus of ‘good afternoon’.
“Go on without me,” the prince addressed his group. “I’ll be in shortly.” He waited a moment for them to make their way into the temple before speaking to Droln. “My dear cousin and her company are arriving today from Iranása, through the northern city gate. I’d like you to wait there to escort the party to the palace.”
“Forgive me,” the captain began. “But I’m afraid I’ll be posted here until late tonight.”
“No you’re not.” Tolké crossed his arms, wearing his familiar, mischievous smirk. “I already spoke to Sir Emyal. Your replacement should relieve you within the hour, I expect. Then you are free to wait at the gate.”
Droln was speechless for a moment; how very like Tolké to make changes and arrangements in secret to suit his whims and fancies. It was a fairly harmless thing that he had done, but it made Droln uneasy. He wished the prince had asked before acting, or at least spoken to him first. Too often similar tricks had been played, despite Droln’s insistence that he intended to carry out the duties assigned to him. Yet each time, the prince would find a way to free the captain from his service in order to participate in various amusements. As for this particular occasion, it was at least disguised as a change of duty, if not poorly done so.
“Very well,” he nodded, smiling to push aside his discomfort.
“Very well indeed! You will get along with my cousin quite easily. You can get to know one another tomorrow evening at the banquet.”
“Of course there is a banquet,” Droln teased with a scoff.
“Yes, of course,” Tolké grinned. “That is no surprise; the surprise is who is hosting it.”
“It isn’t you?”
“Not this time; it’s my brother.”
“The king?” Droln blinked. “What for?”
“My best guess is that he’s trying to make a gesture for my cousin. They don’t always see eye to eye. I don’t think they’ve even seen each other since her wedding three years ago. Anyway, we’ll see how things go tomorrow night.”
“It will be a good opportunity for you,” Droln suggested. “To show the king that you can be disciplined at a party.”
“Ah, you’re right,” Tolké mused, as if he had forgotten their plan. He took both of Droln’s hands in his. “I promise to be on my very best behavior. But we will still enjoy ourselves, hm?”
The captain could only nod; they were standing quite close to one another.
As if suddenly remembering why he was there, Tolké glanced up at the high dome of the temple above them.
“I love St. Mykos,” he sighed softly. “I was named here as a baby. But today I am here to pray. And to confess.” He looked back at Droln, as if he were going to say something else, but then decided against it. “I’ll see you back at the palace.”
He released the captain’s hands before disappearing into the church, his crimson robes fluttering behind him.
It wasn’t long before the replacement that Tolké had promised arrived to take Droln’s place. He hoped that this other guard did not know the circumstances of the change of post; he imagined that if others were aware of the prince’s favoritism, then his reputation would suffer. As it was, Tolké had already given him a few gifts that he was hesitant to use or wear in public.
First leading his horse to the fountain in the middle of the square for a drink, Droln then mounted and rode through the streets northward. He had not yet been posted at this gate, so at least he would get the chance to see a new part of the city.
When he reached the gate, he dismounted, leaving his steed at the gatehouse while he climbed the stairs to reach the top of the city wall to see if he might spy the princess and her company on the road from the north. The wind was high, and the southern sun seemed hotter up here, far from the shade of the buildings below. Shielding his eyes from the glare, Droln peered into the distance, unsure of what he was even looking for. As if answering a question that he did not even ask, a caravan caught his eye, marked by banners that even from a distance were identifiable as the green of Valasno. He had seen that color banner countless times when he lived in the holy city of Iranása and trained at the military academy there.
Judging the distance from the caravan to the gate, Droln estimated that they would arrive in less than an hour. He stood for awhile atop the wall, enjoying the breeze that blew his dark curls from his face as he watched the princess’ party inch nearer on the road far below.
In the stillness, with only the call of birds winging and the snapping of the orange banners, the captain’s mind drifted to thoughts of the prince. He imagined him at that moment, in the dim temple, praying, illuminated by the soft light of candles. Or maybe he was confessing. He wondered what sort of sins he had done; or at least those which he was asking forgiveness for. As if coming out of a trance, he regained control of his thoughts, glancing around as if to make sure no one had overheard his thoughts. His face felt hot, and he descended the sandstone steps to find respite in the shade of the great wall. This wasn’t the first time he had gotten distracted by thoughts of Tolké; and although he cursed at himself for letting foolish feelings take over his mind, he admitted to himself that there was something thrilling about a heartbeat beyond his control.
