5: Changing Seasons
When the morning light pried his crusted eyelids open, and his gaze settled on the person sitting in the chair next to his bed, Tal knew he must still be dreaming.
In his dreams, he’d held Ashelia’s hand as they raced through a forest glade and leaped into a grotto’s deep pool. One moment they’d been clothed; the next, the trappings of society were sinking into the depths of the pool. He’d floated next to her, only their hands touching, their gazes holding each other’s, hair flat against their heads. And she’d looked just as he remembered.
Awake, he hadn’t hoped to see her so close, nor meet her eyes. She was over their long-ago affair, that much she’d made clear. Yet there she sat next to his bed, her posture bowed, her eyes slitted.
As she noticed his eyes opening, Ashelia’s fluttered open, and she groaned and stretched.
“Morning.” His voice rasped, and his smile pulled at his skin like it was parchment.
She raised an eyebrow. “Thirsty?”
At his nod, Ashelia rose stiffly and brought him a silver ewer with a copper cup. Pouring it, she offered it at arm’s length.
He took it and gulped it down. How many days he’d lain prone, he didn’t know, but it was long enough that he felt as if every droplet of moisture had been wrung from his body. When he finished his first glass, Ashelia refilled his cup.
“Try to drink it slower,” she said, a slight reprimand in her voice. “You don’t want to spit it back up.”
Trying to take her advice, Tal accepted the copper vessel and cradled it in his hands. He couldn’t help but keep his eyes unwaveringly on her, as if by looking away, she might disappear.
“You stayed.”
She looked away. “I’m your healer. I had to make sure you remained stable.”
“Not every healer remains by their patients all night.”
For a long moment, she was silent. “You must be starving,” she said finally. “I’ll fetch you food.”
At the suggestion, his empty stomach announced itself. But despite its pleading, he said, “Wait.”
She paused at the foot of the bed, her back to him. He sat up slightly, wincing with expected pain. But though he felt weak, the fire in his side was gone. Pulling down the covers, he examined the wound and found it neatly sealed. The skin would never merge, but with fresh runes surrounding it in shimmering blue ink, the gap held together.
Tal looked up to find Ashelia watching him.
“You mended it perfectly,” he murmured. “Thank you.”
“Not perfectly.”
“But with a wound that will never heal, you did as well as any could.”
He covered himself again. It wasn’t out of modesty, for he felt no shame that she had tended to him like a helpless babe. Even as long apart as they’d been, they’d been through enough to have long overcome embarrassment. But he wondered if, with him recovered, the sight of him unclothed would make her uncomfortable.
She seemed about to leave again, and he grasped for any topic to keep her there a moment longer.
“How did you treat it?”
Ashelia raised an eyebrow, but obliged him with an answer. “Aelyn purified it for common corruptions, but I had to delve deeper and remove the magical impurities.”
“Chaos?”
She nodded. “Something remains lodged within the wound, Tal. I didn’t notice it before when I first mended it—sorcery fails before it, and my fingers never found it. Now, it’s too late to remove, for it’s lodged itself in your flesh.
“But it was this remnant of the Thorn’s curse that caused you to collapse. A few tendrils of chaos had spread throughout your body. It’s possible that with the sorcery that runs through your veins, you might have fought it off. But that curse, whatever it is, kept feeding the corruption.”
“Then you saved my life.”
She sighed. “It was only necessary because I didn’t complete the mending last time. But I’m a healer, Tal. If you think you owe me anything, you don’t.”
Tal regarded her silently for a few moments. “And to seal it, you used the same binding runes as before?”
“Similar, but modified.” A ghost of a smile lifted her lips. “I haven’t been idle in the decades since I last painted those, and the enchantment had eroded. Now, you will find the wound won’t open even with a direct hit to it. I’d wager a blade would have difficulty prying it open.”
“Let’s not find out, shall we?”
Almost, the silence that fell between them was comfortable. Tal closed his eyes, savoring the moment, knowing how fleeting it would be.
When he opened them, it was gone. Ashelia’s face had smoothed, her smile lost. Her eyes held his a moment longer, a storm swirling inside them.
“I saw what’s on your finger, Tal,” she said quietly.
His hand self-consciously reached for it. Already exposed, he traced a finger over the smooth crystal band of the Binding Ring. He felt strangely guilty that she’d seen it.
