Legacy

  “Then you are a thief, boy, and I will not tolerate a thief in my home!”

  Koranis, who had assumed a stern posture, recoiled almost imperceptibly as Narian’s piercing blue eyes locked upon him. Tadark, who was smaller in stature than the other two men, now looked cherubic, undisguised joy shining upon his face.

  “Perhaps a good whipping is in order to teach you respect for other people’s possessions.” Strangely, Koranis’s words came out sounding more like a proposal than the imposition of a punishment.

  There was silence in the aftermath of the Baron’s statement. Even Semari and Miranna’s prattling had died away and they watched father and son with interest. I could not tear my attention from the scene as the golden-haired pair stared at each other, Narian’s lean and muscular build in sharp contrast to Koranis’s overfed and overfussed appearance.

  Narian appraised his father with disdain in his eyes, showing no sign of remorse or concern in the face of Koranis’s threat.

  “I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” he cautioned, his voice barely audible.

  Koranis took a small step back from his son, realizing as he did that the two of them had attracted our attention.

  “Get back into the house,” he blustered. “I will deal with you later.”

  Narian shrugged, then unhurriedly reentered the home.

  Perturbed by Narian’s attitude, Koranis turned to my bodyguard and said curtly, “Thank you for returning my weapon.” He then huffed off to the stables, leaving an extremely disappointed Tadark behind.

  Miranna and Semari soon resumed their chattering, but I was staggered by what we had witnessed. In Hytanica, the father was the undisputed head of the family, with absolute dominion over his wife, his children, and their lands and possessions. Yet I could not shake the feeling that Narian had been the one in charge. This was all the more disconcerting as Narian had neither shown signs of anger nor aggression. Rather, he had seemed to be coldly sizing up a foe, and the shocking notion that Narian held power over the Baron entered my head.

  It wasn’t long before Semari, Miranna and I took Alantonya’s suggestion and again traipsed through the trees along the path to the river, Halias and Tadark in our wake. To my dismay, Narian was not with us. I had taken advantage of his presence in the house to invite him to accompany us, but he had merely raised his eyebrows, giving no other response, leading me to the conclusion that I would not see him further this day. I had hoped that simple curiosity would entice him on our walk, although part of me suspected that he viewed us as tedious and uninteresting.

  As soon as we reached the clearing near the bank of the Recorah, Miranna and Semari rushed ahead, their giggling becoming fainter as they approached the water. Halias went after them, but I hung back, preferring to enjoy the view from a safe distance.

  I examined my surroundings, searching for a shady spot where I might sit, and spied the gnarled, exposed root of an ancient oak. As I moved toward it, I was amazed to see Narian leaning against another tree but a few feet to my left. He was clad in a black shirt, this time topped by a leather vest, and black breeches, so he was enabled to fade into the shade cast by the dense trees. It occurred to me as I contemplated him that the High Priestess at the time of her capture had likewise been dressed all in black.

  Tadark had seen Narian as well and clung annoyingly to my side, and I knew something had to be done. I stopped and turned to him, struggling to repress my irritation.

  “If Lord Narian is to be relaxed enough to talk to me, you are going to have to give us some room.”

  My bodyguard looked torn, but then motioned forward with his hand to indicate that I should proceed without him. After glancing toward the younger girls, who were being entertained by Halias’s demonstration of the proper way to skip rocks, I changed course and walked toward Narian, knowing that there was no way to conceal that I wanted to speak with him. He examined me as I came closer, but made no indication of a desire to converse when I reached him. I decided to cut straight to the point.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said to me on my last visit—about protecting myself.”

  I felt enormously self-conscious due to the lack of the usual niceties preceding my words, but tried not to let my discomfort show.

  “You were right. There may come a time when my bodyguards will be unable to defend me. It would seem wise that I learn to defend myself.”

  I waited to see what his reaction would be, but he continued to survey me, and I cleared my throat.

  “I can think of no one to teach me these things, except…you,” I finished.

  He nodded, as if understanding how I had reached this conclusion, but his reply was not what I expected.

  “I can’t do that,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Why not?” I demanded, planting my hands on my hips in mild frustration. “First you tell me that I must be able to protect myself, then you refuse to teach me the necessary skills? Women in Cokyri know how to defend themselves. You said so yourself.”

  He smirked, the same smirk I’d seen on the balcony. “Women in Cokyri wear breeches.”

  I was silent for a moment, grasping his implication. “You want me to…wear breeches?”

  “Only if you wish to learn self-defense,” he replied, and I had the impression he was issuing a challenge.

  “Then I will do so.”

  I waited for him to offer a pair to me, but he said nothing, the gleam in his startlingly blue eyes telling me he knew what was on my mind, but that he would not give me anything unless I requested it. And that I was not about to do.

  “When next I come,” I said obstinately, “I will bring breeches.”

  How I was going to accomplish this was beyond me at that moment, but I cared not. I would not give Narian the satisfaction of having a princess of Hytanica ask to borrow a pair of his trousers.

  We returned to the palace as the pale shades of evening were beginning to brush the sky, and slowly walked up the courtyard path and through the large front doors into the Grand Entry Hall. I began to climb the winding double staircase, expecting Miranna to follow, but she made a comment about wanting to stroll in the garden, as she was feeling stiff from the buggy ride.

