Sparhawk, his family, and his world belong to David and Leigh Eddings.
Legacy
A fitful spring shower spattered the streets of Cimmura the night Alessana returned, an icy drizzle that varied between a clinging gray mist and a true, steady rain. Every window's shutters were closed against the wet evening, against the cold. The lamplight that slanted through their wooden laths marked the wet street with slender yellow bars, which shivered as Alessana's big buckskin stallion plodded beside them. Few braved the chill evening; though scarcely an hour past sundown, the torch-lit streets were all but empty, and the steel-shod hooves of the stallion alone disturbed the shining puddles on the cobbles.
Winters in Eosia had been unusually long-lived and cruel these ten years past, so much so that speculations of divine anger filled the halls of the Basilica in Chyrellos with dark whispers, and with every turning of the seasons, the whispers grew louder and more adamant.
"I'd forgotten what an ugly temper she could have," Alessana murmured to her horse, reaching to rub the wet, gritty hair behind his black ears. "Think she'll forgive me?"
The horse, Veras, nickered in response, and his gray-cloaked rider withdrew her hand. "No, I didn't think so, either."
They rode in silence for awhile, with nothing but the echoes of Veras' hooves to relieve the unrelenting patter of the rain. Even a mildly observant person might have mistaken the pair for a knight and his steed, for what little femininity there was about the rider's tall, thin frame was concealed beneath the cloak, and she rode with the stiffly braced musculature of one who never quite trusts his surroundings. A pretty, if rather sharply configured face was also hidden under a loose cowl; its most striking feature was a pair of expressive black eyes. Dark hair, almost blue in the eerie light, curled wildly about her face, coarse for lack of care. There had been a time that her hair had been the envy of many a maiden, but that time had long since passed.
A scuffling sound, followed by a faint splash, caused her to turn her head toward a black alley, where neither torchlight nor lamplight reached. Pulling Veras in, she paused in the wet street and raised her head to address the footpad.
Pitching her voice low, not especially wishing to be revealed as woman, she called, "Not tonight, neighbor. It's wet and late, and there will be easier pickings later, when the drunken young fops in the taverns decide to head for home."
Silence met her, and, sighing, she decided to try once more. Throwing aside her cloak, she revealed a peculiar, but dangerous-looking short sword, belted against the gray leather encasing her leg. "Even those will be hard-won prizes, if you don't have your insides with you. Having left them on the cobbles here, I mean."
Alessana heard a quick beating of feet as the scoundrel retreated. Chuckling softly to herself, she drew her cloak about her with some satisfaction.
A piercing cry reached her ears, and she stretched a gloved left hand toward the dark heavens. Ten vicious talons plunged harmlessly into the battered leather glove before clawing up the cloak to Alessana's shoulder. " 'Lo, Black," she greeted the hawk. "Bit wet for you, isn't it?"
Wouldn't it have been easier simply to have brought up Maguira's name? The bird's dry sarcasm, delivered in a quiet, hoarse voice in Alessana's mind, made her smile.
"Easier, perhaps. But less enjoyable."
A silly reason to risk exposure.
"He annoyed me."
The bird trilled with irritation. Petty, the husky whisper accused in her mind.
"Yes," she agreed amiably. "Probably."
Pay attention. You'll miss your turn.
They passed, horse, hawk, and rider, into a main crossroads, where a small contingent of Church soldiers patrolled in the miserable weather. There were perhaps thirty of them, and each looked as weary as Alessana felt, as if the misting gloom of the too-cold spring had sunk into their very bones. They trudged sloppily together, discomfort upsetting their formations and slowing their march. Across the intersection, one of the more popular taverns in this quarter of the city sat on the northwest corner, a tavern frequented by the wealthy; the official presence was supposed to discourage individuals like the footpad Alessana had encountered from preying on rich drunkards.
Alessana smiled to herself. "God bless," she called to the soldiers, again pitching her voice lowly. "Terrible night, and no mistake."
A number of the soldiers looked up to the peculiar rider. One honest-faced young man smiled weakly. "Aye, that it is."
A self-important lieutenant, the only one of the Church soldiers who went mounted, glared at her. "No speaking in the ranks," he snapped, casting his nasally whine over his shoulder at the honest-faced soldier. Two or three of his men grumbled, and he turned his pinched, white sneer on them.
