Chains of Fate (The Fate Circle Saga Book 1) Page 22

  The main palace grounds were sectioned off into two different quarters, which were walled apart. One section, full of flowers and trees, with a nearly glowing blue marbled palace sitting in the middle of a man-made lake, was the women’s portion of the grounds. The much larger section, since it also housed a full garrison, was the quarters of the king himself and those public areas where meetings were done and balls held. The women’s palace was where Curcula was disturbing the peace. Slipping off his horse in the courtyard, Vad’Alvarn held his arms up to Jalcina who slid off into them and walked with him as he marched into the women’s palace, Navar at his elbow.

  Before they were even beyond the sitting rooms, the sound of someone screaming in frustration and others, more high-pitched and fearful sounding, reached the ears of the newcomers. Curcula brandished a short sword, definitely not a dagger, in the direction of another woman, a blonde with shiny blue eyes full of tears, when they reached the room where the screaming was coming from.

  “Stop.” The word cracked through the air like a whip. All who stood dropped hastily to their knees, hiding their eyes by staring at the floor. Three people remained standing as even Curcula remembered her manners enough to kneel in the presence of her husband. “What madness is this?” Vad’Alvarn demanded, staring at Curcula’s bowed head. The short sword beside Curcula still had tatters of thread hanging from it near the hilt.

  Yet the momentary surprise passed quickly as Curcula raised her head and then came to her feet, chin up and defiant, a position rather like Jalcina herself had taken just a week earlier. “You bring another one.” Her words were hardly friendly and her eyes even less so as she took in the woman who, as she saw it, was going to take her place as the principal wife. Why else would he have brought this woman home to the capital to marry her as if she were truly a woman and not simply a spoil of war as all the others had been? “Who is she that she receives such treatment?”

  Vad’Alvarn opened his mouth to speak, yet he found himself stalled by the motion of Leviana beside him, who walked forward until she was standing face to face with Curcula who refused to step back or show any fear in the face of this woman.

  “I am Leviana.” The name was used as something of a bludgeon. “I am the one who loved him before you were born. Who are you to sleep with my husband?”

  Leviana drove her hand into Curcula’s gut and when she doubled over from the sucker punch, grabbed the hair of the offending woman to drive her knee into her chin.

  “Stop!” Vad’Alvarn snapped his command out again, though he seemed hardly upset with how things were occuring. If his darling wanted to defend her right to warm his bed with her body, which he was already starting to remember why he enjoyed so much, then who was he to stop her? “Leviana.” He seemed much more willing to be gentle with his ancient love than his other wives. Perhaps because she had been brought back to him by Fate, or maybe it was the memory of how she had loved him the night before, so warm against his skin in their encampment just out of reach of the city. “Let her go.”

  With a disgusted air, Leviana dropped Curcula to the floor and turned her back. The other women in the room were watching as best they could. None of them could hope to best the daughter of Arthum. After all, Curcula was taught to fight from the cradle as children of the Burning Island were, but they were simply the children of less violent peoples. People who measured their lifespans to at least five decades were old within the reach of Arthum. 10 decades was ancient, worthy of great honor among the men and women of the Burning Island, at least so long as you could still defend yourself. If you had lived so long and could no longer do so then you were simply a waste and needed to follow the old faith into your grave. Curcula dropped to the floor, too surprised by the sudden attack by a woman she heard came from the snow capped mountains far to the north. Did they raise such fighters there as they did in Arthum, raise their daughters to bring forth their blades and defend their own honor against any comer? No, not from what she had heard. The words she had been told of this woman said she was no fighter, only a quiet girl taken as a prisoner and Vad’Alvarn had become smitten with her. Yet, she attacked with such speed. There was no telling what she was meant to think now. However, she did not have to think. Picking up the sword right at hand, she charged the woman’s retreating back, too overcome by the feeling of being mistreated to realize she was being foolish.

