The Fall of Shaylar Read online

  Chapter Four

  Rivals

  483rd year of the Celaka

  Camon caught another glimpse of her in the marketplace, just as he had a week ago when he’d ridden through the valley. She had to be the most beautiful girl in the Kingdom. Her straw-colored hair flowed past her small waist in ringlets, tied at the back of her neck with a ribbon but falling over her shoulder each time she bent over to pick something up. The silky mass brushed the ground as she reached for another item. If he could be the ground for this moment in time…

  “Are you coming?” Sanrev poked him in the shoulder as he stopped his horse beside him. “What are you staring at?”

  “Nothing.” Everything. “And don’t poke me. It’s not dignified.”

  His brother laughed at him. No humility at all. “You’re not King yet. I’ll poke you as I please.”

  Sanrev jabbed him again for good measure and slapped the reins against his horse, riding off without him. Camon stole one last glance and found the girl staring back at him, dropping her head when she saw him focus on her. He smiled and slowly rode past, trusting his horse to know the way so he could keep her in his sight for as long as possible.

  Two days later, Camon spotted her on the castle grounds, heading toward the kitchen. He wound back through the castle and made a show of seeking out old Cook, ostensibly to check on the menu for tonight’s festivities.

  The girl wasn’t there, though he inspected each corner of the vast room.

  “Seeking out the mice, my Prince?” Cook gave him a wink when Camon jumped.

  “No, I…” Camon saw Cook’s easy smile and relaxed. The man had held this position since before Camon’s birth. He could be trusted not to say anything. “Who was the girl I saw coming this way? The one with all the blonde curls?”

  “Ah. She be Darlena, the new butcherman’s daughter. She’s to be one of the new serving girls.”

  “Darlena…” Her name melted on his lips and his heart gave a thump against his ribs.

  “I heard the Master of the Horse be bringing his daughter tonight to introduce to the Court. Maybe she’ll be pretty enough?”

  Camon heard the thought not spoken and gave Cook a stiff nod, sliding back out of the kitchen without another word. The daughter of the Master of the Horse was highborn; a butcherman’s daughter a lowborn peasant—not a suitable match for royalty.

  Dinner was lively; the music pleasant to listen to between conversations. Camon suffered through the introductions of several highborn girls, all the while watching to catch glimpses of Darlena as she served the lower tables in the hall. Not once did she look up at him and his heart sank.

  The daughter of the Master of the Horse looked like the animals her father cared for. The others didn’t strike him as much better, though Sanrev chatted with them all, escorting each one onto the dance floor after dinner. His brother seemed to take a perverse delight in bringing each one to the table afterward, loudly announcing that Camon would be honored to dance with them next.

  “Stop bringing me dance partners,” Camon shot from the corner of his mouth in a brief moment of rest between dances. “I can find my own.”

  “I’m only following orders.” Sanrev opened his eyes wide but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Our mother thought you might be shy this evening.”

  “She told you no such thing.”

  Sanrev shrugged. “Go ask her then.” He laughed and turned away as the musicians started up again. They both knew Camon couldn’t afford to ask her the question. After another dance with horse-girl, Camon longed to sneak off to the kitchen.

  It wasn’t fair. He knew how highborn marriages worked. The wife had most of the magic but couldn’t cast spells. She bequeathed her power to her husband, weaving the marriage torque to augment the one his mother had made for him. He touched the silver amulet suspended at his throat; the palm with a crescent moon and diamond nestled within it, signifying the House of Shaylar.

  He was of the Royal House. His magic was of the land—much stronger than any of the nobility, even those with a wife to augment their power. What would it matter if he chose a lowborn wife?

  She couldn’t weave a torque for our sons or teach our daughters to weave metal. He pushed the thought away as Darlena walked back into the hall, her arms laden with platters of sweets. Her presence outshone all the finery in the room, even though dressed in simple spun cloth. The other women faded into the background, pale substitutes against her radiance.

