What Enchantment Hides - Book 1

Chapter 2

         The rough ties were pulled tight on the front of her corset for her. Her bottoms were tied tightly as well. The priestesses were meticulously preparing her to enter the ring. They fussed over the rough fabric and the thin rope to be certain that she was prepared according to tradition. Everything was done in a specific order and by a designated priestess. Tahnni held her arms up over her head with her feet placed shoulder width apart. The women felt every crease in the fabric to make sure it fell correctly while she stood in her position. They gave her their nod and she lowered her arms and closed her legs. She was barefoot except for a ring on her small toe on her left foot along with an ankle bracelet on her left ankle. They had the emblems of Misheth on each. She gazed out at what little she could see of the arena. There was a bull dancer out there presently. He was strong and agile, not impressively tall, but not short. He had a toned chest and arms, toned legs and back. Though not large, she could glimpse his muscles rippling under his skin as he performed. She was ushered back to what was happening when her head was pushed down to her chest and a priestess aggressively brushed her hair forward. Then her head was forced back up and her hair was brushed back quickly and tediously. Another woman from the temple came and proceeded to paint her face. Tahnni closed her mouth and stared straight ahead without moving. She heard the crowd erupt into applause and some “boo’s” as the man finished his dance. The negative reactions from the crowd is a bad sign. This could very well be his last dance, she thought. He would either be purchased and sacrificed to make up for his mistakes in pleasing Misheth, or he would be sold to the temple as a living sacrifice to physically please the priestesses and some of the priests. She shook her head to get rid of the thoughts and refocus but was flicked in the throat for the movement. The women finished fussing with her hair and painting her face and then handed her a small, clay bottle. Tahnni took a quick, deep breath and downed the thick, dark liquid inside. She grimaced and stuck out her tongue for a moment from the horrible taste. She was jostled to the entrance of the arena as the previous performer exited. In the middle of the sandy setup was the altar. It was covered in burn marks, with shreds of charred rope around its base and dark stains from blood along its stone surface.

         She swallowed deeply. It was a constant reminder that once people began to dislike a dancer’s performance for the sun god, their sacrifice was required to make amends for the displeasure they have caused. She glanced back at the bull dancer as he wiped the sweat off of his body and he met her gaze. For just a moment she saw an anxious glaze, but then it was gone. A deep whooshing sound turned her attention back to the arena she stood before. The rings were being lit. The fire burned up the metal to create a lethal hoop. Tahnni felt her hair gently, then ran her hands down her slim torso to her exposed thighs. She was ready. She had been covered with a non flammable oil from her hair down to her toes, avoiding only her face and the painted places on her abdomen. The horn was blown and she entered with arms held high. The crowd erupted in cheers and hoots and hollers. Men whistled and shouted. Priests gave her hungry stares. A few priests gestured to some other people and suddenly a few of the cheers and applause became negative. Tahnni’s heart began to pound in her chest. She hadn’t even begun yet. She tried to ignore it as best she could. Yet there sat the altar of sacrifice in the middle of her setup like a mocking beast winking at her, waiting to devour her whole. The sand was hot against her feet as she ran across the expanse, pulling two torches off of their holders on either side of her. Without stopping or slowing down, she leaped onto a stand and launched herself through a burning hoop, turning belly up and blowing fire out from the ring and lighting her two torches ablaze. She caught sight of more priests waving their hands and nodding to people across the stadium. People began hurling insults down from their seats as others applauded her skill. She was not going to make it back to her room tonight. She just knew it.

         Cornelius watched from the stands with furrowed brows. He saw the way the priests had looked hungrily at the girl as she exited the rooms outside of the arena and came into the open. He watched as their appointed saboteurs were placed in strategic places throughout the crowd as to be heard clearly when they signaled for them to show displeasure in the ritual and the performer. It disgusted him. He had traveled all the way from Kezna, knowing what he would encounter, but being sickened by it nonetheless. Either the people of Dorsha believed so deeply in the purity and holiness of the temple, or they were willfully ignorant of the deep corruption in order to not give up their religion. Their lust drove them to force her into the auction so they could buy her for the temple. The young man as well. Just as it ended, the old man hurried from his place in the stands to reach the market as quickly as possible. The selling of human sacrifices came immediately at the end of the ritual, before the regular slave auction - women first and then the men. He must hurry. His contact would be waiting to help them escape the city. Once he finished at the auction, his time was limited. Things would have to be explained to the two slaves later.