  Leviana twirled easily, ducking in low under the charge, the blade slipping over her shoulder and through her hair. As the woman’s body followed the blade over her shoulder, Leviana stood, pushing Curcula into a tumble sending her straight into the legs of their mutual husband, the sword coming loose to clatter along the floor before sliding to a stop near a statue decorating the room. Though she would have come again, Vad’Alvarn snatched Curcula by her hair as she readied herself for another assault, holding his free hand out to Leviana in a gesture of hold. This fight had gone on for more than long enough in his mind. They were both to yield to his authority or they would both suffer punishment from his hand.

  He kissed Curcula with a kind of possessive vigor that drew a soft growl in protest from Leviana’s throat. But she simply hid her face, refusing to watch him. The fact he had other wives had been made clear to her, but it was one thing to hear of something and quite another to watch him as he kissed someone else the way he kissed her.

  “Be easy, you are still my princess,” he soothed his voice like so much silk against the ear. “But she will be my queen. You will honor her as such.” There the steel slipped in, the resolve, which brought countries to their knees. He pushed Curcula away then, pushing her back toward the line of his other wives. Navar just stood watching as if none of this concerned him, though there was a glimmer of something behind his eyes. If Vad’Alvarn was so taken he could not visit his wives, then Navar would certainly and happily do so for him, just as he had done in years past. Far be it for him to refuse the warmth of a woman’s flesh when it was freely given by one who merely pined for a little attention. All of Vad’Alvarn’s wives were starved for some kind of attention, the common joke being Vad’Alvarn was wed first to war and then to any of his mortal wives. It seemed the husband of conquest had found himself a suitable mortal wife at last.

  33

  The palace of the women was not a prison, though Jalcina felt the air of captivity as she walked through the corridors. The wives of Vad’Alvarn, her sisters according to some, lived there. Snatched from their homes and brought to the capital city where they would live out their lives and eventually give Vad’Alvarn sons and daughters. Jalcina shuddered at the thought.

  The central room, the palace was built in a great circle lay above a peaceful garden. The floor, made of glass, made her feel as if she were walking on air high above the trees. Though there was no music, Jalcina twirled, feeling the freedom of her skirts turning round her legs. One turn became two and she continued, dancing across the floor.

  “So the Queen ventures from her rooms.”

  Curcula’s voice snapped Jalcina’s fragile revelry and the princess stopped. Their eyes met across the glass floor and Jalcina picked up her chin at the predatory glimmer in Curcula’s eyes.

  “I am no Queen nor do I wish to be.”

  There was no immediate answer from the forsaken princess. With soft steps, Curcula circled toward Jalcina, studying her rival.

  “If that is true, then run away. Did you not do so before? Or is he truly your husband as you claimed.”

  “I never claimed such.” Jalcina ducked her head. The darkness inside her, the missing time, it had to be there. “I have never claimed it, nor do I wish it. Keep your brute king.”

  “He is my King, to be honored, and my husband. How have you ensnared him?”

  “How can he be a husband to you when he is days away with his army?” The question was an obvious one, yet it brought Curcula up short. With a shake of her head, blond hair flaring out around her face, she snapped.

  “More my husband than yours, fool gir
l.”

  Close enough to touch, Curcula made a playful swipe in the air. She chuckled when Jalcina flinched away.

  “Afraid, little girl?” Another slow swipe easily avoided.

  “No.”

  Then Curcula put her hands behind her back, thrusting her face forward, snapping at Jalcina.

  “You’re afraid. I can smell your fear on you. Do you know what happens to frightened children upon the Burning Island?”

  Jalcina slipped away from the woman, eyes wide, terror held at bay by the thinnest of threads.

  “They are taught not to fear.”

  There was a flash of metal as Curcula closed the distance between them, a dagger appearing from behind her back. The blade slashed through the air, catching the edge of Jalcina’s sleeve as she stepped back. The sound of the blade going through the fabric was no deeper than a sigh. Jalcina ran, screaming.

  “HELP ME!”