  Goosebumps traveled along his arms and he glanced down the long table to find his mother giving him an odd look, as if worried. Camon smiled at her and brought his wine cup to his lips, sipping the liquid as though his mind didn’t burn with a fever.

  “Mother wants to know if you’re feeling ill?” Sanrev informed him a few minutes later. “She says you look glassy-eyed.”

  Camon studied his brother—dark good looks, easy smile, adventuresome attitude—and felt a pang of jealousy. Sanrev did as he pleased. No responsibilities. Everybody liked him.

  Camon straightened in his chair and made a decision. “She’s right. I’m not well. Please make my excuses to her.”

  He stood and went up the back tower to his rooms, disconsolate about life in general and a fair-haired girl in particular. Kingship seemed like a poor substitute for a happy life.

  His brooding ended a week later as he sat in the middle of the apple orchard, watching the stars come out as the light faded from the sky. Camon lay on his back, wondering why the five stars overhead were called the Five Gates. Gates to what? They couldn’t be touched. Weren’t gates supposed to swing open and closed? Maybe the Old Ones had some purpose for them that people didn’t understand. Maybe that’s where their heads were kept, since they weren’t on their statues. He chuckled, then whispered an apology for his blasphemy.

  “Hello? Is someone out here?” A girl’s voice called in the darkness—not timid, only curious.

  Camon scrambled to his feet and peered into the darkness. “Who’s out there?”

  “Oh! I’m sorry, Prince Camon. I won’t disturb you.”

  Camon caught a glimpse of a swing of light hair and his stomach flopped over on itself. “Darlena? Is it you?”

  “Yes, my Prince.” She walked into view, her head lowered so he couldn’t see her face.

  A brashness overtook him and he reached her side in three long strides, putting a finger under her chin and lifting until she looked into his face. He saw she was no shy maiden for she smiled at him then—the curve of her lips begging him to taste them. A jolt of excitement flashed through his body until his limbs shook.

  She became the bolder of the two, guiding his hands in pleasurable ways he had no experience with. Her simple shift dropped to the ground and Camon thanked the Old Ones for delivering Darlena to him. They wouldn’t have allowed it if it wasn’t to be so. Teacher had told him the Old Ones willed everything to happen as it should be.

  They met most nights after the castle had retired. Camon found it easy to slip out through the servant doors in back. As for Darlena, she bunked with the other young women who served the royal family, no longer living with her parents down in the valley.

  Camon loved her for three blissful months—until the night Sanrev confronted him as he snuck back into the castle before the cock crowed. He found his brother leaning against the wall halfway up the tower steps, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “They know,” he said and gave Camon a shake of his head before walking back down the stairway, his boots hitting the stone with the measured beat of a funeral drum.

  The next morning his father called him into the room where the King conducted business, a room Camon seldom had reason to enter. He looked tired, Camon thought as he stood in front of his father’s massive desk. Older too.

  “The servant girl is being sent away,” his father said without glancing at him. “You will stay away from the lowborn from now on. Have I made myself clear?”

  Camon knew if he made a protest, Da
rlena would suffer for it. “Yes, Father.”

  His father looked into his face then, perhaps searching for the truth of his compliance. Camon kept his face calm with great effort, his hands balled into a knot behind his back.

  “You’re dismissed. Send in one of the guards on your way out.”

  Camon did as he was told, then ran outside. Where would she be this time of day? He searched through the knot of servants working in the garden, mud splattering their clothes as they picked the vegetables needed for tonight’s meal. She wasn’t there, so he turned toward the kitchen.

  The aroma of baked bread clung to her as Darlena rounded the corner by the huge stone ovens, surprise flitting across her face when she spotted him. “Good morning, Prince Camon.”

  Her subservience crushed his spirit. It was wrong to be forced to behave in a certain manner because of the family one was born into. Camon drew her body to him, not caring who saw his actions.

  “I love you,” he cried as she tried to pull away from him. “I’ll find you, I swear it. I’ll get you back.”

