Dichotomy
Soldier: Chapter Eighteen: Majesty
Fading Madness Productions

Palace Cadell

The king looked exactly as Wynn remembered. At first glance, he wouldn’t be remarkable. He wasn’t extraordinarily tall, or handsome, or muscular. In so many ways he epitomized the average Miltsian, one man among a million: average height, blond hair, pleasant face. Without the omnipresent red and gold silks and leathers, no one would suspect that his His Majesty, King Cynric Odran Kenelm Montgomery Cadell could force his way into the minds of others.

He greeted Wynn and Oswald with the beguiling warmth Wynn remembered so well. Three Swa’Cadell, one of the men and both women, stood behind him in a semicircle, the women in gold and red silk and velvet, the man in leather and luxuriant wools. Each of the Companions wore a mask from hairline to cheekbone, only their eyes showing. Each mask had its own intricate designs worked into the gold, dusted with chips of ruby red. “Lady Leofwine,” the king said, grasping one of her hands in his strong, callused ones. She had to look slightly downward at him, which always felt odd because of his immense presence. “Our condolences on the loss of your father. I was a year older than you when I lost His Majesty King Cynric. I didn’t know how I could feel like an orphan months away from turning thirty.”

Wynn couldn’t bring herself to respond, so only nodded as the king greeted Oswald like a guest rather than a visitor. Like Wynn, however, the king used Oswald’s civilian title, Healer, rather than his military rank. They’d been decommissioned in the cast-off words of the military’s commander-in-chief.

“How is your health? The servants report you’re well.” The king glanced at the open shutters. “It’s a bit chilly in here, though. No reason to tempt fate. Tiara,” Odran nodded to his silent row of Companions, “light the fire.”

The smaller of the two women stepped out of the line and seemed to glide toward the fire, the delicate golden threads at the hem of her long skirt swishing around her ankles. Her small, pale hands expertly struck a flint, then seemed to snatch the tiny spark from the air and coax it, in moments, to a merry blaze. The king smiled his approval. “Well done,” he praised, and she lowered her masked eyes, her pretty mouth lifting into a small smile.

“Thank you,” Wynn told her, but the Companion - Tiara - didn’t respond. She swept past again, forcing Wynn to take a step to the side or be run over. Their hands brushed, and consciousness fluttered momentarily between them. Muted, given Wynn and Brande’s circumstances as well as the natural protections being Companioned to the most powerful person in the realm provide. Yet for an instant Wynn felt tension, of a strangely mixed nature that didn’t reveal whether it was good, bad, or indifferent in nature. But something else danced underneath, something new and unfocused . . . Wynn’s eyes widened and she nearly gave herself away by snapping her head up, but aborted the move awkwardly.

Brande touched her other hand lightly, his eyes faintly curious, but she didn’t speak to him aloud or along their delicate new connection. Not with the king in the room.

“Have a seat,” the king ordered in a tone that sounded like an invitation. He motioned to the upholstered sofa, a luxury very few in Helmriche enjoyed. Brande had spent some time sprawled on it and jokingly asking Wynn to feed him, which had earned him a look that made him laugh so hard he rolled off. Now it looked singularly uninviting, but the prisoners sat down, barely an inch of space between them. The king watched them a moment then circled around and lowered himself into one of the straight-backed chairs at the table. The Swa’Cadell rearranged themselves, the women standing just behind him side by side, the man making his way to sit at the edge of the other chair. “I am hoping appealing to you directly will encourage you to end this and be on your way home before your brother’s health continues to decline.”

“Of course, Majesty,” Wynn answered with what she hoped passed for honesty. She also reinforced her shields, drawing a wall between herself and the king. Even Kier and Somer had experienced trouble reading her, a decade earlier when they trained together. The king undoubtedly could read her, but not without a great deal of effort. She could only hope Brande’s less impressive abilities could defend him as well. “What is it you would like for us to do? As always, we are at your service.” She managed not to trip over or choke on the words.

“Tell the truth. Explain what happened at the border, and you can be on your way. Surely you both wish to leave? I understand you handfasted, but I would be honored to properly marry you before you go.” He said nothing of his attempts to snatch Wynn’s inheritance out from under her. Across from him, the male Companion brought out a small notebook, pen, and inkwell. He spread these quickly and expertly on the table, then poised to write. Wynn had seen this procedure before, when she had been called in at the trial for Alder Osbearn and his Companion.