“Who bound you?”
“Someone with whom you’re intimate.” His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “Your House-brother yoked me to the service of a certain queen.”
“Queen Geminia? Why would she command that?”
He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
But he saw from the wariness in her eyes it wasn’t a sufficient answer, even if it was the only one he had.
“I’ll fetch your food now,” she said, then abruptly exited.
Tal watched the door even after it closed, willing it to open again. But once more, Mother World ignored his wishes.
Rising from his bed, he moved about the room hunched over. Hunger and pain made him feel as if he’d aged decades. He reached the set of tunic and trousers, cut in the elven styles, and pull them on, albeit by collapsing again on the bed.
No sooner had he dressed than he heard a knock at the door. Without waiting for a response, it opened, and he expected it to be a servant. Instead, Wren, Falcon, and Aelyn came in. Wren balanced a wooden platter heaped full of hot, fragrant food that nearly had Tal bolting across the chamber. The elven spices permeated the room, and he found he’d missed the spicy-sweet delicacies of Gladelyl.
“Good morning!” Tal greeted them as heartily as he could as he sat upright on the bed. “I see you bring a fitting reward for my valiant efforts!”
Aelyn’s lips curled. Falcon grinned. Wren only raised an eyebrow.
“Just let me set this down,” she griped as she made for the bed and settled it on the sheets, then shook out her arms. “I don’t know how servants do it!”
“By not spending their days idling with their lover,” Falcon observed, and Tal grinned as Wren colored and glared at her father.
A moment later, his smile faded. Garin wasn’t among his visitors.
“As much as I enjoy watching your buffoonery,” Aelyn said, words dripping with irony, “I came to say as soon as you’re well, we’ll leave. Ashelia has healed the other injured troupers, and our party waits on you to depart.”
Falcon leaned close and said in a stage whisper, “He’s only eager because he and our lord host had a falling out.”
Tal raised an eyebrow, the only response available to him, for his mouth was already full of the spicy fare.
Aelyn glared at the bard. “How would you know? You weren’t there.”
Falcon tapped the side of his nose. “I have my ways, my irritable friend.”
“The boy told you.”
Falcon rolled his eyes. “Of course he did. You think he’d keep something like that secret?”
Tal choked down his mouthful, determined to hear as little of Garin as he could, and asked, “What was it over?”
“You don’t know?” Wren looked skeptical.
He shook his head as he took another bite, keeping his suspicions to himself.
“It was nothing,” Aelyn snapped. “Only travel weariness. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m eager to return to the road.” The mage strode for the door and roughly closed it after him.
Tal swallowed. “He’s as cheerful as ever.”
“As cheerful as a spring blizzard.” Falcon sat at the foot of the bed and snatched a roll from the platter, taking a bite as he stared at Tal.
Tal raised an eyebrow back. “What?”
“Is the fire alive?”
Wren rolled her eyes and backed toward the door. “I don’t think I want to be here for this conversation.”
Falcon waved his bun at his daughter, and the youth disappeared through the door.
All amusement had drained from Tal, and the pleasant heat of the spice in his mouth had dulled. “I think I’d best lay those hopes to rest.”
Falcon frowned as he chewed. “Surely you don’t mean that.”
“The Extinguished who stole your face told me she has a son.”
“You mentioned that. And from what I remember, that much is true. But what of it? You know elven customs as well as I do. Peers of the Realm may take lovers if they so wish, and so long as they take their herbs and don’t conceive by them, no harm is done. It’s how you held your liaison before.”
“Things have changed since then.”
“What—you’ve grown old?”
A snarling beast reared in his chest, and it took all of Tal’s effort to hold its chain tightly in check.
“No. That I never came back, and she moved on.”
Falcon’s expression softened. “Have you told her why you didn’t return?”
Tal turned his head aside. Despite eating half the platter already, his gut still felt empty, and now his appetite had abated.
His friend reached over and gripped Tal’s hand. “I can speak to her if you’d like. I saw you during those intervening years. I know why you didn’t return, and eloquence has never been something I lacked for.”
Tal squeezed Falcon’s hand back, then pulled away. “I appreciate the offer, but no. If anyone is to tell her, it will be me.”
“If?”