  “What are you saying?” Her eyes widened with fright as he released her.

  “Prince Camon, please step aside.” The voice behind him belonged to one of the King’s guards.

  Darlena hung her head, refusing to look at him. Camon stared as the guard took her by the arm, leading her toward the stables. He stood in place and watched as they rode away, Darlena never once raising her head to meet his eyes. Camon went up to his room and stared out the window for the rest of the day, wondering how he could get her back.

  Sanrev knocked on his bedroom door early in the morning, two days after Darlena had gone, his face drawn with worry. “I thought you should know. The servant girl was killed yesterday morning by her father. I’m sorry.”

  “She had a name. Darlena.” Camon turned toward the wall, hearing his brother close the door behind him.

  Anger and self-loathing fought for dominance in his heart. Camon knew he was responsible for her death. Never again would he risk another’s life by loving them. The price was more than he was willing to pay.

  Chapter Five

  Coming of Age

  492nd year of the Celaka

  Narmek slapped the reins of his horse to move down the hill and into the brush. Something moved through the clogged terrain, possibly a wild boar, his hunter’s instincts told him. He waved the rest of his party off, preferring to follow it alone.

  Truth be told, his mind wandered this morning. Thoughts of his sons occupied much of his time lately and most of them carried an air of disquiet. Though the old priest had been dead these past ten years, the treasonous words of his oracle still tread through Narmek’s mind—pacing back and forth, keeping him ever vigilant to his sons’ moods.

  As the boys had grown older their paths diverged, sending each of them in opposite directions and widening the gap between the two. They lived as little more than strangers to each other, despite his best efforts to keep them together.

  Ever since the incident with the serving girl when Camon was sixteen, he’d been an exemplary student, training for his future as ruler of Shaylar. Narmek couldn’t fault his dutiful nature but Camon’s dour personality troubled him. The young man seemed wooden in spirit, closed off to those around him.

  Sanrev was his exact opposite and Narmek clenched his teeth, hands tightening on the reins. Where Camon behaved too rigidly, Sanrev lived an irresponsible, wild life. The taverns in the valley flowed with gossip concerning his son. Of drunken nights spent with other, younger sons of highborn—shiftless men with no chance of inheritance who whiled away their time in games of chance and fathering bastards.

  Narmek passed a hand across his brow. The summer sun beat down on him. Even the breath of wind had stilled to naught, as if begrudging him any comfort at all. He pulled the skin of ale from his saddle and took a long drink from it.

  The liquid tasted flat and bitter, leaving a sourness in his mouth he couldn’t identify. He attempted to spit the foulness from his tongue but it remained to torment him. His vision blurred. Dizziness drained the strength from his limbs. The staccato beat of his heart roared in his ears.

  Narmek finally understood as he slid from his horse. Someone had poisoned him.

  The King’s body lay in the casket, ready for the Crossing where he would join the Old Ones in the afterlife. One did not look upon the face of the dead, any more than one would look upon the faces of the gods. For that reason, the head had been wrapped in purple silk, denoting his station in life. The rest of the body was wrapped in a black burial shroud, his torque and jewelry resting outside the cloth so the Old Ones would recognize him.

  Both brothers flanked their mother during the brief ceremony. Sanrev noted his brother’s graceless abandonment of their mother the moment it ended. Probably trying on the royal robes to see if they fit. Camon’s lack of charity toward Meelate angered him.

  Who would poison the King? They’d already questioned and executed the steward who’d supplied the bags of ale to the hunting party. He swore no knowledge of the incident, tears running down his face as he professed his undying love for His Majesty. Sanrev believed him. The man was a longtime servant and well-liked. Camon had ordered him to the axe man’s block anyway.

  The steward had tied the bags to the horses ahead of time, leaving the opportunity for someone to slip the poison into the drink. Only the King’s had been dosed; the other members of the hunting party remained healthy. The man admitted to seeing an unfamiliar stable boy tending the horses but thought nothing of it. Servants changed and one did not always recognize a new face at first. The boy had not been found. Neither had the one who should have been on duty.

