Once again, Emid was under orders to do something he despised. The lines in his face had grown deeper and deeper in service to Vesputo. He often told himself he did his duty for Queen Dreea’s sake, and for the absent Torina. If Vesputo’s soldiers must be trained, at least he gave them a living memory of their princess. But the years passed by, and word of Torina never came. Perhaps he was wrong to believe she lived. A man like Vesputo would make sure.
Dreea still haunted the halls of the castle, more pious than ever, rarely seen except on charitable missions or state occasions. Soon, it was rumoured, Vesputo would marry again and begin a new dynasty.
For over three years Emid had wrestled with his conscience. His inner voice cried out over and over as he witnessed inroads into the liberties of the citizens of Archeld. The country was prosperous, yes, but the hardworking people were afraid. Sometimes they disappeared, without explanation.
I do what I’ve always done – train boys to soldier for the king. As if it were still the same land and still the right thing as I know it.
Now, an execution on display.
No one saw Landen commit this killing. Yes, he had motive enough. Kareed killed his father, took away his kingdom, stole the Sword. But I believe in my soul that he is innocent.
Emid moved like an old man as he dressed. Sheathing his short dagger, he contemplated turning the blade on himself.
Dreea submitted to Amile’s gentle hands as they arranged her white hair. The queen’s request to miss the execution had been denied. She would be seated on the platform just behind the king when Landen lost his life.
Dreea didn’t want to be reminded again of her husband’s murder. When Kareed died, Torina stopped all contact with her mother. Those two devastations still hurt acutely; not to hold Kareed in her arms ever again; not to speak with or see her daughter.
She believed with tenacity that Torina was alive. Somehow, somewhere, her wild-hearted child came and went.
And today? Today the young man Kareed had wronged so deeply waited for death. Dreea wished she could avoid such a sight, but Vesputo was adamant. She was queen. She must attend.
Dreea folded her hands in prayer. She remained in communion with God until a soldier came to escort her. The young man with reserved bearing seemed familiar, though she couldn’t place his name.
‘Zeon,’ he told her. She recalled the boisterous youngster who had been one of Torina’s childhood companions. Could this grave, controlled man be him? The queen sighed.
She was grateful for his support as he walked beside her. They passed out of the castle, into the courtyard jammed with soldiers. The clamour of voices sounded. Clear skies glowed luminous blue above. The bright sun hovered over the horizon.
The crowd parted smoothly for them and Zeon took Dreea up the steps of a platform. He helped her into a chair and stood next to her. Vesputo was nowhere to be seen.
Dreea looked out at the sea of male faces topping dark green uniforms. They stood grouped in battalions, a formidable sight. She saw Emid, surrounded by boys, close to the front of the mass of men. Beyond the wide walls, curious citizens gathered, not daring to enter the courtyard but wanting a glimpse of the famous outlaw, Landen.
The queen’s sight drifted over to where a scaffold had been constructed. To her horror, the prisoner was there, shackled and bound. Dark, curly hair hung unkempt round his haggard face. His guards had naked weapons in their hands. In miserable fascination, Dreea stared at the man who was said to have killed her husband.
He seemed to feel her glance, turning haunted eyes to her. He licked cracked lips. He seemed to be straining to speak. Dreea guessed he was so thirsty he was unable to.
‘Zeon,’ Dreea said. ‘Fetch Emid to me.’
Zeon went down the steps of the platform and found the trainer, leading him forward.
‘Emid. That man is suffering of thirst.’
‘Madam?’
‘I order you to give the prisoner water to drink.’
‘Certainly.’
Emid directed one of his charges. Dreea’s own throat burned as she waited. The trainer advanced to the scaffold. She saw him get a guard’s attention, saw the guard scowl. Emid pointed to her, and the queen gave a royal nod. Emid climbed the scaffold steps. He lifted the water to Landen’s lips.
Landen cleared his throat, trying again to speak. What did he have to tell her? The queen leaned towards him as Emid descended, but the noise of the crowd covered his words. All she heard was the roar of many voices.