         

         Tahnni stood on the platform, facing the crowd. How had this happened? Was her face not painted right? Did they not tie her clothing correctly? Did she have knots still left in her hair? She took a deep, shaky breath and looked out over the crowd. She was exposed in the market square. She wore very little and could see men gawking at her, husbands, fathers, sons, grandfathers, all stared at her, eyes filled with lust as they passed by. The bidding started.

         She listened to the competing bids until suddenly, only three people were competing for her, then two. “Five thousand pence!” Her mouth dropped open without her permission. She was roughly shoved off the platform and caught by the temple guard who was less than respectful with his hands. An old man came around the platform, counted out his money and handed it to the high priest who glared disapprovingly at him the entire time, angry to lose out on his expected prize. When the money was counted out and confirmed, the old man put his hand on her back and directed her out of the square center to a basin of water. He had her wash her face and the marks of paint on her abdomen. Then they proceeded to the common market. The stone colosseum was left behind as well as the temple. There were vegetable stands, clothing vendors, jewelry carts and animal hides. There were men with cobras coiled up their bodies and magicians with cards and coins. A seer sat back in an alley with a sign at the street with an arrow pointing to where she waited in silence until someone ventured to realize their future. There were guards off duty teasing young women who were backed against the side of a building giggling nervously while a group of small boys threw rocks at a stray dog. Tahnni walked into the back of the old, cloaked man who had stopped in front of her when she was distracted. He showed her clothing and waited for her approval. She nodded, not actually knowing if it would fit her since they were not standard temple servant garments. He walked with her a bit further and came to a house just outside of the market area where the streets were much quieter and people walked more leisurely. He rapped on the door twice and it opened. They went inside. The occupant was a middle aged man. He was not very round, but was a large, hefty man with dark brown hair streaked with gray and white. His wife came out of a room further back with a toddler and covered the child’s eyes at the sight of the scantily clad, temple dancer. The husband led Tahnni into a private room to change into something a bit more decent and easy to travel in.

         She changed, confused as to what was going on. But then she heard the old man and the owner of the house speaking in quiet tones.

         She heard the old man ask, “How long have you known she worked in the temple?”

         The other responded with a smooth, low voice- not young and high, but not old and deep either. “I saw that it was the princess two years ago. But with the ritual festivals only happening twice a year, it was difficult to confirm. I have a lot of connections that provided me with information. If we were found out we could be in a lot of real danger.”

         The older man was probably nodding. “Yes… yes. We would be. I was surprised that there was not a great deal of resistance to me purchasing her in the auction.

         The other man swallowed loudly and took in a shaky breath. “That worries me, Cornelius. The priests are not at all unaware concerning her identity.”

         She exited the room she had been changing in and the men ceased their discussion. The younger man looked at her and spoke to his friend. “Still, my friend, if you feel the need to go back to the market, I will keep her safely here with me until you return.” They shook hands and the old man put his hand on her shoulder gently before leaving the house.

         “Come,” the husband said, “you must be hungry. We have dinner freshly prepared. Take what you want and eat till you are content.” She hesitated, looking around. The mother with their toddler came out with a shy smile and beckoned her to the table.

         Cornelius made his way back to the market square just as a young man was put up for auction. He was tanned and muscular. He was not large, but toned and well built. He was shirtless in the hot sun, his short hair shiny with his sweat.