He sighed. “Permitted or no, Yinin never liked us together when they were promised to each other. Now, they’re bonded and have a son. Even if she wished to pick up where we left off, it would be far more threatening to their House. I’d only cause trouble for everyone.”
“Then I’m to understand you rarely cause trouble wherever you go?”
Tal couldn’t help a small smile. “I try not to, for those I care about.”
Falcon rose from the bed and shook his head. “You’re a fool, Tal Harrenfel. A damned fool.”
“I’ve never claimed to be wise.”
* * *
Garin had never thought he’d be so happy to be traveling.
Not long after Tal had risen from his fever and wounds, the wagons were loaded and the caravan prepared, and the Dancing Feathers and their escort of Warders set back on the road. Garin rode among them, taking turns with Wren driving a wagon—Mikael’s wagon, all of them knew, but no one mentioned it.
Elendol was only a few days further. Now that they were within the elven queendom, the roads had vastly improved, paved with white stones that shimmered where a ray of light broke through the thick canopy above. Despite their friend’s death weighing on their spirits, the fear of another attack was on all of their minds, and their pace quickened from the months before.
Garin avoided driving near Tal, and Wren never strayed near as well. With each other for company, they talked of small things, of all that they’d heard of Gladelyl and the ever-changing sights that surrounded them.
Neither of them spoke of what awaited Garin in the elven city. And with his devil silent, he could almost forget their true purpose.
One topic they returned to again and again was the Binding Ring on Tal’s finger. After Garin had explained the significance and she’d chastised him for not telling her of the man’s trick on Aelyn, they tried working out who might be behind it.
“My wager’s on the mage,” Wren declared. “He doesn’t enjoy being made a fool. I’ll bet he took the first opportunity he could to pay Tal back in full.”
Garin shrugged. “Could be. The original oath ended when we reached Hunt’s Hollow—at least, it should have, from what I recall. But we’ve all worn gloves against the cold since then. It might have happened sometime along the road, or perhaps while he lay sick in bed.”
“And who would have done it then?”
Little as he wanted to consider it, he knew he had to. “Ashelia attended him.”
“And why would she bind him?”
“How should I know? But they were lovers once—don’t strange things happen between people who are intimate?”
He stopped then, realizing how his words might apply to them. An uncomfortable silence fell, interrupted by the creaking of the wagon, the clomping of the horses, and the chatter of the caravan.
Wren spoke first. “Anyway, it could have been any of the Lathniel staff. If Tal still had the ring on him, all they’d have to do is go through his belongings and bind him while he slept.”
“And the Lathnieli are Sympathists.”
They’d learned a little of Elendol politics since joining with the Warders. The city seemed to have split into two factions: the Sympathists, who favored the opening of the elven nation to the Eastern peoples; and the Royalists, who supported the Queen in opposing it. The finer reasons why either position held weight had eluded them, but he’d gathered that Ashelia and Helnor were Royalists, while their recent hosts held the opposition stance.
Wren nodded. “They’d assume Tal would take Ashelia’s side and try to secure him against them.”
“Maybe. Unless it was Aelyn or Ashelia.”
“We could just ask Tal, you know. He might tell us.”
Garin tightened his jaw and looked away. To his relief, Wren let the subject drop.
Later that day, Ashelia surprised them with a visit. She weaved her mount skillfully through the caravan to ride up alongside their wagon, the stor she rode eyeing them as it trotted along. It was nearly as bulky as a horse, but with long, graceful legs, and upon its head grew an impressive set of antlers. All the Warders rode them instead of horses, and Garin wondered if there were any horses or mules in Gladelyl.
They exchanged pleasantries, though with their slight suspicion of her, Garin found his wariness made him stiff and formal. But, as she’d done before, Ashelia dispelled his guarded attitude with a coaxing question.
“What have you heard of our Queen?”
Garin exchanged a glance with Wren. “Not much,” he admitted. “Only that she’s ancient, like…”
He hesitated, about to say “like most elves,” but he suddenly wondered if that might give offense.
Ashelia seemed to guess his thoughts. “Age isn’t shameful among elves as it sometimes is among humans—on the contrary, it’s welcome. After long, well-lived lives, our elders are revered for all they’ve done for our people, and they’re provided for in their every need. But while Queen Geminia is aged even by our standards, she remains in the prime of her life. You might think her younger than me when you see her.”