Oswald looked surprised. “This is the first time anyone has asked, Majesty. We were brought here and locked away because of the fire?”

His face looked open, kind, but something in the king’s eyes were calculating. “That’s certainly an oversight on the guard’s part. What happened at the border?”

Wynn straightened her back, her hands threaded loosely in her lap, and told a lie she had practiced in her head so many times she half-believed the truth of it. “A farmer on the estate-”

“Whose estate?” the king interrupted.

“Lady Tydran, Majesty. A farmer from her estate reported smoke to us, so we went to investigate, in case a fire had arisen in the forest.”

“This farmer could verify your story?”

Wynn nodded. This much of the story was true. A Miltsian farmer had come to them, knowing they were camped at the Tydran border, and reported smoke. Everything else, however, would veer off-course. “He was Miltsian, Majesty, but I didn’t ask his name. I should have. He would live near the border, though, and he knew we were stationed there. He might have been one of the families responsible for making sure we were fed.”

“Continue.”

“There’s not much to the story, I’m afraid. I and my soldiers traveled to the area in question and saw the smoke. We went through the forest to the river and crossed, but quickly ascertained the fire began on the Janvian side. As per our treaties, we didn’t make contact. Unfortunately, the weather has been dry in that area, as any of the farmers could no doubt tell you in detail.” She smiled a little here, and Oswald smoothly took up the cue.

“They certainly told us enough about it! I never knew a thing about what grain needs to grow until this summer, Sire,” he laughed. The king smiled with just as much charm and just as little sincerity, and nodded his head for them to continue.

“The weather was dry?”

“Yes, Majesty,” Wynn agreed. “And so the fire began to spread. We sent a runner to your Majesty to ask if we should cross into Janvian territory and offer them our assistance, but he didn’t return in time.” She left out the fact that he’d been order to the Palace to report a “forest fire” via Helm Eodor. She had planned to create a small, fake forest fire of her own before the king came, before she, Kier, and her soldiers had been attacked.

“He came. Somewhat tired and disoriented.” The king threaded his fingers together, apparently extremely interested in every word. “Please, continue.”

Wynn and Oswald bobbed their heads in unison without strictly intending to. Wynn, ever vigilant, mused momentarily that this could work in their favor: they clearly were beginning to share a marriage bond if they moved thus. “Four days before we were arrested, the fire spread suddenly and quickly. What had appeared to be contained, possibly even from a series of campfires rather than crush, grew within a couple of hours into an inferno. My people tried to stop it using buckets and water from the river, but were unsuccessful. Then Lieutenant Oswald,” she tilted her head in his direction, “and Lieutenant Hildred thought of dampening the brush and tress beyond the fire. So the soldiers did that, then attempted to create a control burn so the fire could no longer spread in our lands.”

“And you were successful?”

“Largely. I lost one of my men, Ceol. Trees were burning and falling around us. One hit him, and he was pinned. We couldn’t reach him.” The catch of tears in her throat wasn’t faked. She’d just betrayed a brave and honorable man, changing his death from deliberate murder to accident. She couldn’t look the king in the eyes, suspecting he knew the truth and for some inexcusable, unknowable reason, hid it. “We did what we could and contained the fire in a circle. That’s the entire story, Sire, which is why we were so surprised when suddenly we found ourselves arrested.”

“Do you . . .” Oswald hesitated. “Do you think we set the fire? What would we gain by that?”

The king didn’t answer this question. Instead, he offered one of his own. “Where are the rest of your soldiers?”

“I told them to leave.”

“Why?”

“For their safety. After Ceol died, I wasn’t willing to lose more men. I told them to ride for the Temple of the Goddesses and pray for rain. Brande - Lieutenant Oswald - and Hildred refused to go.”

Odran’s eyebrows lifted at this. The constant scratching of his Companion’s pen halted for a moment. The other woman, not Tiara, leaned across the table to study what the man wrote. “They weren’t reported at the Temple.”

Wynn frowned. “Then where are they?”