         Rove stood, silent before the priests of Misheth. He did not know which he would hate less, being sacrificed gruesomely in the center of the arena or being the temple plaything for men and women. All temple servants were required to refrain from any sexual activity until they were either confirmed as priests or they were purchased in order to provide sexual service in the temple halls, rooms and wherever else Misheth pleased. He glanced up at the sky, the glaring sun hot and blinding. His feet felt hot on the stone and his head was foggy from fasting and anxiety. He heard the bidders in front of him calling out the amounts they were willing to pay to either kill or rape him. Neither really seemed like a good option to him so he preferred to not know or even think about it until he could avoid it no longer. He was pushed roughly off the platform, having to catch himself because unlike with the girls, the guards felt no obligation to catch him. He was brought around the side of the platform where Cornelius had just begun to count out his coins for the second time that day. He paid the priest and took hold of Rove’s arm aggressively, shoving the slave in front of him toward the crowded market streets. Priests stared after him, whispers filling the air as they tried to figure out what he was up to. The young man stumbled and suddenly felt a strong hand steady him before pushing him forward again.

         When they exited the market place, they continued a little further to a quiet street with fewer people. Cornelius put his hand on Rove’s shoulder to stop him while he rapped his knuckles twice against the door to a house. A man opened the door, revealing the fire dancer from earlier inside. The large man ushered the two in quickly before peering outside and shutting the door behind them.

         Cornelius apologized to the young man for treating him so roughly in the streets. “I could not allow any suspicion to surround me.” Rove tilted his head in confusion as he was handed a tunic, breeches and boots from the owner of the house. He pulled them on and looked around, as if silently asking someone to explain the situation. Instead of explaining further, Tahnni was instructed to bring him to a back room to wash up. She was also instructed to wash the oil from her ritual dance out of her hair. When the two acquaintances got into the back room, Tahnni left the door slightly ajar and put her finger to her lips, tilting her head toward the room they just left to imply that he should listen.

         The men’s previous conversation continued in earnest. They heard the old man speak up first. “I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality.”

         The younger man responded, his voice sounding strained and anxious. “Cornelius, you know I would have you stay days instead of hours. However, I feel that our hospitality is forced to expire quicker than we would like. We can give you food to eat on the road and we can lend you a horse, but there is nothing more that we can do beyond that. Please leave in haste, stay safe and do not leave by the main gate.”

         “I understand,” responded Cornelius.

         “I still do not understand why you went back for the boy when you already have the princess.”

         There was a brief pause and the two young adults washed as silently as possible to continue listening. “He is an elf. His skills will come in handy as he travels with her. It will not be an easy road and she is completely unprepared. I do not have the time nor the stamina to train her. What she needs to learn, she will have to learn in her travels.”

         Rove and Tahnni came back in and the conversation continued casually as if it had not been in secret just a moment before.

         A few minutes later, farewells were exchanged and they were led out the back to a small barn where the husband saddled and bridled a black horse. He filled the saddle bags with food and a cloak for Rove and handed over the reins. The men embraced and the former temple servants mounted the horse and were led down alleyways to the small, side gate of the city. When they were through the gate, Cornelius turned toward a grove of trees and bushes. A servant boy stood, holding a gray dappled stallion. The old man dropped a few coins into his hand and sent him off, mounting the horse himself.

         “You two are going to have to keep up. We have a rigorous and long path ahead of us, but we must extinguish any possibility of you two being recognized or any questions being asked. We will lay low for a bit before you two go off on your own. I will explain more at a later time. For now, we must ride.”

         

         After a week or so of travel, they had skirted Harta, putting good effort into avoiding any contact with mercenaries. They traveled carefully south, through the Lowlands toward wherever the old man lived alone.

         Rove looked around to take in the new scenery. Trees rather than desert bushes. Blue sky rather than the dusty air. Beautiful birds rather than scavengers. He began to remember them all. But most of all he remembered her. He hadn’t had a reason to remember her in the years that he had been held captive in the city of slave traders. But with this new freedom, he thought about her. It all came back to him like a flood. Her eyes. Her hair. Her wings. Oh, the melodic sound of her voice! He remembered it like it was yesterday. He had been so young and yet he was still so entranced by her. Nothing escaped his memories. He gazed up at the clouds passing lazily by, and the trees waving in the breeze. He heard the birds with their sweet songs and he smiled.