A horn blared. Vesputo walked through the soldiers towards the platform. Dressed in velvet king’s robes, with the crown on his head, he cut an imposing figure as he raised his arms. The horn ceased, the crowd quieted and Dreea still looked towards Landen.
The prisoner’s voice rasped out. ‘Alive!’ she heard him say. Then a guard put a hand on his throat and squeezed.
Alive! Dreea’s eyes flew to Emid. The trainer’s lips were compressed to a mere line. Had he heard? Was he wondering why this prisoner chose to speak to the wife of the man he killed? Did Landen know something? Was Torina the one who lived? Or was it a prayer for his own life?
‘For years, the murder of King Kareed has gone unavenged!’ Vesputo called out. He paused dramatically. Dreea tried to think of what to say when he finished his speech. Somehow, she must find an opportunity to talk to Landen. As Kareed’s widow, I have the right.
‘The killer of your king stands before you,’ Vesputo said.
The crowd murmured. Dreea felt faint. Vesputo will deny me. If I poison his moment of triumph, he will poison me. Then who will be left to welcome Torina?
In anguish, the queen stared at Vesputo’s implacable back, imploring God for help.
‘The price of treason—’ Vesputo stopped, with a rasping intake of breath. He staggered back. His left shoulder sprouted an arrow.
Stunned, Dreea saw the king collapse into his chair, blood darkening the green of his robes.
‘Bring me the traitor!’ he cried, clutching his shoulder.
Orderly rows of men already converged on an area of the courtyard. The queen could see a boyish figure standing on top of the wall, holding a bow. He fitted another arrow to the string just as soldiers swarmed him.
The unknown archer was hustled towards the platform, six soldiers closing ranks round him. His head, under a large, foreign-looking cap, was down.
A doctor hurried up the platform steps. ‘My king,’ she heard the man say, ‘we must get you inside to remove this arrow and tie up the wound.’
Vesputo gritted his teeth. ‘I stay here, to see the face of my would-be assassin, and complete the execution.’
The doctor motioned Zeon, directing him to brace the king’s shoulder. Vesputo groaned as the arrow was pulled out. A deep gash poured blood. The doctor pressed on it.
A new disturbance shook the multitude. Citizens outside the wall shouted, pointing at the road. Dreea could make out a cloud of dust approaching. Soldiers escorting the boy assassin looked round, trying to see through the crush of people.
Moments later, a man with a great scar marring his face rode his horse straight up the courtyard stairs.
‘Way!’ he yelled. ‘Way for the high king!’ The courtyard soldiers took up the call and gave room, cramming together.
Silence fell, broken by awed murmurs, as a clear path opened between the edge of the courtyard and the platform. King Dahmis, in dusty travel robes, his bushy hair streaked with sweat, rode up this aisle. Soldiers bowed as he passed, some cheering him. Soon, the head of his charger drew even with the raised boards of the dais.
The high king seemed to take in everything at a glance. ‘Wounded?’ he asked. ‘This place smells of treachery, King Vesputo.’
Anger threatened the edges of Vesputo’s calm. ‘I did not expect you, my king.’
The high king’s eyes went to the scaffold, where Landen swayed on his feet.
‘I heard news that the warrior Bellanes was detained here,’ he announced. ‘I see m
y news was true.’
Dreea stared at Dahmis in bewilderment.
Vesputo’s handsome face went ghastly pale. ‘Bellanes?’ He shook his head. ‘Impossible!’
‘Why are you preparing to execute this man, who mastered the Sliviites, preventing slaughter and famine?’
Dreea saw confusion and excitement pass through the courtyard like a storm, as Vesputo kept shaking his head.
‘You know this prisoner as Bellanes?’ Vesputo asked.
‘Yes. One and the same. This man you have in chains has saved my life and the lives of thousands.’
‘I know him by another name!’ Vesputo disputed. ‘And by a crime for which he deserves a worse death than I give him. I sought him for years, for the murder of King Kareed. His name is Landen.’
‘Landen?’ The high king sounded both astonished and reverent. ‘The prince of Bellandra?’
Vesputo frowned contemptuously, while soldiers escorting the assassin pushed near the platform.