"Well, keep yourselves warm," she said, spotting a cleaning woman in the tavern yard.
What was that?
"You'll see," Alessana muttered, turning her black eyes on the bird. She hailed the cleaning woman. "Mistress! Your assistance, please."
The woman sought the source of the call, and finding Alessana, walked quickly to the corner. If having been asked to remain longer in the wet evening annoyed her at all, she did not show it.
Alessana met her at the corner and leaned down from Veras' back to hand the servant, revealed to be a plump matron, a gold piece. The woman's eyes widened in disbelief, but before she could ask, Alessana gestured to the troop of Church soldiers. "Take them all something warm, would you, friend? No alcohol, mind, but something to ward off the chill." She pursed her lips. "All but that sour-faced lieutenant."
The woman grinned, revealing a missing bottom tooth. " 'e's a stinker, 'e is. Dinna worry, marm. Oi'll get 'im ther just desserts."
"Thank you, sister – anything left over is yours to keep, for your services. Stay warm."
Petty, the hawk repeated disapprovingly. There was a pointed pause, and then, I didn't much like him, either.
Alessana laughed, and they went on their way.
Before very long, they reached their destination, a ramshackle inn on Rose Street; in truth, it was a haven for Pandion knights who had reason to avoid the chapterhouses. Alessana had only been there once before, in the company of her grandfather, but the knight at the gate had been specially elected to stand watch tonight, and she had known him since childhood.
She approached the gate, and, leaning back in her saddle, she raised a booted foot and kicked the door, landing three kicks in a quick succession, and then paused before delivering two more. Black spread his wings and took to the skies, no doubt searching out a roost for the night.
The gate swung open on rusty hinges. Behind them, a cloaked knight stood with crossed arms. "State your business, traveler."
Alessana threw back her cowl with a smile. "Evening, Sir Berit."
A startled oath escaped the knight, and he nearly tripped over his own two feet in his haste to reach her.
"Princess! You've returned!"
"Obviously."
"Well, that explains a few things," he muttered, swiping rainwater off his face. "I haven't stood watch here in over six years." He raised his arms to take her from her saddle. She stared at them for a moment, then chuckled, but chose to accept the assistance.
"Keller's upstairs, and Lylie was here earlier, as well. Seeing you, I'm sure she snuck up to his room one way or the other."
"It wouldn't surprise me."
Berit eyed her warily. "Your mother," he began, but Alessana cut him off.
"Don't concern yourself with it, my friend. I dug that grave when I left ten years ago. I've more or less come to terms with the consequences."
The knight raised his eyebrows. "I think the question is whether the Queen can come to terms with your having left in the first place."
She inhaled deeply, remembering the smells of Cimmura, good, bad, and worse. "You're probably right, but that's a bridge to cross tomorrow. In the meantime, Veras and I have traveled a long road, and we're both due for a good rest. Just so you know, he's sweet by nature, but he has a bad habit of nibbling on fingers when he's hungry. Don't let anyone hand feed him."
"Understood." The big, rangy man took the reins, but hesitated.
"Something else, Berit?"
"Just…" He sighed, dropped the reins, and held out his arms.
Alessana grinned and stepped closer to allow her old friend to embrace her.
"Welcome home, Princess," Berit said in a rough voice, squeezing her briefly before releasing her. "Top of the stairs. And good luck. You're going to need it."
"Thank you, old friend."
Berit led Veras toward the stables, leaving Alessana to tramp across the muddy courtyard alone. She passed the doors to the rowdy tavern that served as the bottom floor of the inn, laughing to herself as a particularly intoxicated Pandion burst into an off-key rendition of an old drinking song, and up the stairs she went.
She raised a fist to rap on the door, but before she could knock, the door swung inward to reveal a very pretty young woman with long blonde hair, and a man with sandy curls and angry gray eyes.
"Sana!" The woman had been seated at the small table near the window; she rose swiftly and made her way to the door, eager to greet the friend she had not seen in ten years.
"You're late," the man said by way of greeting, his tones blunt and hostile. "Your letter said sundown."
"Minor delays. I'll explain later."