         They rode until the moon rose in the heavens and the sun retired to its sunken home. The stars hung above them in the indigo expanse as they set up camp. The old man picked up one of the long sticks that Rove had collected to build a fire with, and in the light of the flame, he instructed Rove on the art of swordplay as he had each night since their trip began. Being an elf, he learned quickly and retained everything after being shown only once. Tahnni lay out her cloak on the ground and pulled a blanket over her, watching the men’s shadows dance around like wraiths in the darkness. After a time she rolled over and closed her eyes, drifting off into a world of dreams, both good and bad, and all about the conversations she was not supposed to have heard.

         No one had really spoken much since leaving Dorsha, other than Cornelius giving instructions. Tahnni was the first to really break the silence. “What is your story?”

         The young man was surprised to hear her ask about him suddenly. “What?”

         She turned her head a bit to look at him from the corner of her eye from her seat in front of him. “What is your story? Is Rove your real name? Did you have a life before Dorsha?”

         He shook his head as if trying to knock the surprise out of it and answered. “Kikarii,” he finally said. “My name is Kikarii.”

         Tahnni repeated it quietly as if trying to figure out if it suited him better than Rove. She must have decided that it did because she continued. “Okay, Kikarii, what is your story?”

         The young man could feel the horse’s muscles rippling under the leather of the saddle, and could hear the muffled sound of the hooves beating the dirt in a slow drumbeat as they rode. Kikarii took a deep breath and looked up at the sky as he traced his thoughts back all those years ago. “Do you really want to know?” Tahnni nodded in front of him, so he began. “It was twelve years ago…”

         Everyone knew of the forest angels. They were known for being a neutral people, keeping to themselves almost as much as the Elves. Though they were immortal, they lived like normal humans and Elves. Like the Elves, they kept to themselves in their forests and mountains in the West Highlands, with the exception of political talks and trade. Diplomats like Kikarii's father were common for the sake of keeping relationships between the races civil and open. Yet any real relationships were forbidden. There were rumors that once, an angel and a woman fell in love. The angel gave up his immortality and his wings were lost. He had chosen the woman over his life in Ynhilay as an immortal. The story was told as a cautionary tale. No one outside of Ynhilay was allowed to have any sort of personal relationship with the forest angels.

         Kikarii followed his father Fraynik further into the forest. They stopped in a small clearing near a ring of tall shrubs. A large forest angel dropped down from above and stood before them. He was a watcher and a governmental contact; a warrior and a dignitary. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail and his eyes were sharp. Around his neck hung a pendant signifying his rank. His stark white wings folded down from their full span. The angel was tall, well built, and came off as only a little friendly. And he was divine in appearance and presence. Slightly under a deity, the young elf thought. Immortal unless killed: he was a sight to behold for sure.

         “Raimor,” his father greeted.

         “Fraynik, walk with me.”

         As they spoke, a slightly lesser flutter of wings and a small breeze brought Kikarii’s head around, so that he was face to face with the most phenomenal creature he could have ever imagined. She was such a creation that she took his very breath away. Her wings were as white as snow before it settled on the ground. Her hair was as shining gold, and her features were far beyond comparison with even the most divine sunset. Her amethyst eyes were like crystals, and her laugh was like the sweetest melody. She nodded her head to the side, towards the trees, and giggled. The boy glanced back at his father and saw that he was oblivious to his presence. He would not mind if the boy walked around for a time.

         Looking back at the winged girl, he smirked and copied her gesture of nodding to the trees. The little girl giggled again and flew to the cover of the leaves. Hurriedly, he followed, glancing back once to see Fraynik completely taken with his conversation. After a moment, he reached an opening where his acquaintance stood, waiting.

         “I’m Ariah. And obviously, you’ve never seen a forest angel,” she cooed, sweet like a melody and childish like an excited baby bird. There was her giggle again. He was drowning in the sound. Her voice captivated him. To him, the title angel certainly was an understatement, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

“My name is Kikarii. And you are right. I’ve never seen anything that could compare to an angel like you…” His voice faded as he became self-conscious. Then her giggle echoed in his ears and he found himself laughing along with her. Her face flushed, and her purple eyes laughed cheerfully when she looked at him. Kikarii found himself gazing into them. They were such a deep, intriguing color that he found it hard to look at anything else. They were like windows before you cleaned them, her emotions hiding until someone got close enough to wipe away the covering and see through them. He doubted that he ever could. In fact he doubted that any human, or even an elf, had the ability to see behind a forest angel’s eyes.