‘What’s this?’ Dahmis said.
‘The one who wounded me,’ Vesputo answered.
The queen noticed him catch the executioner’s eye and move his hand in a quick chop. The man reached for Landen’s head to put it on the block.
‘Stop!’ she called, her voice inaudible beneath the roar of the high king.
‘Stop! I forbid you to kill that man! Touch him and you answer to me!’
The executioner hesitated, looking from one king to the other. Vesputo’s face was eerily white, while the high king radiated potent command. The executioner stepped back.
Dahmis faced the courtyard. ‘An attempt has been made on the life of your king! A man stands accused of murdering the former ruler, King Kareed. These offences must be submitted to justice!’
A noise of approval went up. On the road below, Dreea saw more people flocking. Her head whirled with dizzy relief. The high king will listen to me, will grant me speech with Landen.
Dahmis called to the prisoner. ‘You are Prince Landen of Bellandra?’
The instant silence was formidable. Everyone seemed suspended, waiting for Landen to speak.
‘Once, I was,’ Landen said hoarsely.
‘King Kareed took away your father, your people and your kingdom?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you kill King Kareed?’
Dreea sat forward, heart fluttering.
‘No.’ Landen looked at the queen.
Dahmis spread his arms over the assembled soldiers.
‘Is there anyone here who knows how King Kareed died?’
‘I do!’ a voice cried.
Dreea put both hands to her chest. It was the boy assassin who spoke! A soldier clapped a hand over his mouth.
‘An assassin to defend an accused assassin? What could you know about King Kareed’s death?’ the high king asked.
The boy struggled in the soldier’s grip. ‘Let him go,’ Dahmis ordered. ‘He can’t escape.’ The soldier released his grasp. ‘I repeat,’ the high king said, his deep voice rising, ‘what could you know about King Kareed’s death?’
‘Everything,’ the boy said. Again, Dreea’s chest lurched.
‘Come forward.’
The boy moved nearer. Baggy clothes swathed him, the cap hiding most of his dirty face.
The high king blanched. ‘Vineda?’ he said.
For answer, the boy snatched away his cap. Red, abundant hair poured out round unmistakable features.
‘Torina Archelda,’ she said, eyes lifted to her mother.
‘Princess Torina?’ thundered the high king. ‘Kareed’s daughter!’
Dreea found her feet and ran across the platform, arms outstretched, while pandemonium broke out below. Yells and shrieks echoed from courtyard to road as Torina clambered up the platform steps. The queen folded her daughter in her arms.
‘How is this?’ the high king boomed. ‘Princess Torina died years ago.’
Torina turned to Dahmis. ‘No. I left Archeld a fugitive.’ She pointed to Vesputo. ‘My father’s murderer, Vesputo, took the crown and staged my death.’
For Emid, everything slowed. He saw Torina, quivering from head to toe, and just behind her, Vesputo rising to his feet. Even before Vesputo drew the knife, Emid was aware of it. Feeling as if time opened an infinite window for him alone, Emid’s sure hand unsheathed his own dagger. All his years training warriors mounted up inside him. Cool, swift and deadly, he raised his arm and threw.
Vesputo sprawled on the boards of the platform.
In the same slow time, Emid saw Dreea’s hands go to her mouth, and the doctor bending over Vesputo. He saw the rapid dark stain spreading over the left side of Vesputo’s chest; the high king inching forward on his great horse, questioning the doctor. Emid already knew what the doctor would say. No one could survive that knife-throw.
And Emid felt the weight that had oppressed his life lifting away. He didn’t care if he went to prison or if soldiers loyal to Vesputo killed him then and there. He had saved Torina’s life. He’d killed the man who murdered King Kareed.
Boys pressed close round him, forming an instinctive wedge of protection. But no soldiers rushed him. The courtyard was preternaturally quiet, filled with dazed faces. The eyes of the soldiers were nearly glazed over with shock as they stared at the platform where the doctor was shaking his head and covering Vesputo’s face; where Torina looked like an apparition in her baggy men’s clothes and streaming red hair; where Dreea glowed as if all the angels she prayed to had paid her a visit.