Remounting his horse, he waited patiently by the gate until the caravan bearing apple green banners arrived.
“Welcome to Aldren,” he greeted when the rider wearing the gold medallion of a royal heir approached, bowing to her from atop his steed.
He did not speak beyond that, as he was surprised by the sight of the princess; he had expected a delicate and lovely girl, dressed in pale silk and pearls, but the woman who rode through the gate was a noble warrior. She wore practical and sturdy clothes for riding that were appropriate for the warm climate of the south; her arms were exposed, revealing well-toned muscles that were the result of years of discipline. If she were standing, she would be taller than most of the men in her company, and her shoulders were broad. Yet she was still beautiful, although not sweet looking. Her nose came to a haughty point, and her face was angular, with prominent cheekbones and a sharp jaw, all beneath a pale complexion and crowned by copper braids. In fact, the captain recognized her from his time in the Holy City; she was the most skilled swordsman he had ever seen.
“I know you,” she seemed to recognize him as well, her green eyes glinting. “You were at the academy in Iranása when I trained there; remind me of your name.”
“Droln Erapel, my lady.”
“Droln, of course,” she smiled. “Top of your class, I remember. And you have been made captain, I see. Impressive at your age. Well done.”
He bowed with his head in humble thanks.
“This is my wife, Princess Felana,” Princess Leara gestured to the woman beside her, who was in fact delicate and lovely; her black hair was also plaited for travel, framing a soft face with a warm, dusky complexion.
The other princess nodded politely from atop her steed. At first Droln thought that she looked quite stern, with a grim mouth and stiff, slender shoulders, but then he saw that there was something more to her appearance. Her eyes, which were a deep earthy brown, looked like troubled waters, and her brow bore the many lines and creases of one who holds heavy cares in her heart. The tunic and robe she wore was such a dark shade of blue that it was like the night sky; the hand that held the reins bore a ring of gold that was fashioned in the image of juniper, with fine needles and berries, and Captain Droln realized that Princes Felana was in mourning.
“Welcome, my lady,” he greeted. “My lord Prince Tolké asked me to escort you to the royal palace.”
Princess Leara gestured for him to lead the way, and the parade continued through the streets. Many of the citizens bowed as they passed, and some pointed for their friends to see the passing princesses with their banners and magnificent horses. Although he had not been specifically instructed, the captain knew to bring them through the northern palace gate, where it would be easiest for the travelers to house their steeds and unload their luggage. Prince Tolké was waiting there, and as soon as she saw him, Leara urged her mare into a trot to reach him faster, dismounting before even coming to a full stop and sweeping him into a tight hug that lifted him off his feet. He had been holding a lantern tied with a white ribbon to welcome them, but it fell to the cobblestones in the vigor of her greeting.
The rest of the company caught up and began to dismount and unload the carts of their luggage and trunks, and several dogs jumped down to join the bustle as well. Droln made sure to dismount quickly to offer Princess Felana assistance, but she had no trouble getting down on her own and joining her wife in greeting the prince. The three of them kissed one another’s cheeks and laughed and chattered, noting that Tolké had grown even taller since the last time they met, but still no taller than Leara, and mentioned all the things they planned to do while the princesses were in town.
“I nearly don’t mind that your city is hotter than hell,” Leara declared. “I’m just so glad to see you.”
“I’ve missed you terribly,” he replied, taking her hand. “Please stay as long as you can this time.”
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“Until spring, maybe,” Felana nodded.
“I told my father to not expect me home for New Year’s, but we shall see what the captain allows.”
Droln, baffled, at first thought she was speaking about him, until another enormous figure passed him to greet Prince Tolké with a bow.
“Captain Kafün, welcome!” the prince offered a hand to shake, even bowing a little.