         Ariah searched the ground, found a round stone. She picked it up and tossed it to Kikarii. They tossed it back and forth, their joyful laughter keeping silence at a distance. “Tonight. The courtyard behind the inn. We can play more.” Ariah said quietly. Kikarii smiled, his expression showing his excited agreement.

         “Rye!” A harsh yet melodic voice echoed off the surrounding trees. Their laughter ceased as they both obediently turned to face the sound. Ariah’s face went pale, and she glanced at Kikarii. Fraynik walked up behind him, his deep set eyes piercing.

The young forest angel stepped forward. “Yes, father?” she answered, her voice frail and soft. Her eyes stared at the forest floor as she awaited her punishment.

Raimor leaned down and spoke quietly to her. Kikarii’s father stepped in front of him, clearly angry. Yet the boy’s eyes wandered around Fraynik to view his female acquaintance. She looked ashamed, her eyes focused on a blade of grass. They flicked up to meet his gaze, but were, even faster, returned to the green carpet below her feet. He watched Raimor flick her forehead, saw her flinch, and withdrew his eyes from her. After a word between the adults, Kikarii was led back to the inn to spend the night.

         Keen gray eyes searched the darkness, and young ears observed the silence. Rhythmic breathing filled Kikarii’s head as he slunk past his father who lay sleeping on a cot outside his door. He moved by without incident, and soon was free to hasten to the meeting place.

His mouth uttered words softly as he sneaked through the corridor, the moonlight seeping through the high windows. Despite his lack of years, he used his elven magic easily. His shadow disappeared and he became invisible to prying eyes. His freedom to roam made it simple to find where he needed to go. The front door neared, and he turned down a hallway. There was a back door that he had seen when he had wandered around at their first arrival. Taking a distrustful glance behind himself, he opened the back door and walked through, closing it behind.

He came out to the side of the courtyard. A tree six yards away stood alone, except for a single forest angel sitting against its trunk. As he approached, she stood and ran to him, her crystal eyes reflecting the moon, and her smile breathtaking. Again, he was dumbfounded by her perfection. She would grow to be the most beautiful of creatures; he was sure of it. They looked around before running into the cover of the brush.

They dropped to the soft, forest carpet as they tried to stifle their giggles. A circle of tall bushes surrounded the two children. Their backs were cushioned by the soft grass and their eyes gazed up into the starry sky. She sat up, and he heard a jingle, and looked at her to see a chain hanging from her clenched fist. On the end was a little orb of angelfire (a deep red gem with a splendor far surpassing any ruby, only found in the mountains of Ynhilay). It had wings outspread to either side. He sat up, letting Ariah place it over his head. Kikarii looked at her, his face questioning.

         “I knew as soon as I saw you that you were the one,” she said. “Forest angels attach to their partners when they are very young. As soon as we see them, we know that they are the one. It is a type of instinct, I guess. We bind ourselves to the one we choose. You’re the one, Kikarii.”

         “Why me?” he asked.

         “Just instinct I guess,” the girl said. “I bind myself to you, Kik.”

         “Then I bind myself to you,” he replied, not really understanding the implications of what was happening. All he knew is he loved being around her and he loved that she nicknamed him. She looked back at the stars, and he found her hand and took hold of it. Their fingers intertwined, and Ariah felt something in his palm. She looked over at him, and he lifted up their hands with a cheeky grin on his young face. He let her take her hand away, and in it rested a ring. The band held two bird wings that bore a shining part of an elven crystal. It complimented her eyes, and in her palm, it seemed to match her in all her glory. The girl put it on and admired it, before hugging him. He blushed, his face turning a deep sanguine. They laid back down, content with each other’s company.

         It seemed like hours that they lay there, staring into the sky, admiring the stars. The sound of nightlife sang around them, trapping them in their own timeless world of beauty and adoration. They were both forest creatures and were both content to be quiet under the trees.