“Than you?” Wren looked incredulous. “But you don’t look over thirty.”
She smiled. “I’m far older than thirty, Wren. Elves age much slower than humans. You’ve seen this in Aelyn, no doubt.”
Curiosity itched at Garin. “How old is he?”
“You don’t know? Well, let’s say that when Tal was born, Aelyn had already spent a decade studying at the Onyx Tower.”
“A decade?” He did some quick figures. “That must make him at least sixty years old.”
“Older. An elf isn’t inducted into one of the Chromatic Towers before they’ve lived twenty-one springs.”
Wren’s brow furrowed as she studied Ashelia. “How old is the Queen, then?”
The Warder turned her stormy eyes back on her. “When the Eternal Animus between the East and the Westreach last erupted into war, Queen Geminia had just ascended to the throne.”
“The War to the Sea?” Wren gave Garin an incredulous look.
“What’s that?” He felt stupid for not knowing what they referred to, but he cared more to understand than hide his ignorance. “How long ago was the War to the Sea?”
Wren seemed too amazed even to tease him. “The War to the Sea is when the Empire of the Rising Sun burned their way across Gladelyl and Avendor to Halenhol itself. But that was two centuries ago.”
Ashelia nodded. “It was thanks to the Gem of Elendol that they didn’t penetrate Halenhol’s walls. After she drove back the invaders from our home, Queen Geminia left only a paltry force behind and rode forth with all the might of Gladelyl to come to Avendor’s aid. Only by her sorcery and soldiers was your kingdom saved.”
Garin strained to understand the length of such a life. “How long do elves live, then?”
“Three hundred years, sometimes four if the Eldritch runs strong within them.”
He stared at Ashelia, wondering at all she’d experienced, all she would see, even after he and Wren were dead. Then he wondered how long Wren might live, being part-elf herself.
If any of us survive Yuldor and his Chosen.
He pushed down the chilling thought and asked, “Is there no king in Gladelyl?”
“Garin!” Wren looked at him, aghast.
He turned to her, surprised. “What did I say?”
But Ashelia only smiled. “Do not fear, little sister. Our ways are different. No, Garin, there is no king in Gladelyl. Even if the Queen’s bond were still alive, he would be the Prince Consort. Women have always ruled the queendom, and so long as there is a monarchy, they always will.”
Garin thought a moment over that before deciding not to risk further censure. “Her bond… is that like a husband?”
“Exactly so.”
“What happened to him?” Wren asked softly, the earlier flush fading from her cheeks.
Ashelia wore a grim look. “Twenty years ago, the Cult of Yuldor had wormed their roots deep into Elendol. Calling themselves the Silver Vines, they coaxed and coerced Gladelysh at every echelon of society to bend to their will, gathering more power to themselves with each day. The Queen did her best to combat it using her network of agents, the Ilthasi, against the cultists. But Yuldor’s promises are insidious, and the corruption continued to spread. Until finally, it reached even the royal kintree.”
The Warder’s eyes fell to her stor’s antlers, which bobbed with each step, and spoke softly. “Prince Nevendal was killed by the fire devil Heyl, who was summoned by the Thorn.”
“The Thorn?” Wren’s eyes were wide, and Garin detected more avidity than fear in their golden swirl. “One of the Extinguished?”
Ashelia nodded.
“And that was the same Heyl that Tal slew, wasn’t it?” Garin asked.
She sighed. “You might now understand why our Queen felt so grateful as to bestow one of our treasured artifacts upon him.”
A flicker of pride ran through him—but a moment later, he felt revolted. Pride for the man who killed your father? a part of him taunted.
He drew in a ragged breath and tried to push it from his mind.
“I need to check our perimeter.” With a last nod toward them, Ashelia turned her mount and threaded her way through the caravan once more.
“Are you alright?” Wren placed a hand on his arm.
He gave her a weak smile. “Fine.”
As the wagon rolled on, though, he couldn’t help but turn the question over and over in his head.
Is Tal a devil? Or a devil killer?
He was getting an uncomfortable suspicion that he just might be both.
* * *
In the days following his illness, Tal felt as if he’d risen a new man.