Droln had also seen Captain Kafün di Hayo at the academy, but had kept his distance from the imposing swordsman; he was of similar stature to Princess Leara, and wore a black patch over his left eye. Although he was as distinguished as Sir Emyal was among swordsmen, little was known about his personal life, save for the fact that he had come to the Holy Empire with Leara’s Jasterene mother. Droln recalled hearing gossip that the captain was the princess’ true father, or perhaps her uncle, but seeing them side by side, he could not be sure. They were the only people of Jaster that he had ever seen in person, and it was possible that fair skin and reddish hair were common there.
“Let us go inside where it’s cool,” Tolké invited, picking up the fallen lantern.
“Horses first,” Leara corrected, bringing her black mare toward the stables.
“You must be tired from the road,” Captain Droln reached for her reins, but she did not release her hold on them.
“Not so tired,” she replied with a self-sure smile.
“Leara prefers to handle her own steeds,” Tolké explained to Droln, and the captain respectfully took a step back.
“If you don’t mind, Captain,” Princess Felana addressed him. “I myself am travel weary.”
“Gladly,” Droln took over for her, and she excused herself to retreat inside the palace. The captain followed the cousins to the stables, remaining quiet so the two could enjoy their reunion undisturbed, but it wasn’t long before Tolké included him after all.
“Droln loves horses almost as much as you do,” he told the princess as they removed the bridles.
“I can tell,” she nodded. “He handles them well.”
“I worked as a stable boy and farrier before attending the academy.”
“You never told me that,” Tolké sounded surprised, taking the saddle from Droln’s arms.
The captain did not reply to this, only shrugging a little; Tolké shook his head and gave him a look that seemed perhaps a little annoyed, but more curious than anything. There was plenty that the prince didn’t know.
“Such a beautiful horse,” Droln changed the subject, admiring the shiny black coat of Princess Leara’s mount.
“Her name is Delín,” she replied proudly. “She’s a West Plain Coren. One of ten that Felana gave me as a gift when I graduated from the academy.”
“Ten?” the captain whispered to himself. He would never get used to the wealth of this life. He did not even own a horse; the mare he used belonged to the royal guard, and he had to pay a monthly fee to ensure no one else would ride her.
“Your lucky number,” Tolké laughed, oblivious of his companion’s shock. “What a thoughtful wife you have, cousin.”
“If you have no further need of me, my lady,” Captain Kafün addressed the princess once his own steed was housed in a stall. “I have letters for the king I was asked to personally deliver.”
“Yes, of course,” she allowed. “But please rest when you are finished.”
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After parting ways with the princess, Captain Kafün made his way inside the royal palace, finding the king’s study. The door was closed, and a servant standing outside informed him that the king was in a meeting, so he waited.
It wasn’t long before he was approached by a familiar figure.
“Captain Kafün di Hayo,” Sir Emyal Usul greeted, extending a hand in welcome.
“Sir Emyal,” he replied, clasping his arm amicably. They did not exchange smiles or or sentimental well wishes, but they had known one another so long that the gladness to see one another was silently understood.
“You’re looking quite old,” the knight smirked. His own braided hair had begun to grey as well, and there were new lines on his dark face that had not been at their last meeting.
“Yes,” Captain Kafün agreed simply. His once fiery beard had paled to a nearly blonde color, with only a hint of the gingery warmth of his youth.
“I am off duty; join me for a drink like old times.”
“Off duty,” Kafün grunted. “You are head of the knights of the king’s order. That duty never ends.”
“My men are not so incompetent that they depend on me at every moment. Come.”
“I must give these letters to my lord King Gaon,” the captain protested.
“They can wait,” Sir Emyal chuckled. “His meetings with the city magistrate are never brief; her mouth flaps like a fish in a basket.”
At this comment, Kafün let out a short sigh, nodding at last. Pleased, Sir Emyal patted him on the back, leading him through the halls of the palace. As they walked, all those they encountered quickly moved out of their way; some knew them and moved out of respect, and others were simply intimidated by their enormous height and the authority in their strides. When they passed the practicing courtyard, Captain Kafün cast a judging eye into it, looking to where some of the knights and others hoping to one day receive that title were exercising their swordplay skills with one another.
“Newly recruited?” he asked, although he did not require an answer, as he continued speaking. “They’re all so young. And tiny. The captain that welcomed us at the gate looked like a boy.”