         Kikarii’s deep, gray eyes gazed at Ariah under the moonlight. Her hair was lit with a silver halo from the pale rays, and she seemed to give off an ephemeral glow. He rolled onto his side to face her, and she did the same. He smiled and she narrowed her eyes, her childish features wrinkling with suspicion, wondering what was going through his mind. A finger jabbed into her stomach and she squealed, breaking into shuddering giggles. He joined her with his own laughter, and they sat up to tickle each other in the quiet night. Fireflies darted through the crisp air around the two rowdy children as they held their stomachs and tried to stifle their squealing laughter.

         Suddenly Ariah stood and went silent, her eyes drawn to the starry sky. Kikarii joined her, but his eyes were glued to her face. All of nature seemed to quiet for just a second. Her voice broke the momentary silence, the sound as sweet as that of any bird. “Morning’s almost here. Our fathers will be awake soon” With one final look at her, Kikarii raced to the back door, and Ariah shot into the night sky. Slyly the boy crept back to his room. He closed his eyes, tucked the chain inside his tunic and, in moments, drifted away to a forest of angelic dreams of an incredibly adorable, winged girl.

         The morning came with a rough shaking. Kikarii jolted upright. “Get out of bed, Kikarii!” The boy was pulled up and dragged down the stairs. “You will answer all of Raimor’s questions. You hear me?” He blearily followed his father. But when the door was opened and he saw Ariah’s father standing there, the sleep fell from his eyes. He looked at the ground and shuffled his feet. The questions came like a hurricane. He stuttered as he answered, trying not to get the girl in trouble. Fraynik was ordered to take his son and leave that morning.

         When Kikarii came out of the inn to saddle the horses, Ariah pulled him behind the building. She removed her cowl and put a finger to her lips. “I know what’s going to happen to you. And I‘m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” She gave him a quick hug before disappearing into the trees.

         The news had reached Barkit by the time Kikarii returned, and the elves were in an uproar. Fraynik tried to cover his son from the scoffing. The head of the elven counsel called them to the center clearing. He held back his mercy.

“Kikarii is hereby banished from Barkit for participating in what is prohibited by the law of every race. He was relational with a forest angel.” The guards came up behind the boy, bringing a black horse. Fraynik grasped for his son, but they pulled him away with brutal force. Roughly, they pushed him up onto the horse’s bare back and, after whispering in its ear, slapped its rump. The horse galloped off, leaving a trail of ripped up grass in its wake.

Kikarii held on to the animal’s mane with all he had. He gripped the sides of the horse with his legs. The stallion broke through the barrier of trees and into the sun with astounding speed. He whispered to the horse, and the black steed slowed to a stop. The boy looked around him. This is it.

         Two days of riding dragged past before he came upon a deserted camp. He saw a sack and immediately dismounted and checked for food. Out of the bushes behind him came a shout and he was hauled off his feet and taken captive by traders. It was his last day as a child…

         “Kikarii?” Tahnni’s voice broke into his thoughts.

         He looked over at her. “What?”

         “I didn’t know if that was the end, but I asked if you’ve been back to your town or Ynhilay since.”

         “No.” He shook his head. “That was when I was brought to Dorsha. I can never return home or to the forest again.”

         

         More days passed and the men continued to train and practice fighting strategy. Cornelius made sure that the young man could think on his feet in a spur of the moment situation. Because of his elven blood, his sword training from childhood was easily refreshed in his mind and muscles. Soon, they arrived at a small hovel past the borders of the small town of Vecturn. Being an elf, Kikarii had already surpassed the level of swordsmanship that Cornelius was able to teach him by the time they reached the old man’s home. It made him feel good to know that he had moved beyond his teacher so quickly. He knew his skill and strength were something impressive and he expected those around him to recognize or comment on it. They did not. He pushed it from his thoughts, deciding there was plenty of time to show off in the coming weeks and months. Kikarii was free now. He could do whatever he wanted, right?

         It was serene around the old man’s house. The grass waved lazily in the fresh, slight breeze. Birds twittered on the branches of budding trees. A groundhog scurried around the hut, away from their oncoming presence. The sun shone brightly, like an orb of dazzling clarity over the landscape. The clarity of life outside of their bubble of servant-hood, the clarity of real freedom. However, the conversations overheard in Dorsha weighed heavily on them as they neared their destination - the details left out and the impossibility of what had been said. The old man would explain and they would realize that they had been severely mistaken, wouldn’t they?