"Never mind that now," the woman exclaimed. She reached out for Alessana's hand and drew her into the room. "You're soaked through!"
"Rain has a way of doing that to people, Lylie."
"Don't be smart, just get out of those wet clothes," the gray-eyed man, Alessana's cousin, instructed. He reached up to take hold of the cord that bound her cloak about her throat; he tugged, and the soggy garment fell to the floor.
"Oh, go on, Keller," Lylie said impatiently. "Find her something to eat; I'll get her into a bath." Kellar, the gray-eyed man, grunted in agreement and disappeared into the stairwell.
The pretty woman smiled. "I can't believe you're finally home. I've missed you so." She closed the door and turned to embrace Alessana. "Don't take him too much to heart," she said quietly. "He's been pacing like a caged animal since noon."
"That sounds like Kellar," Alessana agreed, reluctant to release her old friend.
Lylie pulled away, but immediately grabbed her friend's hand with a surprisingly firm grip. "Come, sweet. You may not be the same girl that left here back then, but I don't know any woman that would turn down a hot scented bath."
"Certainly not me."
Lylie led her to a screen, behind which a tub of steaming water beckoned. "Now, bathe," she ordered, finally releasing Alessana's hand. "You stink."
Alessana shed her paired short swords and an assortment of vicious daggers, her muddy black boots, her gray leather vest and trousers, her soft woolen shirt, and her undergarments, and slipped into the hot water. Sighing with pleasure, she closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth and the smell of roses that engulfed her.
Lylie drew a chair up beside the screen. "Keller kept the water hot for you. It's a miserable night out. Are you hungry?"
"Not especially, no."
"Well, you look like a skeleton, so you're going to eat anyway."
"Most definitely," Keller averred. His heavy tread reached Alessana from the doorway, along with the savory smell of a homemade stew and freshly baked bread.
She smiled faintly and began to soap her long limbs. "You're bullies, both of you."
"You scared us!" Lylie retorted. She got up from her chair and, poking her head round the screen, stared down at Alessana, who immediately drew up her knees and covered her breasts. "We've every right to bully you!"
"Is privacy too much to ask, then?" she demanded.
"There's been little news, cousin, and all of it bad." Keller's harsh tones softened a little. "You can't be upset with her."
A sudden crash at the window made Lylie start, and through the screen, Alessana saw Keller's silhouette snatch a dagger from its belt.
"Oh, come now," Alessana complained, reaching for a towel. She wrapped it around herself and walked to the window, opening the shutters. A bedraggled Black landed awkwardly on the sill, flapping his wings discontentedly.
Get back in the bath, he ordered, fixing an ugly glare on Keller, who had turned away immediately as Alessana had emerged from behind the screen.
"Keller," she said calmly, "it would be best if you waited over by the bed. Black has some strange ideas concerning modesty." She closed the window and retreated back to her bath.
"What is that?" Keller demanded, staring at the hawk, but Lylie gasped just at that moment, and distracted him.
"Oh, Sana!"
"What is it?" Alessana motioned Lylie away, but the blond woman didn't move. She looked horrified. "Lylie, what's the matter?"
"Your back," Lylie managed after a moment. "Those scars, how on earth did you get those scars?"
"Ah." Alessana relaxed, and with a gentle hand pushed her friend to the other side of the screen. "Wait over there, and I'll tell you. Only leave me a little dignity, won't you?" Black ruffled his feathers angrily, and floated off to perch atop the screen, glowering at Alessana's companions.
"What is it?" Keller demanded.
"Her back looks like someone tried to run a threshing machine over her," Lylie replied. She sounded as though she were going to be sick.
"What?"
"Swords, sweet, mostly. A couple of daggers, too, if I recall correctly. But mostly swords." Alessana dropped her head back into the cooling water and ran the soap through her tangled black curls. "I was in Cippria."
"I heard." Keller's voice was unreadable.
"I didn't," Lylie said angrily. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it was five years ago, and until she sent us that letter last month, I wasn't even sure she had survived. I saw no reason to burden you unnecessarily." Blunt and practical, much like his father, Alessana's uncle, Khalad. Much like their grandfather, in fact, if the stories Alessana had heard about Kurik were even half-true.