“Some have promising potential,” Sir Emyal replied coolly, not allowing himself to take offense at the criticism.
“I doubt it. Soldiers aren't what they used to be.”
Sir Emyal welcomed Captain Kafün into his study, pouring him a cup of ferasa and pulling one chair toward another so they could talk near the window.
“Perhaps,” the knight mused as he sat. “The legacy of a knight has diminished.”
“Or perhaps,” Kafün suggested. “You are not hard enough on them.”
Although his words were of criticism, Sir Emyal only laughed. After decades of rivalry between the two, comparing scars and students, any insults they exchanged were either accepted or ignored.
“It isn’t fair,” Sir Emyal joked. “I have dozens of students, and you just the one.”
“Princess Leara is not my only student,” the captain corrected him, sipping his wine.
“No?”
“My lord Prince Tol-”
“Tolké?” the knight scoffed. “He hardly practices these days. Whenever you aren’t here, he becomes rather lazy.”
“I knew that would happen,” Kafün chuckled humorlessly, drinking again. “He has some natural talent, but lacks ambition. Unless he changes his ways, his abilities are wasted. If only the talent had been gifted to one who would use it.”
When he finished speaking, he shook his head and gazed out the window to the growing twilit shadows of the trees in the garden below. Sir Emyal stroked the tiny black curls of his beard, watching him intently; perhaps once again wondering how Kafün had injured his left eye. Although they had known one another for nearly thirty years, and had shared countless stories of battles, the one wound that remained secret was the one hidden beneath the black patch. He had known better than to ask. They sat in silence for a time before the knight spoke at last.
“Is it true that spies from Aris have been discovered in the royal courts of the north?”
“Yes,” Kafün replied, staring ahead. “In Yannua, anyway. But not in Iranása yet. It will likely be quite awhile before anyone dare disturb the peace of the Holy City.”
“You're not worried then.”
Captain Kafün shook his head.
“It’s only a matter of time, Kafün,” Sir Emyal warned. “First there will be spies, but as soon as they find a reason to declare war on the Holy Empire, they will.”
“I know. But still I am not worried. She’ll be ready.”
Sir Emyal raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve been training Leara with this in mind?”
“Among other things,” Captain Kafün set his now empty cup upon the windowsill.
Before the knight could reply, one of his officers entered hastily.
“Sir,” he began, glancing nervously at the enormous,unfamiliar captain sitting at the window.
Sir Emyal turned, ready to listen, ignoring Kafün who was smirking behind him; he delighted in the fear of others and reveled in his reputation of intimidation.
“What is it?” Sir Emyal prodded.
“There was a raid of a sorcerer’s workshop,” the nervous soldier reported. “We brought him in for questioning.”
“Illegal magic?” the knight clarified, but the officer only shrugged. “I’ll be there shortly,” Sir Emyal sent the soldier on his way, setting his cup of ferasa on his desk and removing his outer robe, casting it upon his chair and opening the wardrobe in which his armor was housed.
“Practicing magic is not against the law,” Kafün muttered, leaning back in his chair with a wooden creak. “How can you call it illegal?”
“The king is worried about Arisene spies. We know that they practice magic, so it is where we are starting.”
“What if they are citizens?”
“We let them go, of course.” He began removing the steel pieces from the wardrobe and donning them one by one.
“But still it is not illegal.”
“Practicing magic is legal,” the knight agreed. “But selling it requires a permit.”
“And you are interrogating them yourself?” Kafün smirked. “I thought your men were not incompetent.”
“All to serve my lord and king,” he replied with an amused tilt of his head, tightening the buckles on his armguard.
Kafün chuckled stood to help tie a strap on Emyal’s shoulder before hitting him fondly on the back and exiting the room. “Don't do anything I wouldn't,” he called as he left.
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Later that afternoon, after the newly arrived party had gotten a chance to rest from the road, they gathered for tea in the king’s private rooms to exchange news. Tolké had not been officially invited by his brother, but he followed Leara and Felana as they went anyway; he did not know how interesting or dull the discussion would be, but he did not want to be excluded from a family gathering, and it wouldn’t hurt to learn of what had been happening in the north.