The woods of Gladelyl had always held a mysterious beauty for him. But now, as he rode upon a wagon through them, he beheld them in outright awe. He admired the fall colors that were all around. Red, orange, and gold proliferated on the trees’ branches, winter’s first breath not yet having swept them away. A freshly fallen carpet was forming on the white cobblestones of the High Road, crunching pleasantly underfoot. When he breathed in, the fresh forest scents filled his lungs.
Autumn, however, would soon lose its grip. Surrounding Elendol, the forest never slept, and winter could lay no claim. Long ago, the First Queen of Gladelyl had united the Chromatic Towers into casting an enchantment around the Sanguine City, suspending it in eternal spring. Rains came often, but snow was rare, and the trees and foliage remained green all year long.
As much pleasure as he took in their surroundings, however, his range of companionship was less gratifying. As before, Garin rode wherever Tal was not, and hadn’t even met his eye since his recovery. Ashelia was just as often absent, only checking in briefly each night to ensure his wound remained sealed. Though he usually tried to coax her into staying a little longer, she kept their encounters brief and focused on his health, and rarely strayed from that topic. Wren only flitted by his company occasionally, for she was more often with Garin, and made it clear without words she didn’t wish a conflict between them.
That left only Falcon and Aelyn sitting on the wagon with him. Ordinarily, Tal might have made the most of it and banded together with the bard to wage an interminable campaign against the irritable elf. But even if his own good humor wasn’t flagging, Falcon had grown uncharacteristically morose.
Tal didn’t have to wonder why. Not only had they buried one of his friends, but he was still coming to terms with the loss of his hand—and with it, the loss of his music. And there was also how he’d soon be treated in Elendol as one of the kolfash, or “half-kin,” forbidden entry from the lofty lives and homes of the Highkin and forced instead to dwell in the marshy under-city of the Lowkin. It was hardly the standard of living that the Court Bard of Avendor deserved, especially when he’d so recently been interned in a tomb for months on end.
To make matters worse, Aelyn had grown beyond intolerable. Though he mostly holed himself up in the back of the wagon, werelight illuminating one of his books, when he did emerge, he snapped at them like a poorly tamed hound.
Elendol, it seemed, was ill-looked forward to.
But Tal took what pleasures he could find. The air was cool and moist, but comfortable. Every breeze seemed to set the leaves aflame. The trees grew ever taller and grander, and vines and moss proliferated on the ancient trunks. Forest creatures, both large and small, skirted around their company. Gladelysh monkeys swung through the trees overhead, and the boldest of them snuck into their camp at night to steal small morsels left unguarded. He glimpsed a wild stor, the same caribou-like creature the Warders used as mounts instead of horses. The buck observed their passage as if wondering what its kin was doing by allowing the two-legged creatures astride their backs.
When they stopped for camp each night, Tal sought Helnor, and the Prime Warder seemed happy to receive him. Uncorking a flask of bakala, they passed back and forth the potent pumpkin wine and reminisced over the past like old men.
“Do you remember that time I caught you climbing our kintree?” Helnor grinned as he handed Tal the flask and leaned back against a log around their campfire. “You’d descended damn near fifty feet just to avoid being seen on the stairs!”
As he took a drink, Tal’s eyes slid over to the glow where he knew Ashelia sat with the other Warders.
“How could I forget?” he said as he lowered the flask. “I was a young fool then.”
“A young fool in love.” The Prime Warder’s smile slipped away. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to return to us. Perhaps two decades ago, when your infatuation was still fresh. But now?”
Tal forced a smile and drank again. Helnor didn’t ask why Tal had stayed away. Even as he’d always considered Tal and Ashelia’s liaison a frivolous affair, he’d known what it had meant to them.
Perhaps he doesn’t want to resurrect ghosts, Tal thought, in case they come to haunt him.
Helnor would never suffer his House to fall into shame if he could help it. Ashelia joining the Warders had gone far enough, but that it had the blessing of the Queen made it just tolerable. If she were to abandon her bond and son, however, he could only imagine the lengths the Prime Warder would go to secure his family’s honor. Even friendship would not deter him.
As if she would abandon them now, he thought with a bitter twist of his lips. What a man I’ve become to wish for it.