Again, Odran didn’t answer. Wynn’s stomach knotted. Had they been found? Pedr surely would have mentioned it, if he was as well-informed as he seemed to imply. “This is your story?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

The king sighed, as if greatly pained. “Lady Leofwine, I simply can’t believe this series of events, especially considering the disappearance of your soldiers.” The pain in Wynn’s stomach loosened, she felt the muscles in her back relax minutely. “No. There’s more to this story. Someone in your party knows how this fire began. It is my belief that one of them wanted war with Janvia, and would do anything necessary to cause one. Burning good, rich Helmrichian forest would certainly be a step in that direction.”

“Only an idiotic soldier would want to go to war!” Oswald protested despite himself.

“I’m inclined to agree. And yet, here we are. No. You know something, something you’re not telling me. Something about your missing soldiers.” The king shook his head slowly, expression pained and concerned. “Leofwine, there’s no reason to protect traitors.”

At this, Wynn lifted her head, her rose-colored eyes blazing. “Trust me, Majesty, when I say that I will never protect traitors. I would find them, seek them out, and do anything necessary, overt or secretive, to protect this country as I have sworn to do.” Beside her, Oswald shifted, his hand touching, then squeezing her thigh in a warning that could be misinterpreted merely as support.

“If only I could believe you. But . . . alas.” The king stood. Wynn and Oswald followed suit. “You leave me little choice. If you haven’t changed your mind in two days, I’m afraid I will be forced to gather the information in less conventional ways.”

“But, Majesty,” Wynn argued because she knew it would be expected, “if I am the first heir of my father’s estate-”

“Your brother’s, and no. In two days, you no longer will be. Your brother, though brave of spirit, is no longer capable of caring for his estate, and the council of lords,” the five you called in to be your lackeys, no doubt, Wynn thought bitterly, “have agreed that it is in the best interest of your people that they have a strong leader. That leader should be you, Major,” he cajoled, briefly returning her lost honor, “and if you would only see fit to tell the truth, you could be.”

“I have told the truth,” Wynn lied calmly.

Sadness etched into the lines at the corners of the king’s eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you will change your mind. If not, I will return in two days and,” he paused, laying an extra layer of meaning on his next words, “speak with you again.”

“When you do,” Oswald answered in his most conciliatory voice, one that had solved a number of disputes among Wynn’s more hot-headed soldiers, “we’ll be honored that you’ll then know we’re telling the truth, Majesty.”

The king didn’t nod or bow. He simply turned, the Swa’Cadell moving in smooth unison, and swept out the door. It closed with a heavy bang and the sound of a heavy metal bolt sliding into place. As the sound of feet disappeared swiftly from the hallway, Wynn reached out and gently, carefully, prodded with her power at the king’s quiet fire Companion.

Oswald collapsed immediately to the sofa, eyes dazed. “I didn’t know anyone could be so intimidating by pretending to be nice!”

“He has great presence,” she agreed distractedly. “He always has.”

Oswald snagged her hand and pulled her down beside him. “Will he really read our minds by force to find out information he must already know?” Nerves fluttered in Wynn’s chest, bleeding over from her friend.

“Yes. A king who would kill two innocents to hide the sins of an enemy country won’t allow the law to stand in his way.” Wynn still watched the locked door, thoughtful, as he looped an arm around her. “It seems His Majesty feels free to flaunt a number of Helmrichian laws.”

“Oh? Such as? Besides murder, imprisonment, robbery, and pretending not to know about an enemy weapon, of course.”

Wynn thought of that second, fleeting consciousness she had sensed when Tiara brushed past her. So strange, for a man to have female Companions, in country where biracial children were illegal. “His Majesty’s Companion is pregnant.”

“He threatened you directly, then,” Pedr said after they painstakingly reviewed the afternoon’s conversation. His tone didn’t make it a question.

Oswald nodded. “He certainly wasn’t subtle about it. He even told Wynn he plans to steal her estate.”

Pedr nodded slowly. He’d insisted Wynn and Oswald eat while describing the king’s short but eventful visit. “Then he’s convinced you know something he needs to know or doesn’t want you to.” His eyes, always arresting in his unremarkable face, darkened with his mood, the rim of blue around the green nearly indigo. “Do you?”

Wynn and Oswald glanced at each other. They’d discussed the possibility of Pedr asking this question in the wake of the king’s visit. He nodded almost imperceptibly at her, confirming their earlier decision. “Yes,” she said.

“Can you tell me what it is?”

“No.”

Pedr didn’t look surprised. “Is there someone else who knows, in case something happens to you?”

“No.” A lie, but again so well practiced that it held a ring of truth.