  A sick laugh came from Curcula as she pursued. As Jalcina dashed out into the hall, Romkita, who had been searching for her, appeared in front of her. There was no time to stop. The two collided. Yet Jalcina was only down a heartbeat before she was scrambling to her feet in a whirl of fabric; Curcula only steps behind.

  “You will stop.” Romkita came to her feet with a speed untouched by her supposed age. “Curcula, you should be ashamed to offer violence against one of your sisters within your home. Though I cannot say I am surprised. You have no leash on your temper, Cura!”

  The dagger disappeared up Curcula’s sleeve as she stood before Romkita.

  “There will be no more of this.” Romkita took Jalcina by the arm, drawing her into a hug. “There you are. It is all well. We will go now.”

  As she led Jalcina away, Romkita shot Curcula a poisonous glance.

  The pair left to go to the council hall. Curcula watched them from the windows of the women’s palace before stalking back to her room.

  Jalcina stared at the wall hangings in the council chamber with wide eyes. They were enormous, covering entire walls so that the room became a cave of fabric. Each of them depicted a different scene. One of them she was certain had Vad’Alvarn upon it leading the troops to victory. Romkita had brought her to the council chamber just in time for the last councilor to appear. It was an older man who leaned hard on a cane. His hair was streaked silver and brown. He found himself a seat at the table.

  Vad’Alvarn was seated to Jalcina’s right and he wore no armor. As the last man came to the table, he stood from his seat.

  “Why have you gathered us here? Is it not already enough that you drag us away from our work to attend a wedding?” Orsten spoke first. He hefted himself up from his seat and pressed his hands behind his back.

  Jalcina sat back as Vad’Alvarn turned toward the councilor.

  “I want to make this woman my Queen,” he said.

  A half-dozen men gazed at her with hard eyes.

  “You would,” Orston stopped. “Overlook our princess Curcula?”

  Another man stood and he said,

  “I think the King can marry whom he pleases.” Uniarl was a tall man who stood shoulders above the others at the table. He bore obvious scars and tilted his head to one side as if he were going deaf.

  “The King may marry whom he pleases; he has done so in the past,” Orsten said. He touched the shoulder of another man who glanced up at him and then stood as well. Orsten continued. “However, our Princess deserves the title of Queen.”

  “Whomever I chose will be Queen.” Vad’Alvarn moved over to Uniarl and put a heavy hand on his shoulder helping him back to his seat. The tall man sank back into his chair.

  Orsten made a face. Jalcina let her eyes linger over the old man and found herself wondering what his connection to all of this was.

  “Princess Curcula is the Queen of the Burning Island. She is the daughter of the old King.”

  “The old King is gone to Ancel,” Arturis said. He sat back in his seat and crossed his legs. The younger councilor was more at ease than either of the captured tigers who paced the room around the table. With a toss of his head, he waited for someone to nay-say him. Vad’Alvarn let his gaze walk over him without stopping.

  “The old King was Curcula’s father. She is royal blood.” Orsten said once again. “Her place is the place of Queen.”

  “Yet I have no interest in making her Queen.” Vad’Alvarn came back to his seat and settled. Reaching out, he took Jalcina’s hand. She surrendered it to him and tried not to shiver as he stroked his fingers along her skin.

  “Those who would stand against me, stand,” the king commanded. Four of the councilors stood including Orsten who had not gone back to his seat. The other four retained their seats.

  “It appears the council can make no decision.”

  Jalcina sighed with relief as Vad’Alvarn removed his hand from hers.

  “It is my decision to make and I will make this woman, a foreigner, my Queen. She will be chief among women and the mother of my heirs.”

  “No,” Orsten said. “Princess Curcula will be the mother of the heir. The line must be preserved.”

  “Orsten, sit down,” Uniarl said. “Your infatuation with the Princess is well-known. That you press her case here in the council chamber is beneath you.”

  The old man sputtered, his face going red.

  “Is it perhaps that Orsten wants the princess for himself?” Arturis asked.