  I wavered, debating whether I should join her, when the sound of a door opening and closing, and footfalls other than my sister’s reached my ears. I glanced down and saw Steldor emerge from the guardroom to the right of the staircase, from which one could gain access to Cannan’s office. Not wanting to be seen, I hurried up the stairs to where Tadark was waiting on the landing. Steldor stood in the entryway for a moment, then headed in the same direction as Miranna, settling the question of whether or not I should follow after her. I instead elected to go on to the library.

  “You’re not actually going to wear breeches, are you?” Tadark asked when we reached my destination.

  It was obvious he had overheard my talk with Narian, and I feared he might mention my plan to the Captain of the Guard when next he reported, and that Cannan would relay the information to my father. That would put an end to any possibility of acquiring what I needed, which in turn would paint me as foolish in front of Narian when I returned empty-handed, not to mention that it would leave me with no one to teach me self-defense. The time had come to refresh Tadark’s memory of something I had not mentioned since the day of the picnic.

  “Yes, I am,” I said with assurance. “And you are not to say a word about it…to anyone.”

  “It is hardly appropriate for a princess to wear a man’s clothing,” he muttered.

  “Your opinion isn’t relevant, Tadark, and this will not travel back to the captain or my father,” I declared, preparing to deliver my final blow. “Or I will be forced to inform them of your errors in judgment when Miranna was injured at the picnic.”

  Tadark’s face paled and I felt a twinge of pleasure in knowing that I had secured his cooperation.

  “Fine,” he mumbled, crossing his arms.

  Feeling rather proud o
f myself, I began to ponder the problem of how to obtain the trousers. Concluding that I needed a coconspirator, I decided to find Miranna in the garden after all.

  I left the library and descended the spiral staircase, making my way to the rear entrance of the palace. Tadark held the doors open for me and I stepped out into the waning sunlight. As I looked down the row of unlit torches, I saw not far from where I stood Halias resting against the wall in a posture that brought London to mind.

  “Where is Mira?” I asked, for he normally would have been walking with her.

  “She is by that fountain,” he said, smiling in greeting and pointing down the path in front of me.

  I turned to approach the fountain he had indicated, leaving Tadark in his company and, as I did so, saw that Miranna was not alone.

  Her back was to me, but over her shoulder, I could see Steldor’s arrogant but incredibly handsome face. He was almost six inches taller than my sister, and based on his expression, took note of me before she had any idea that I was present. He was quite openly flirting with her just as he had done during our picnic; on that day, he had been attempting to settle the score with me for refusing his advances. Now, as his dark eyes burned into mine over my sister’s back, a sneer curved his lips, and he did something even I would never have believed him capable of doing. Wrapping an arm around Miranna’s waist and placing his other hand upon her upper back, he pulled her to him and gave her a long and lingering kiss on the lips.

  I was too thunderstruck to react as Steldor stepped back from her. She swayed on her feet, overcome by his romantic gesture, but he moved around her without further consideration.

  “Princess,” he murmured, swaggering past me, his tone in that single word revealing how infuriatingly satisfied he was with himself.

  Miranna turned in confusion as he sauntered away, not understanding his abrupt change in attitude, and I knew the moment she saw me, for her eyes widened in distress. She could no doubt sense my cold fury, though it was directed at Steldor and not at her. I walked toward her without speaking and with no design to be vindictive, but the darting of her eyes and her backward step told me she believed otherwise.

  “Alera,” she squeaked, her hands flying to her face. “When did you…?”

  “I saw the kiss,” I said simply, saving her from having to stutter out the rest of her question. I was not angry with her—there was little she could have done to prevent Steldor’s action. She was also, like most of the girls in the kingdom, infatuated with him, and to have her first kiss come from someone over whom she swooned had probably been thrilling. But now she was on the verge of tears.

  “I’m sorry! So sorry! It was childish of me to be flirting with him. I’m sure I gave him the wrong impression. Steldor is yours— I had no right to kiss him, and you have every right to be upset with me.”

  My sister seemed oblivious to Steldor’s true motivation for kissing her.

  “It’s all right, Mira.” I tried to cut her off before she could continue with her unnecessary apologies. “Steldor is not mine, nor have I ever desired that he be mine. He can kiss whomever he wants, as can you. You have no reason to feel guilty.”

  She shook her head. “I feel so dreadful, Alera. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

  “Once again, I am not upset with you,” I told her sincerely. “But…” I trailed off, determining how best to say what I had in mind. “There is something you can do.”

  “What? I’ll do anything. Just find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  “Mira, I forgive you,” I said, then announced, “I need breeches.”

  “Breeches?” she repeated, baffled enough to momentarily forget her guilt over the incident with Steldor. “Whatever for?”

  “Narian is going to teach me basic self-defense,” I said, deciding that honesty was the best course of action. “He said he’d only do so if I wore breeches. That’s where I need your help.”

  “He’s teaching you…to defend yourself? But isn’t that what our bodyguards are for?”