         They pulled the horses to a stop in front of the small home. The two dismounted and Cornelius pulled Kikarii back with him to put the horses away while Tahnni made her way into the little abode. The inside was unimpressive and cramped. Even with the minimalist decor there was barely any space. Books and maps were piled, unorganized on the small table. One chair sat at the table. There was a small stove in the corner and jars of herbs on a shelf over that. The stove looked like it hadn’t been used in months. A small sleeping mat was laid down in a smaller area in the back with a sack at the head that must have been used as a pillow. Thin beams of light streamed in from cracks in the walls and around the shuttered windows, making dots of light across the floor, almost like a pathway. A few wooden utensils and other kitchenware lay scattered around. Tahnni stood, taking in her surroundings.

         She wandered in and looked around a bit more, peering into corners and gazing at the maps on the table. Kikarii and Cornelius appeared in the doorway and the old man lifted an eyebrow when he saw how curious the young woman was. He beckoned for her to take a seat and pulled up a stool from the back of the living space for the elf. Their aged host half sat, half stood against the stove in the opposite corner, still only a few feet away from his guests. He took a deep breath, scanned each of them with his eyes, and slowly let the air out. Even in their focused, expectant state, his voice startled them when it broke the silence. “You two have made my job a bit easier by eavesdropping on my conversation back in Dorsha. Now why don’t you tell me what you heard and I will fill in any details.”

         Tahnni gulped. How did he know? She tried to straighten her back in the chair and look confident. Cornelius turned his eyes to look into hers and any confidence she had managed to muster began shriveling like a grape in the sun. She flushed and stuttered a moment, looking to Kikarii for assistance. He shook his head and nodded toward the man across the room. It had been her idea. She was on her own. The elder broke into a sympathetic grin and laughed heartily at their nerves. “It’s alright,” he said kindly. “I assumed you would listen and as I mentioned a moment ago, you have made my job easier by doing so. Now, it will not just be my word speaking it, you have heard another as well.”

         Tahnni swallowed her anxiety and began again, able to form words this time. “You were speaking of the vanished princess of Kezna. It was obvious by the hushed tones and the way you spoke concerning the woman. Your friend mentioned that he found her and you agreed that you recognized her as well. But then you seemed to talk about me in the same conversation, as if I have something to do with her. I didn’t quite understand.”

         A warm yet knowing smile spread across Cornelius’ face and his features scrunched slightly in humorous joy. “You have everything to do with her, Calya. You are her.”

         

         “No! Leave my baby alone! Let her go!” The queen ran after the mercenaries as they stalked down the steps of the courtyard toward their horses. The guards lay motionless all around, blood pooled under their still warm, yet lifeless bodies.

         Cornelius came close and caught her arm, pulling her back against him. “Your highness! Go no further!” he said low and harsh into her ear as he held her tightly. “They have no respect for royalty, you must let them go. You must save yourself or they will strike you down. We must dispatch a messenger to the king in the Lowlands before the child is completely lost.” The queen struggled and flailed in his arms, tears of utter grief and sorrow making paths down her soft cheeks, dripping off her chin and wetting the stones at her feet. Her normally soft, serene and graceful calm was gone. Desperation, terror, grief. Only those replaced it. The queen fell, broken to her knees, sobs wracking her body as she leaned against her old friend and confidante. Her screams echoed in the courtyard; a loud, heartbreaking cry reverberating off of the surrounding stone. But louder still was the screeching cries of her infant daughter, her only child. The baby screamed and cried for its mother, understanding nothing except that things were not as they should be and her mother was not there.

         The mercenaries mounted and kicked their horses into a gallop out of the royal courtyard and down into the city. “My baby! Please! My baby girl! No!” The woman cried in one last desperate attempt to make them stop before screaming unintelligibly and heaving and throwing up on the ground and herself. Cornelius looked after the horsemen, broken and helpless to save the child as she was ripped from her mother’s arms and stolen away. His hard glare gave way to liquid grief and he joined the queen in shaking, sickening weeping.

