What Enchantment Hides - Book 1

Chapter 15

         Fallon paced around anxiously, looking at his shaggy hair in the massive glass mirror that hung in his room. Should he have cut it? No. It was fine. He looked around the royal guest room and took a deep breath in, held it for a moment and then let it back out. If he had ever told himself that he would be here, with all the riches of the Highlands at his fingertips, the queen of Kezna ready to be at his every beck and call, servants answering to his every whim and him happy, he would have chosen to give it all up for what he had. There was a point where he equated happiness with freedom. He equated having no boundaries or rules or authorities to abide by as the definition of freedom. He pursued it. He gave up everything he knew to rid himself of the frustrating obstacle to his freedom. However, the one thing that ruined every plan he ever thought he had was the one woman that made him doubt everything he had ever known to be true. She wore at him with her subtle dignity and honor. She carried herself with respect despite being afraid. He did not even know those could coexist. And he was drawn to it. Not her at first, but the obvious contradiction. He was determined to prove that it was a farce, a facade, a mask to help her cope with all of her loss. But he saw the moment he hardened her. He saw it clear as the sun at midday. She grew accustomed to his savage hate and lust for blood. And the moment she expected it and maybe even just before that, he felt ashamed. For the first time in his life, this lost and naive princess with seemingly no skills to speak of made him feel shame. Regret came after that. He broke inside and needed control to fix it. When he no longer made her afraid, he realized that humor would control her. It would put her on edge, waiting for something to snap and for him to make some reckless move and end her or abandon her. But by then she had acquired a very useful skill set. And still he could not leave her. He had become used to her company. He was drawn then to her, like a moth to a flame. He did not love her, but he did not want to be away from her for any period of time. And as she grew more independent, he realized how much of her he needed. She was untameable and unpredictable. She was recklessly childish and royally responsible. She was like a child who grew up too fast and relished the opportunity to have fun. She was like him. Or rather… she was like the him that he found himself wanting to be. And now he was here.

         He looked himself over once more, ran shaky fingers through his hair, took a deep breath to steady himself and he walked out the door. Gammir stood outside his door, ready to escort him. He walked down the extravagant hallway, into the main room of the palace. He walked through the massive, wooden doors and down the stone steps. A stablehand offered him his horse, which was saddled and ready to be ridden, but he refused. He needed to walk. He pulled his cloak a little tighter around him and descended into the cobblestone streets of the city. It was silent and empty. Not a single person could be seen. He passed the houses, shops and stands. He passed through the city gates and over the grassy field. Gammir walked a mere arm’s length away, following him silently, like a shadow. Fallon walked across the field and around a farmer’s crop. He walked until he saw the lake. There stood all of the people, their joyous faces staring in his direction, expectant. He came to the edge of the gathering and removed his cloak. His stark white garments were brilliant in the sun, the gold embroidery blazing like fire. His white cape waved behind him in the slight breeze, the underside a deep orange, the royal emblem covering the center of his back. The toes of his light gray boots parted and crushed the thin blades of grass as he passed through the split crowd. His dark hair was clean and kept out of his eyes as well as it could be when he refused to cut it. The high neck of his white garments covered the mangled flesh on the back of his neck. The brand was covered by coincidence now, not because he was hiding it. Every person in that city knew who he was. And all of them adored him. He came to the edge of the massive crowd of silent people who stood before the lake. He raised his eyes to look ahead and saw his bride. Calya stood at the edge of the water, her white gown nearly shining on its own. The gold veins that created flowers covered the hem and ran partway up the skirt. The bodice was embroidered with the royal crest, just as his cape was. The back of her gown tied up as a corset. Her shoulders were bare and small strips of white cloth ran around her upper arms in a subtle, elegant, off the shoulder cuff. Around her neck, she wore diamonds and in her ears were diamonds. On her head was a headdress with diamond studs that hung down onto her forehead with an elegant floral design. Her hair was braided and styled in such an intricate and complex fashion that it was impossible to guess how long she must have sat with women fussing over it, and putting small white flowers in every possible place they could manage. She had diamonds covering her hands and up her wrists. She was barefoot with diamond dressings upon her feet. Her nails were clean, long and polished with a diamond on only her ring finger.