It was the high king who recovered his senses first, turning from the platform to the assembled soldiers and the people massing round the courtyard.
‘People of Archeld!’ He raised his arms high, fixing the attention of the multitude. ‘Vesputo, the man you knew as king, is dead! But before you grieve, remember he was never truly your ruler. He gained the crown by treachery, lies and murder.’
He paused, allowing his words to be carried out to the edges of the crowd, murmured from one person to another, till all knew what he had said.
‘This is a historic day for Archeld! A young woman has arrived home – the princess you thought dead!’
Torina stood on the platform’s edge, untamed hair blowing round her face. Overcome by joy, Emid shouted out. ‘Welcome home, Torina!’
From all round the courtyard, other people added their voices to his, till an unearthly hurrah shook the air. Looking at the faces of Archeld, Emid saw a quality that had been absent for too long. Happiness. It seemed to him the very air was brighter.
Torina gripped her mother’s hand. Dreea behaved like a queen, nodding in stately beauty, waiting for silence to follow the hubbub.
When it was quiet, Torina spoke. ‘King Dahmis. Bear witness to me as I say, Landen never killed King Kareed. He must be freed.’
She had not forgotten the prisoner, still shackled near the block. Emid saw the light in Landen’s eyes as the young man looked at Torina: as if two suns let loose all their brilliance. Emid knew love when he saw it. This love was radiant.
The high king’s voice resounded to the wall. ‘Free him!’
Landen’s guards hurried to remove his bonds. Boys mobbed him, getting in each other’s way as they led him, limping a little, to the high king.
‘People of Archeld! This is the hero who kept us safe from the Sliviite invasion!’
The soldiers who’d gathered to see Landen beheaded cheered him without restraint. He didn’t seem to hear them. From where he stood, Landen reached his hand to Torina. She bent from the platform to clasp his fingers. Emid heard wild shouts reverberating all the way to the sea.
Chapter Fifteen
Next morning, Torina walked with Dreea in the welter of weeds that had been her garden. Her hair shone as she bent to a clump of nettles and separated them with gloved hands. A flower poked through.
‘So many weeds,’ Dreea sighed. ‘I couldn’t bear to come here when you were gone.’
‘Even if the weeds have grown, the f
lowers never left. This garden will be more wonderful than ever, now that I’ve come home.’
Dreea stroked a green stalk. ‘I never stopped believing you were alive.’
Torina put an affectionate hand on her mother’s shoulder. ‘Hearing your voice on the other side of my door and sending you away – only the threat of harm to you could have made me do it.’
Dreea shivered. ‘Only strong drugs could have fogged my mind enough to prevent me from breaking down the door.’
‘When I lived in Desante, I wrote you many letters, never sending them. I burned them just before leaving, so they wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands. Mamma, you’d have laughed, seeing me living like a peasant, doing everything for myself.’
‘Thank God you were fortunate, and found good people to stay with.’
‘Oh yes. Fortunate. No word is big enough to describe the kindness I received in Desante. The Dirksons must think I’m dead. I look forward to putting their minds at ease.’
‘What will they think when they realize they had a princess living behind their farmhouse?’ When Dreea smiled, Torina thought her the most beautiful woman in the kingdoms. She hoped that one day her own face would hold as much patient love.
‘They’ll finally have an explanation for why I was ignorant of everything that mattered, such as how to farm and cook! Oh, they’ll be surprised. Luckily, they all have strong constitutions.’ Torina grinned.
They were both silent a moment, standing in the sun. ‘I should thank him,’ Torina mused.
‘King Dahmis?’
‘No. Yes – but I meant Vesputo. Without him, I’d still be the headstrong, spoiled girl I used to be. It was Vesputo who taught me the value of many things.’ She glanced round at the overrun plot. ‘How little I knew, when I thought it had all gone wrong.’
‘I understand you, Torina.’
Warm sunshine melted across their steps. ‘Will you go with me to the cemetery? I want to visit Papa’s grave. And someone else is buried who needs honour.’ Torina was thinking of Eric.
‘Of course.’ They walked on.