“I received the letters from your father,” Gaon told Leara as they entered the parlor. “As well as word from his Imperial Holiness. I will have to look at them more closely later, but from what I can tell, things in Valasno are going well.”
“Well enough,” the Valasni princess agreed as they sat around the tea table. “Either well or unremarkable. The situation at the Arisene border remains unchanged.”
“Still no peace?” Tolké could not help speaking up. Gaon looked at him with a silent blink, as if to ask what his interest in the topic might be. “Captain Droln told me that he fought at the border,” the prince added, wondering if he should have kept quiet.
“Did he?” Leara seemed a little surprised. “He does not strike me as one who has seen war so closely.”
“He doesn’t like to talk about it.” The prince dutifully began to pour the greenish-gold tea for each of them, as he was the youngest present.
“And what of news from Yannua?” the king changed the subject, looking to Princess Felana now.
“News from Yannua is dark indeed,” Felana replied gravely. “Death and death.”
The king’s wife, Princess Yurí, placed a sympathetic hand on Felana’s arm at this declaration. Both she and her attendant Lady Andra were also dressed in shades of dark blue to express condolences for the Yannuan princess’ mourning.
“First,” Felana began after a sip of the steaming brew. “In early spring, a ship of the royal fleet sank just off the coast; two of my cousin’s daughters drowned. Not a month later, my great uncle’s daughter was injured in a horse racing accident.”
“It was no accident,” Leara muttered into her cup, but it was heard by all.
As intrigued as King Gaon seemed to be by this claim, as indicated by a curious dart of his eyes toward his cousin, he maintained his attention on Felana.
“Your great uncle, the king?” he confirmed. “His daughter, the heir to the throne?”
The Yannuan princess nodded.
“She will recover,” she said, her dark eyes lighting a bit with encouragement, but then her face fell again. “But just before we left Iranása, word came that my aunt became ill and died shortly after.”
Another sympathetic sigh came from Princess Yurí, who now kindly took Felana’s hand in both hers.
“Your family has endured many losses in so short a time,” Gaon sighed, shaking his head. “I am terribly sorry for such misfortunes.”
“Misfortunes?” Princess Leara repeated, scowling as she set her now empty cup on the table loudly. “Leave fortune and misfortune be! Orshin-ki had no hand in these fates; these were murders. Even the illness was the work of poison. Do you not see? They are removing all natural heirs!”
Tolké, who had immediately moved poured another cup of tea for the princess, now looked up in alarm.
“What will happen if there is no natural heir?” his voice was high with worry. “Will they be forced to declare an unrelated heir?”
“There is always a natural heir,” Gaon reassured his brother, although he sounded distracted. “Even if they are a distant branch of the tree, one can always be found.”
The young prince seemed comforted by this, although he now turned to Felana, taking her other hand sincerely.
“Are you in danger?” he asked, although it was nearly a whisper.
Princess Felana opened her mouth to answer, but saw that her wife was watching her carefully from across the table. She nodded just a little.
“Leara thinks that I am.”
“Perhaps you are,” Princess Yurí cautioned. “If spies and assassins are at work in Yannua, who is to say they have not made plans in the rest of our courts?”
“Precisely,” Lady Andra agreed. “Keeping far from the royal island does not guarantee the safety of those in line.”
“I am hardly in line for the Yannuan throne,” Felana disagreed.
“You weren’t,” Leara countered. “Until these recent deaths. Now you’re that much closer.”
“Why are they doing this?” Tolké asked, looking at each of them as if they knew.
“Who can say for sure?” Felana sighed, her usually warm brown skin paler than usual; there were dark circles under her eyes and she had a tired, distant look to her. No one seemed to have anything further to add, either of speculation or of denial, merely reflecting on all that had happened.
“Never mind, Kay,” Princess Leara suddenly ended the dreary discussion, reaching across the tea table to pat Tolké’s arm reassuringly. “Do not trouble yourself with far-off dangers.”
The prince glanced at the mourning princess beside him, receiving a small but encouraging smile.
“You and I are both safe,” Felana promised. “We each have brave and skillful soldiers by our sides, hm?”
Tolké followed her gaze back across the table to her wife, who gave an affectionate salute in return. Perhaps Captain Droln would be even more valuable than he had thought.