"Sorry about that, Keller. I didn't think that news of that would make it home."
"So little did," he replied dryly.
"Anyway," Alessana continued, "that was when I first encountered the hawk. Black, his name is. I managed to run off the Rendorish thugs that attacked me, but I had been badly injured." She turned her eyes up to the hawk and beckoned to it. He ruffled his feathers, but relented and came to perch on the lip of the tub. Rinsing soap from her hand, she put a finger to his glossy black head and stroked directly down the center of his back, silently thanking him for his help that night.
As she related the story, she was drawn back into the recollection, and as the months of painful recovery and the following years of bitterness swelled in her memory, she seemed to hear the monastery bells, ringing still in the wet Cimmuran night, and over their ponderous tolling, a hawk's scream.
It had been five years after her escape from the palace, five years of road-weariness and battles she would have preferred not to have fought, five years of carefully cultivated relationships, false identities, and lies. Queen Danae and her Prince Consort, Talen, had been unable to locate her, though whole armies of men had been recruited to search.
She remembered lying in the alley in Cippria, alone with the men she had slain. One of them wasn't quite dead, and the death rattle in his throat frightened her more than she would ever admit, because her own breath caught painfully in her breast, and the blood in her mouth threatened to choke her.
A simple incantation, a prayer, could have ended it. In fact, at that point, she probably could have simply called for her mother, in Elene, no less, and Aphrael would have whisked in from the sky, gathered her up, and made all of the fear and the pain disappear in the blinding glare of her love. But Alessana was stubborn, and so she whispered her grandfather's instead, Sparhawk, who could not hear her. She called on him because he had loved her, and he had believed in her, and because even if he saw her like this, she trusted that he would continue to believe in her.
Drawing on the comfort of his memory, she had been able to pull herself to her knees and to crawl out of the alley. The streets were dirty and filled with all manner of vile things, and the stink of blood and of the slaughterhouse and the stockyard attached to it filled her nostrils. The stench and her own pain overwhelmed her, and she vomited a bloody mess into street.
Spent, she collapsed there, and exhaustion threatened to break her resolve. A shrill cry split the night just at that moment, and she looked up to see a hawk, white breasted but otherwise black, watching her from a fencepost. She managed a smile, thinking that perhaps God had taken pity on her, to give her this image before her death.
The hawk shrieked and flew to the next fencepost, but turned its head round to view her. She crawled to it, and the bird abandoned her for the next post, still watching her. Half-convinced that she was dreaming, Alessana followed the bird down the length of the fence, remembering Sparhawk's face every time she was tempted to stop.
Just as she came to the end of the stockyard fence, bells began to ring, and the hawk took to the skies, rising higher and higher before plummeting back down to the earth with a chilling scream, as Alessana watched, bemused.
Suddenly she was reminded of a story she had been told, a tale from Sparkhawk's exile, and she followed the shrieking hawk and the bells, scarcely conscious, until the bells had stopped, and she had come to rest upon the stairs of an old monastery.
She remembered nothing of the next two weeks, except Sparhawk's voice and another's voice, now together, now separate, now one superimposed on the other, but both admonishing her to continue, to survive, to live.
"Anyway, when I finally came to in the monastery, Black was still there," she finished, tapping the bird's beak with a light finger. "The monks assumed he was a pet."
The bird snorted audibly.
"It seems that I've heard that story before," Lylie noted suspiciously.
"I kept thinking I was going to wake up, and the whole thing would be a dream," Alessana agreed. "It's an odd coincidence that my grandfather and I would have such a similar encounter in the same city, but it was probably my knowing his story that led me to the monastery in the first place."
"And the bird?" Keller grunted.
"I have my suspicions regarding Black," Alessana replied, "but I'll tell you this. There's not a whiff of Styric magic about him."
"That is not normal hawk behavior," Keller insisted.
"I said Styric magic, Keller. There's magic there, I can feel it. But it is not Styric. It's older than that. Maybe older than the elder gods."
Is it necessary to give away all of your secrets? Are you going to tell them I talk, too?
Alessana smiled sweetly at the hawk, ignoring the criticism. "He's been my truest friend since then, though, so I don't ask too many questions."
That first is true at least.