  His father’s Advisor stepped up to Meelate, bowing low over her hand. “Please accept my condolences, My Queen. If you want for anything I am here to serve.”

  Sanrev studied his mother’s once-proud bearing, little more than a shell now as she struggled to endure the sorrow of others. They fed her pain instead of giving comfort. He needed to remove her from the crush of emotion swirling about. Within days Camon would be crowned as King and Meelate would become the Dowager Queen. Another blow to be endured.

  “I am weary,” his mother admitted after Sanrev had escorted her to her rooms. She took his hand and kissed it. “I’ve also been remiss in my duties to find you and Camon brides. It’s important that you marry well, but I thought…I thought there’d be time enough for that later. Now the worst has happened.”

  She stifled a sob and bent her head, sinking into a chair where she remained. Sanrev was concerned for her health and how she might push too far.

  “Don’t worry about that now. I’ll send your Ladies to you. You should go to bed and rest.” Sanrev bent and kissed her cheek, wet with tears. “Send for me if you need company. I’ll be here.”

  The crowd of nobles milled through the dining hall—conducting business or gossiping, Sanrev didn’t know—but their presence irritated him. He knew they were waiting for Camon to reappear, hoping to pluck choice duties from the future King. A room full of grens, picking meat from the carcass before it spoiled.

  He spun on his heel and left the castle through the front doors, climbing onto a shelf of rock which gave him a view of the valley below. The lush green of the fields spread out before him, ripe with the summer season, healthy and bountiful. The peasants down there thought life would continue as usual. After all, it was the way of things. Rule passed from father to son, their lowborn existence unaffected by the changeover.

  Sanrev shivered from a sudden chill. He didn’t believe life would ever be the same again. Something bad hung just below the horizon. One day it would rise with the sun, a malevolent cloud to devour them all.

  “Prince Sanrev?” A woman’s voice called out from behind him. He twisted around, though the polite thing to do would have been to stand and greet her properly.

  The girl curtsied, her somewhat ordinary face exhibiting an inner warmth as she smiled. He started t
o rise and she shook her head, grey eyes twinkling with amusement. “Don’t get up, please. If you don’t mind, I’ll sit on the rock with you. My legs are about to give out from standing so long.”

  She gave the area a cursory glance before she sank onto the stone with an artless grace, sighing with relief. Sanrev looked around, too, but they were alone out here.

  “I’m sorry, Lady…?” She wore the diamonds around her neck signifying highborn nobility serving the House of Shaylar. Her brownish hair had golden streaks in it from the sun and she smelled of lilac and freshness. There was something familiar about her but he couldn’t place what family she was from.

  “Lamisha, daughter of the King’s Advisor…the old King. I’m sorry for your loss.” She lowered her eyes and he found he didn’t want to see any more sadness today.

  “Thank you. Lamisha?” The image of a scrawny girl popped into his head, full of energy and often covered in mud from falling into holes.

  She laughed with a carefree air about her. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. I’ve lived in the valley these past six years, caring for my mother.”

  “And is the Lady”—Sanrev couldn’t come up with a name and cursed himself for his neglect—“your Lady Mother well?”

  “She died this last spring.”

  “I’m sorry. I guess we’ve both suffered losses.”

  “Don’t grieve for me,” Lamisha said with haste. “She had a wasting sickness and terrible suffering. Now she’s at peace.”

  Sanrev envied her attitude, for all he saw was darkness ahead.

  The coronation was held a week later, the day marred by heavy thunderstorms which shook the trees outside and dampened everyone’s mood. Camon looked resplendent in his purple robes, the collar trimmed in white fox fur. Sanrev could see him muttering as he sat at the head table, no doubt repeating a spell over and over to change the weather. A loud boom echoed through the stone walls in reply to his meddling. The magic of the land didn’t care to cooperate with its new King. Sanrev wondered at the implications.