         He stepped up to her and let out the breath he did not even realize he was holding. Gammir stood behind him, hands clasped behind his back, feet apart, a slight smile playing across his lips. Calya smiled up at Fallon like he was the only good thing she could see. He looked back at her and smiled because she was the only good thing he would ever see. He took her hands in his and they looked toward the water to where Cornelius stood ready. “Let us begin,” he said.

         “Begin your reign as king and queen of Kezna!” Cornelius cried out as he and Gammir lowered Calya and Fallon below the water. They came back up into the sunlight, the water pouring from their faces and hair. Fallon opened his bright orange eyes and looked out over his kingdom and his people. The city people and those who worked in the fields outside the city cheered and shouted the repeating chant of “May the king and queen’s reign never cease! May the king and queen’s reign never cease!” The people bowed and lowered their heads, the men kneeling in the grass. When they stepped out of the water, Gammir approached and knelt on the grass before them holding a firm cushion on which rested both crowns and two rings. They exchanged their rings and Cornelius placed Calya’s thin crown on her head. Then Fallon lowered himself to one knee as Calya placed the other crown upon his head. He stood, the water still dripping from his dark hair. He pulled his bride close and kissed her with such fervor and passion as he had never known before. She was caught breathless. The crowd stood and cheered, some whooped and others whistled. Children closed their eyes and giggled and everyone rejoiced.

         Calya awoke with a start. She had heard a terrible scream in her bedroom. She looked beside her, Fallon sat, sweating and shaking, moisture beading on his tanned skin. The queen touched his shoulder lightly with her fingers. He jumped at the feeling just as Gammir burst into their room, sword drawn. He looked around and then saw the king drenched and breathing heavily, sitting on his bed like a caged animal. He nodded to the queen and returned to his post outside their door. Fallon took her hand and kissed her palm. “It was just a dream, Cal. Just a dream.”

         “Come with me,” She said gently.

         He eyed her curiously. “This really isn’t the time, love.”

         She let out a high, playful laugh. “Not what I was intending, my king.”
         The king shrugged a shirt over his damp shoulders and pulled on a pair of pants and his wife put on a simple, light blue shift and tied a belt about her waist. She took his hand and led him from the bedroom into the hallway. Gammir stood at attention as they passed and followed like a silent shadow a few feet behind. They entered the kitchen and Calya put on a tea kettle over a small fire. Gammir stepped forward. “Your highness, may I call one of the kitchen staff to make you your tea?”

         Fallon and Calya both gave him a humorous look. The queen answered him, “I am quite capable of making myself a cup of tea in the middle of the night, Gammir. No need to have nobody get any sleep. Why you decided to take the night shift for three weeks, I still cannot understand, my friend.”

         He nodded and stepped back. “I would rather be in charge of guarding you at night until the soldiers can be completely certain that there are no traitors under Orin’s control.”

         Fallon laughed. Calya still couldn’t get used to how much she loved the sound. “Do you forget who your king is so quickly?”

         Gammir stuttered, “Well… n… no, sire. But it is not your job to protect yourself. That is your guard’s job and, if I am allowed to say, it is something you must get used to.”

         “Yeah,” the king said, half to himself, half to his wife. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that one."

         When the tea was ready, they exited the kitchen and went out a back door onto a stone balcony, the stone rail covered in dark green, climbing plants. They looked up at the starry expanse above them. Calya was the first to break the peaceful silence. “What was the dream about his time?”

         Her husband sipped his tea and stared out into the night a moment before sighing and turning to her. “More people I had disposed of. More families I had separated, innocent, good people that were killed by my hand.”

         The queen wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed her face against his chest. He lowered his chin and kissed the top of her head lightly. “Do you miss it?”

         He looked down, startled. “Miss what?"

         “Freedom,” she answered.

         He gave a low, somewhat sorrowful chuckle and shook his head. “I am free, Cal. I am as free as any man could ever be. And I don’t miss a single moment before I became king.” A shadowed expression crossed his face, but then he snorted to whatever thought was still in his head.

         Calya moved away and looked him in the eyes. “What? What’s so funny?”

         “There is one exception to my statement.”

         “Oh? And what would that be?”