         The horsemen raced through the city, but as they did, the townspeople heard the baby and some had even heard the screams echoing off the stone homes and streets from above the city. One man, a bricklayer, hurled a brick with all his might at one of the riders, knocking him from his saddle. It was not the man with the baby, but the people attacked him and began beating him to death before he had even hit the ground.

         Within the passing of one hour, the entire city was filled with a terrible wailing and weeping for their lost princess and their empathy and compassion for their beloved queen. People dressed in black and laid roses, lilies and other flowers at the top of the hill, at the entrance to the courtyard. Cornelius looked out of the window from the queen's room as a maid lay damp cloths over her forehead. After heavily sobbing and vomiting, she had passed out, losing consciousness under the hot and blinding sun. The prophet had carried her back into the great hall and laid her on her bed to be cared for.

         A messenger bird had been sent out immediately to alert the king of the occurrences back at home. All anyone could do now is wait. And they did. They waited and waited. Days passed and no word came back. One week later a messenger bird finally arrived with a notice rolled up in the small tube attached to its leg. One of the maids caught it and took off the tube, handing it to Cornelius. He unrolled the message, his face turning pale, the color draining in an instant. He dropped heavily to his knees and clutched his goatee and tore at his hair, dragging his fingers down over the wrinkled skin of his face in agony. The entire room stared in his direction. There was no sound except the far off whinnying of horses in the barn and dogs in the city nearby. Even the birds seemed to stop their song to watch and listen. The queen asked him to speak, but he could not. He could only hand her the small message that read The king has fallen. Long live the queen. How had this happened? The queen’s hands trembled, her lips quivered, her face lost its color as she slowly sank onto her throne that now seemed worthless and cold. In horror, she looked around the great hall. The massive, brightly lit chandeliers hung in a row, each 6 feet wide and 4 feet tall, constructed of gold and precious gems. She eyed the carpet runner with the royal insignias that covered the floor from the incredibly large, heavy wooden doors that led to the courtyard. She looked at the floors made of polished stone with veins of sparkling quartz and crystal. She looked at the stained glass windows where the sun shone in, gloriously turning many fantastic colors by the painted glass. The pillars that lined the hall were the same stone as the floor, chiseled by expert stone cutters. The walls were lined with draperies, embroidered with the royal family crest. Finally, she looked at her husband’s throne beside her and the tiny handmade cradle between the two seats of honor. At the sight of her husband’s empty place next to her and the vacant cradle, she let out such a high, anguished cry that it could have drawn the tears of possibly even the devil himself. She screamed in heartbroken sorrow, tears pouring like small waterfalls down her white cheeks. She bawled her hands into delicate, pale fists until her nails dug into her soft palms and small spots of blood appeared. Her maidens all wept beside and around her, still wearing black for the loss of their princess seven days prior.

         In the days that followed, her majesty refused to eat. A mother violently separated from her infant child. A wife torn from the only love she had ever known. A queen left in a cold, dark hall to rule on her own. Alone, bitter, broken and depressed, she began to fade. The days were counted and became weeks, and the queen neither ate nor drank. Nor did she leave her bed, her will to live trampled and destroyed, her heart hoping to cease its constant beating. Weaker and weaker, her maidens and servants and Cornelius could do nothing, but watch as the life of the last ruler dwindled like a low candle flame until it went out. Again, for the third time in only weeks, the entire city was filled with a dreadful mourning. It lasted throughout the day, not stopping with the setting sun, and continuing until it arose again in the morning. Shops remained closed, the fields lay untouched, children did not play in the streets, and women did not sell their husband’s work or their family’s vegetables. Everyone wore black and it was as if all joy had been ripped from the heart of every person. This continued while Cornelius sought to keep control. A steward was chosen to sit in place of the king and his queen. The army had returned to learn the saddening news, a royal funeral was conducted with all pomp and ceremony a king and queen could ever hope for. A third coffin, a smaller one, was put into the procession for the child. All three were placed into a mound behind the palace, an underground maze of passages and rooms that served as the royal burial place. Soon after, the steward Orin and his family assumed power and everything changed.