  I almost chuckled at how similar my sister’s observation was to what I had told Narian on our first visit to Koranis’s estate.

  “Do you want to help me or not?” I asked, knowing that delving into the details of my request’s origin was not relevant to her decision, and would only delay her answer.

  “Of course I’ll help,” she said right away, just as I had known she would.

  “Good.”

  I glanced toward our bodyguards to check that they had not moved within earshot, then pulled her down to sit beside me on one of the garden benches.

  “Now, the issue is how to obtain them. We could try the laundry, but I doubt any of the guards’ or servants’ trousers would fit me, and I know Father’s wouldn’t.”

  “Perhaps we could take Tadark’s,” Miranna suggested. “I think his breeches would come closest to fitting you.”

  “But how would we remove them?” I blurted, the heat rising in my face as I realized how scandalously I had spoken.

  Miranna stared at me for a moment, joining me in my deep blush. Then we were both seized with the giggles, and any vestiges of tension dissipated.

  “I think, sister,” Miranna gasped, “that it would be wisest just to purchase a pair.”

  “Yes, that would be a better method. But how will we do it? No one will think it’s proper to sell trousers to a princess, and I don’t think we could fool Halias and Tadark about our activities for long.”

  Miranna twisted a curly lock of hair as she ruminated over my question, then she smiled.

  “We’ll commission someone to buy them for us!”

  “Like whom?”

  “I don’t know—but there are plenty of young boys in the marketplace who would be more than willing to earn some extra money by making a purchase for us. Market day is only three days away—how is that for perfect planning?”

  I nodded, impressed by the simplicity and yet brilliance of my sister’s idea, and a bit embarrassed that I had been unable to come up with it myself.

  The following days crept past. Miranna was exceedingly attentive toward me, despite my constant declarations that I was not angry with her, and together we created a plan to acquire a pair of breeches without raising anyone’s suspicions about what we were doing. By the time market day arrived, we were ready to put our strategy into action. As usual, we dressed like villagers so that we would not stand out amongst the crowd, and left the palace before midday. Our bodyguards were again out of uniform and walking unobtrusively behind us, thanks to Halias, who was restraining Tadark.

  Miranna, having an uncanny ability to spot young men across great distances, was scanning the crowd for the boy who would play the most important part in our scheme—the buyer of the breeches. We needed someone to whom we could talk without our bodyguards becoming suspicious. Unfortunately, we did not generally socialize with those outside of our immediate circle of upper-class young men and women. Two princesses chatting with a market boy might seem rather odd.

  Strolling beside me, Miranna let out a gasp, then grabbed my lower arm to bring me to a standstill.

  “What is it?” I inquired, thinking she had located our quarry.

  “Look,” she said, indicating where I should glance with a jerk of her head. “It’s Steldor and his friends.”

  I peered in the direction of her nod, and my gaze came to rest upon Steldor, who was the tallest and most handsome of the group and had a particular quality that called all eyes to him. As I took in his three friends, I realized that Barid and Devant were standing on either side of a cringing young man who wore the gold tunic of the City Guard. Steldor and Galen were particularly imposing figures, clad as they were in the black leather military jerkins that marked their rank as field commanders, and the young guard was struggling to present a brave front. Steldor, wearing a nasty grin, stood in front of his prey, jabbing him in the shoulder in a way that told me whatever was coming out of his mouth was less than kind. After a mo
ment, the four friends burst out laughing and Galen clapped Steldor on the shoulder as if congratulating him on a well-spoken insult, while the guard’s face turned red with resentment and humiliation.

  Taking Miranna’s hand, I moved us out of the flow of shoppers, and we watched in morbid fascination from twenty feet away as Galen lightly pushed Steldor aside and stepped forward to drape an arm around the young man’s shoulders in insincere amicability. He said something that elicited a few chortles from his cronies, going so far as to pat the guard’s flaming cheek in mockery. After that, he began to point at the dagger hanging from the young man’s belt, criticizing it in some way, then had the nerve to unsheathe it, disarming him and adding to his embarrassment.

  The guard at once tried to snatch back his knife, but Galen tossed it to Steldor, who caught it and flipped it around once in his hand. Jerking free of Galen, the young man made an ineffectual lunge in another attempt to reclaim his weapon. Steldor held it away, laughing at his victim’s plight.

  It was then that the captain’s son became aware of Miranna and me, as well as of Halias, who had begun to walk purposefully toward the group of friends. Without a word, Steldor extended the dagger to the City Guard, his sadistic grin gradually becoming the smug expression with which I was all too familiar. The guard hastily reclaimed and sheathed his weapon, glancing distrustfully between the two field commanders. Steldor then signaled to his three friends, and the four of them began to walk away from the young man they had shamed. As they did so, Steldor turned to me and bowed, a sardonic gesture that indicated I should be applauding the show.

  “Oh, he is unbelievable!” I exclaimed, about to begin a potentially lengthy rant.

  “Yes, he is,” Miranna cut in. “But I think I see the exact person we need.”

  She pointed in the direction of the four friends whom I had just gone from disliking to despising, and I saw Temerson dart around them. He seemed particularly jittery, as if he expected to be their next target, but the tension left his body as the group passed him by.