         He smiled mischievously at her. “Remember when I was training with Raimor’s army before Gammir and Cornelius arrived?”

         “Of course I do. It wasn’t all that long ago.”

         He looked at her with a compelling expression. “Remember staring at me shirtless while I was sparring with the men?”

         Calya giggled like a young girl. “I would never forget it. It was the moment I first thought you may make a good king for me afterall.”

         “You looked at me like you had never seen a shirtless man in your life. I think I smiled at you because you were so taken by me even though you were a ritual dancer for a temple for your entire life and you still could not get enough of me that day.”

         A low clearing of someone's throat sounded from behind them. “Uh… your highnesses… not to interrupt, but may I remind you that outside your bedchamber, you are not actually alone?”

         Fallon scoffed humorously. “Gammir, aren’t you married with four children?”

         “Three, sire. But my wife and I conceived our children in private.”

         “And so will we, my friend.”

         “Yes, well thank you,” their guard said stiffly.

         The queen sipped the last of her tea and walked past her husband. “I do supposed we should go back to bed, though. We do have real responsibilities now.” Fallon took one last look at the stars before retreating back into the great hall. Gammir closed the balcony doors behind them and followed them to stay stationed outside their chamber once more.

         Ariah lay curled up in her bed, sweating and gasping, her heavy breathing labored and full of intense pain. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she moaned and writhed. Her large, white, feathered wings were now gray and dirty looking. She grabbed her sheets in desperation and cried out. The once beautiful and majestic wings began to gain spots, dark, blackish spots, like a black mold on food that has gone rancid. The feathers turned black and appeared withered. The arcs of muscle that spread out from her back began to shrivel like the face of an old man, but one that was aging in seconds instead of years. The two great wings deteriorated and fell apart, crumbling in a way that would remind someone of stale bread. The angel balled the pillow in her fists and screamed into it in unimaginable agony. Sweat poured down her face and back. Her clothing was drenched with a mix of the salty liquid and pools of blood that appeared where the base of her wings shriveled and died, separating from her back. She sobbed. She screeched into her bedding. She was alone and felt like she was dying. Nothing could have prepared her for this. Nothing could have prepared her for the agony, the bone breaking pain of her body parts shriveling and dying, deteriorating completely in moments. The remnants of the black and wrinkled appendages fell from just below her shoulder blades, forming a pile of feathery dust on her mattress. She lay there a long time, her breathing ragged, her back bleeding and her tears slowly drying. Eventually, painfully, she pushed herself to a sitting position. What had taken less than twenty minutes had seemed to her like hours of unexplainable torment. She looked behind her on the bed and saw the blackened, mangled feathers covering her bedsheets with the shriveled and powdered remnants of her wings. She had to hurry. She hastily dressed and wrapped herself in her cloak before running out the door. Ariah mounted her horse and galloped from her home and through the forest, breaking out from the cover of the trees into the bright sunshine, heading east.

         Fallon walked the streets of the city, talking to townspeople and working hard to right the wrongs that had been done for so many years to so many people. Life was slowly returning to normal for them as well as for everyone in the castle. Gammir’s wife and children had arrived while he was out in the fields with his people and Cornelius was back in his official position as royal advisor. And Fallon… Well, Fallon was king. Not back to normal but no longer in an ever conflicting limbo. Chuckling to himself at the irony, he headed toward the courtyard. As he passed under the massive stone archway over the stone steps leading up to the courtyard in front of the palace, a cloaked figure stood in the shadows of one of the pillars. The king stopped just past the stranger without looking back, his hand on the hilt of his blade. “Speak, stranger.”

         “If you so much as look at her highness wrong, I swear on my life I-”

         “Kikarii,” Fallon interrupted. “You swear on your life that you will do what?”

         Kikarii drew his sword and threw back his hood, stepping forward from the shadows.

         The guards atop the stone steps drew their weapons and rushed forward. Fallon held up his hand and shook his head. “Do you really want to be tried for treason against a king, Kikarii? Is revenge really worth that much to you?” He turned to face the elf, looking him in the eyes, his demeanor calm and relaxed. However, his expression became one of uncomfortable pity when he saw the scars covering the elf’s face and neck. They were his creation, his signature, his nightmares. He quickly composed himself and met Kikarii’s eyes.