  “That is not true, my lord. It is only loyalty to the royal line.” Orsten said quickly. He found his seat then. The other councilors who stood with him also found their seats once again. Orsten no longer appeared like a tiger but a tame cat brought to heel by the king.

  “I am the royal line now,” Vad’Alvarn said. He closed his eyes and sucked in his breath. Letting it out in a slow hiss, he eyed everyone in the room through shuttered lids. “And she will be my Queen. It is no longer to be discussed. Now we must prepare for the Queen’s indulgence.”

  Jalcina, growing rather bored with the proceeding, leaned over to ask,

  “What’s the Queen’s indulgence?”

  “It is the right of the Queen to settle disputes by combat. You will preside over the trials by combat offered on the day of your wedding and at every major festival.” Vad’Alvarn, content for the moment, let his head slide back until he had exposed his throat. Then he snapped forward in motion of sudden violence. Jalcina started.

  “The Queen’s Indulgence has not been enacted in nearly two centuries. Now you would have us do so for a foreign queen?” Councilor Demarius squirmed in his seat, hand over his belly.

  “The rightful queen,” Vad’Alvarn said. “She will grant those who seek solace their right to do so by the blade.”

  “If we are to do this, then there should be assurances.” Orsten had found his voice. He puffed his chest out as if to give himself a bigger guise, which was quite a feat considering his size. “Assurances that things will be taken care of.”

  “Such as?” Vad’Alvarn rounded on the councilor with ground teeth. Jalcina heard them click together as the man spoke.

  “We will not be once again returning to war.”

  Every man chose that moment to speak for themselves. Jalcina covered her ears against the noise. The council chamber remained a cacophony for several minutes until Uniarl roared,

  “There can be no such assurance.”

  The former warrior had come to council wearing the badges of his office, which included a sword. Though he moved much slower than he had once, he drew the blade and brandished it across the table. The sound of it being drawn killed every sound in the room. Jalcina switched from one man to the other waiting to see who would make the first move, but it was Vad’Alvarn who moved out of the corner of her eye.

  “Uniarl,” he said. “Put it away.”

  “He asks for the impossible, let him back it with strength of arms.”

  “No. There will be no bloodshed.”

  “My King--“

  “No bloodshed.” Rising
from his place, Vad’Alvarn shook his head. “Orsten, you may have your assurances. On a single condition.”

  Preening slightly, Orsten asked,

  “And what is your condition, my king?”

  The king moved around the table without a word. Once he was beside Orsten’s chair, he leaned in and spoke into the man’s ear.

  The room watched as the color drained from Orsten’s face. His thick chin quivered. He eyed the king with stricken eyes.

  “But I,” he began. “My king asks for too much.”

  “You will do so now, if you want your assurances. Otherwise, you will be silent.”

  “Forgive me, my king. I will remain silent.”

  “Then do so.”

  Orsten deflated in his seat. Vad’Alvarn moved away from him and asked,

  “Are there other matters you wish to discuss?”

  “My king,” Arturis said. “You called us here. Certainly if you have nothing else, we should be dismissed.”

  “I have nothing further.” Vad’Alvarn turned his back on the group. “Dismissed.”

  Uniarl approached him before he left the chamber.

  “My King, what did you ask of Orsten?”

  “That is between he and I.”

  Jalcina watched as the men left, some of them in twos to wherever it was they would go next. Then she transferred her gaze to Vad’Alvarn standing alone at the edge of the room. He was gazing out a window, his face radiant in the light.

  She went to him.

  “All of this because of me.”

  “All because I will have things as I wish them and not a thing different.”

  “Will you tell me what you asked of that man, Orsten isn’t it?”

  “No. Just as I told my councilor it is between him and me. Our private business need not be aired.”

  With a dart forward, he kissed Jalcina’s forehead.

  “Why did you need me here for this?”

  “As my Queen, you will be allowed to sit on the council. Your voice will be heard. It is best if they get used to that now.”