Pedr let out a small sigh. “I see. I understand your caution but . . . it’s frustrating, to know we’re putting our lives in danger without actually knowing why.” His mouth lifted in a small, wry smile. “I wouldn’t tell a palace servant what I knew, either. I could report back to the king.”

“It’s easy to hide information you don’t have,” Oswald offered. “Even from the king.”

“Thank you. For keeping my safety in mind.” His voice held no sense of sarcasm, but his tone rarely gave anything away. He closed his eyes a moment, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Two days, he said?”

“Right. Does that mean two days, or could he surprise us?”

Pedr considered this a moment. “Apparently, he’s being careful. He wants to interrogate you legally. Rooms are being readied for a handful of lords and ladies, those who aren’t ill, and are close enough to reach the Palace in a fairly short amount of time, which means he intends to hold a forum to discuss your role as heir to the Leofwine land. They’re likely to fall in line with him, since it’s the same group he always calls.”

Oswald looked perplexed. “I thought all nobles were part of the Forum.”

“They are,” Wynn answered. “But only those immediately around the palace can be called in without a good deal of advance warning. My father usually only came to the palace once a year, when all the lords and ladies who can meet for an annual forum.”

“And they generally approve anything the king puts forth,” Pedr agreed. “Or so I’ve heard. There are a select group of servants who assist during these visits and meetings.”

“One of these servants is on your side, then?”

Pedr lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “They like to talk. I’m good at listening without being noticed.” He began to pick up their leftovers and plates, arranging them on the tray with the ease of long practice. “Will you be leaving, then?”

“We discussed it,” Wynn confessed. “It seems the only option available to us. I’m powerful enough I might be able to protect my memories, if not my sanity. But Brande-”

Oswald shrugged. “I’m afraid my talents lie elsewhere.”

Pedr didn’t look up from his work as he carefully wrapped leftovers in one of the large cloth napkins. “Don’t pack anything,” he said in a casual tone. “She’ll bring whatever you need.”

“She?”

“A servant. Her name is Kaie. She’ll come during the night, so you’ll need to be out here instead of in the bedroom. She has a key to the door.”

“What does she look like?”

“Small. Brown hair, green eyes. She’ll be wearing the same clothes you’ve seen the rest of us in. To prove her identity, you’ll need to ask her name.”

Wynn’s eyes narrowed a moment, thoughtfully. “Is Kaie her real name?”

Pedr didn’t answer, which in itself proved answer enough. “ I must warn you,” he said instead, leaning forward with his hands fisted against the table, “you’re taking a chance. We’ve never tried to sneak someone out of the Palace before. If whatever you know isn’t worth dying for, you should stay here and tell his majesty what you know.”

“That,” Wynn informed him with all the authority that had made soldiers fiercely loyal to her, “is not a possibility.”

“Very well. I don’t know what time she’ll be here, and I don’t know the path they plan to lead you out. Much as you intimated earlier,” his gaze focused on Oswald, “we decided it would be best that as few people as possible know the details of the plan to get the two of you to the outside.”

“What will we do once we leave? Will they help us get somewhere safe?” Oswald asked, his arm settling protectively around Wynn. Wynn, used to being the one doing the protecting, felt strangely awkward.

“I don’t know.”

“. . . You don’t know?” Pedr shook his head. “Lovely.”

“If you’d rather stay, you can. There are people outside the palace. I’ve been led to understand they have a plan in place for getting you out of the king’s way. Given your special circumstances,” here his eyes swept over Wynn, her white skin, pale hair, rose eyes, “I’m sure it will be difficult. They might want to separate you. I don’t know. I’ve only been told there’s a plan, and I have to trust in that.”

“As do we,” Wynn said quietly.

“Yes.” Pedr rose, lifted the tray. “What should I tell Kaie?”

Wynn hesitated a moment, cursing herself for her uncertainty. She was a woman of action, of quick and sound decision. Yet, now she hesitated. Oswald squeezed her shoulder and rested his forehead against her temple. :Yes: he murmured along their delicate bond. :I say yes. But the choice is yours. I’ll follow where you lead me.:

Wynn closed her eyes a moment, then opened them to Pedr’s pretty gaze. “Tell Kaie we’ll be waiting.”

Three chapters to go to the end of book two! And the next chapter will be back to Isabelline.