         Kikarii gritted his teeth. “Has everyone gone mad? How can anyone, especially Cornelius bow to you as king? Do they know what you are?”

         Fallon lowered his head in acknowledgement of the point the other was making. “I do not blame your rage, Kikarii. But perhaps it is you who have gone mad with your lust for revenge. Will you feel better if you strike me down? Will you be proud after you have cut me to pieces? Or will the time lost and the damage done continue to haunt you even after you have avenged yourself for the wrong done?”

         The elf raised his sword. Calya came to the top of the steps and stopped, taking in the scene below her. She wanted to yell. Looking at the guards, she motioned to the king, standing before his assailant with his sword still sheathed. They looked back at her, just as concerned and confused as she. She understood he must have forbidden them from taking action, and so she stood and watched. Even from her distance, she saw the change in Kikarii’s appearance. She should have expected this. Her heart ached and her eyes filled with tears. She had not seen Kikarii since he had been taken by Fallon. She had not seen the torture he went through and the scars it left until now. Even still, that was her husband down there and she feared for him.

         Kikarii dropped his sword in a powerful arc, and in an instant, Fallon's blade met his in the air. The two stood, deadlocked at the entrance of the courtyard. Those who had been passing by scurried away and stood in doorways, horrified at what they saw, confused as to why the king would not allow his guards to defend him, amazed at how he conducted himself so calmly.

         Again Fallon spoke calmly. “Kikarii, you know that revenge will not fix the rage you feel or the damage done. Nor can I make up for what I took from you or the torment I forced on you.”

         “You can die like the filth you are, Fallon!” the other screamed in desperate anger.

         “If that will fix how you feel, then go ahead. Kill me now. But just know that in doing so, you force Calya to watch her husband be struck down before her very eyes in the name of bloody, vengeance. Will you go to her and explain yourself, justifying your actions to the woman who forgave those very same actions?” He felt Kikarii’s strength lessen as his sword dropped away, down to his side. “If that answer is no. Then go your way and I will give you immunity and you will remain untouched.” The king returned his sword to his hip and turned his back to his challenger. He glanced over his shoulder momentarily before making his way up the steps to his wife, the queen. The palace guards looked from him to Kikarii and back again. Their king shook his head and then nodded respectfully back at the swordsman. “Let him go. He is no threat.”          Calya fell into her husband’s arms and looked at her old friend and companion with a mixture of sorrow and compassion before they both turned and retreated back into the great, golden and stone hall of Kezna.

         Kikarii was still seething in his anger. And yet Fallon was right. He could not take the life of the queen’s husband in revenge if she did not seek the same. Killing him would not fix the wrong done, nor would it take away what haunted him. He stood a moment longer, staring up the empty steps where the guards stood at attention, watching his every move. Then, he spun on his heel, sheathed his blade and stalked through the city to the inn where his mount was boarded. He led the horse out of the stable and swung himself up into the saddle. With one last look at the stone spires with the royal flags blowing in the breeze, and the enormous palace rising above the roofs of the houses and shops, he dug his heels in and thundered down the cobblestone streets toward the city’s main gate. The gate guard stepped aside as he blew past, out into the fields beyond the high walls. He flew past farmers and shepherds with their fields and flocks. He passed by children playing with dogs and in the stream. He rode by fishermen in boats on the lake, hoping to catch their dinner and any extra to sell in the market that week to provide for their families. There was a large hill beyond the fields and herds, beyond the lake and the children. He reined in his mount on the top and pulled it around to face the city again. He let out a muttered curse beneath his breath and shook his head as if he could rid himself of his problems by doing so. He put a rough hand over his forehead and dragged it down over his face in uncertainty and took a deep, shuddering breath. Where to now? He was a man without a home. Leading his steed back around to face the southern border, he caught sight of another rider coming nearer from the west. He whistled loudly with his fingers.

         The rider looked up to see the source of the sound, changing direction to meet him. As the horseman approached, she slowed, coming to a stop ten yards off. She raised her head to study his face, her cowl falling down to her shoulders revealing her thick, long, blonde hair, pulled back and braided in many strands. The forest angel smiled as a tear ran down her face.