Even so, during his visits, part of him hoped Ashelia would come around. His hope was in vain. The brother and sister seemed to have suffered a schism of late, and he quickly divined its source. When he’d first heard Ashelia had joined the Warders not as a healer, but as one of the warrior-scouts themselves, he’d been surprised and a little disconcerted. Only then did he realize he’d hoped to return and have her and Elendol exactly as he’d left it.
But the next moment, he had to grin. It was just like her to shatter the expectations others would bind her with. And hadn’t he helped to set her on this path long ago when he first taught her the blade against her culture’s prohibitions?
After he and the Prime called it a night, he would lie in his bedroll, sleep evading him, his thumb turning the Binding Ring on his finger round and round. He thought through all that Gladelyl’s Queen might intend by binding him to her will. His conclusions weren’t comforting.
The gates have opened to the East. Ravagers prey within her borders. And that dream...
Through a fog, he remembered the forest-corrupted face leaning over him, vine-riddled eyes boring into his. A face familiar and feared. A face he’d hoped never to see again.
His blood cold from the lack of sorcery around him, Tal shivered into his bedroll. That night, Yuldor’s reach seemed long, indeed.
On the fourth day, the forest abruptly changed. Where fall had claimed it, now spring seized back hold. Green, in every shade and hue, abounded from the forest floor to the high boughs hundreds of feet above. The moss was a newborn yellow-green; the ferns were emerald as they blanketed the ground; the trees’ leaves, gigantic oaks and maples, were dark and robust. Flowers sparkled like stars throughout the forest.
Near the edge of a river, Tal spotted a mangrove and scooted off the wagon mid-trot, shouting that he’d be back. Running like a boy through the thick foliage, reveling in how quickly his body had recovered from its illness, he came before the wild-rooted tree and grinned. Long, white blooms filled its branches, and a divine perfume, reminiscent of honey and lemon, filled the air. White mangrove blooms, he thought, and though he knew it was foolish, he picked off a small bunch and hurried back to the caravan.
As he sprung back onto the cart, Falcon smiled knowingly at him, though the smile scarcely touched his eyes. “Dare I ask whom those are for?”
“All of us already know,” Aelyn snapped from within the wagon. “And, as usual, he shows himself to be a fool.”
Tal kept the smile lodged firmly on his lips as he breathed in the wonderful honey-scent of the flowers.
“Perhaps they’re for me,” he said casually.
“They do smell how I imagine Heaven’s Knolls might.” Falcon leaned closer and closed his eyes as he breathed in. “Ah. Too bad I will never reach that blessed place.”
Tal put an arm around his friend. “Then, my sinful companion, you and I will shelter together wherever the gods see fit to place us.”
He kept the blooms hidden in his pocket after that, telling himself he waited for the right moment. But even when he glimpsed Ashelia riding at the front of the caravan, he didn’t move from his wagon.
In time, he thought wistfully. In time.
Then the wide Briar Bridge came into view, and he couldn’t help but wonder if his time was running out.
The bridge seemed formed of old stone, but upon closer inspection, it showed itself to be a veneer. For beneath the pavers, it was not a stone structure that held them in place, but a network of thick and interwoven roots. During his previous visit, he’d learned that this bridge hadn’t been formed by sorcery, but through scaffolding and a patience spanning decades. Some enterprising elven ancestors had coaxed two trees on the opposite shores to extend their roots across the chasm of the Sanguine River. Slowly, their roots had melded, and the two trees had become one, their bond so strong that even wagons could cross it without peril.
If only there were some way to mend every schism, Tal thought wistfully.
Glancing behind him, he saw Garin’s face draw tight as the youth contemplated the bridge. But when he saw Tal looking, a scowl replaced the fear. Tal glanced away again. Rifts between him and the people he cared about most gaped all around him.
As they rattled over the Briar Bridge, river rapids roared beneath them. Thick roots grew overhead as well as under, blocking the forest and light from view, and their journey darkened. Tal couldn’t help a grim smile, both anticipation and dread tingling inside him.
Then the wagon was across the bridge, and the Sanguine City, with all of its shadowed beauty and half-veiled promises, opened up before them.
Thanks for reading these sample chapters of A Queen’s Command! I hope you enjoyed them.
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Whatever your decision, I’m grateful you took the time to check out the story and wish you well!
~ Josiah, aka J.D.L. Rosell