"Well, if he's a friend of yours, he's welcome here. Think he'd be interested in the stew?" Lylie busied herself cutting bread at the table by the window.
"Well?" Alessana looked expectantly at the bird, which raised an eloquent shoulder.
"What's in it?" she translated.
"Chicken."
Black walked around the lip of the tub, clutching the wood with his talons, until he was next to Alessana's face. Dipping briefly, he nipped at the top of her ear, just hard enough to pinch, and then he joined Lylie at the table, perching on the back of a simple wooden chair. Lylie dug out several pieces of chicken for the hawk, which immediately dove on the meat.
Keller growled softly, aggravated. "Get decent, Sana, I want to see those wounds of yours."
Black's wings stirred agitatedly. "Settle down, Black," Alessana admonished. "Our parents used to bathe us together, for God's sake."
Lylie giggled at that. "You may have got taller, Sana, but you haven't changed all that much since then. If it weren't for your pretty face, you'd still look just like a skinny boy."
Alessana considered taking offense, and decided against it; it was impossible to remain angry with Lylie for long. "We can't all have your figure, dear," she replied instead.
"Sana." Keller approached the screen under Black's watchful eye and hung a robe over it. "Get out, already. You'll shrivel up like a prune."
Alessana stood and toweled off thoroughly before taking the robe Keller had left for her. She stepped out from behind the screen, wincing as her feet touched the cold floor.
"Turn around," Keller said roughly. She obliged, much to Black's disgust, and Keller pulled the neck of the robe down to view her back.
"Did a surgeon look at these?" He touched the uppermost point of the worst scar, a wide swath of smooth, purplish skin that began close to her neck, just right of her spine, and continued toward her left hip.
"A physician tended them, later, but one of the monks stitched the flesh together. I was bleeding rather too profusely at the time to bother calling a surgeon."
Keller gently replaced her robe. "Any recent injuries we should know about?"
"Not that I can think of, no. Ask me tomorrow; my father's likely to beat me bloody."
"Your father?" Lylie asked. "Your mother is the one who was so furious with you."
"He'll beat me because she'll ask him to."
Lylie snickered at that, and even Keller cracked a smile. "No one says no to Her Majesty, Queen Danae."
"Except me."
"I'd be more worried about your grandfather," Keller said, his smile fading as quickly as it had arisen. "You hurt him terribly when you left, you know."
Alessana seated herself at the table, and was silent for a moment.
"What d'you think, Black, should I tell them?"
If you think it won't get around to Aphrael.
Keller looked at her strangely. "What?"
"Sparhawk's known everything, where I've been, what I've learned, what my plans were, ever since Cippria. And he knows what happened before, now, as well." She tore off a piece of bread and dipped it in the creamy stew, trying to ignore the hurt silence of her friends.
"I wrote him," she said finally, staring at the dripping bread, "every week for five years, and finally sent the letters from Cippria, along with a request asking him not to betray me. He replied that as long as my letters came regularly, he would keep my secret. I'm certain Grandmother knows, though how he convinced her not to say anything, I'm not sure."
"You trusted him, but not us?" Lylie tucked her feet beneath her in her chair, suddenly seeming very young. "Why, Sana? We wouldn't have told anyone."
Alessana glanced at Keller, who shook his head. "I would have gone straight to Belladir. You'd have done the same, Lylie. And Belladir and I would have run ten horses to death between us to bring her home."
"Which brings up the whole question of why you left, Sana. Were things really so terrible?" Lylie folded her arms around her knees. "And eat while you talk, don't mind us," she added quickly.
"Terrible?" Alessana chewed thoughtfully on the bread, which was every bit as delicious as it had smelled. "No. It was wonderful. My every wish indulged, every fear soothed away, every hurt immediately bandaged up and kissed." She tore off another strip of bread, suddenly very hungry.
"Except that my whole life was lived by other people. I had no," she groped for a word, "no experiences, of my own, to speak of. No challenges to face. Everything I knew, I learned from books, from watching Mother and Father's wordplay in council, from lessons and stories. I never had to pursue my own goals, nor conquer my own fears, nor muddle through my own problems alone."
Black moved closer to her, finished with his supper. She soaked her bread in the stew and ate it, then reached to stroke the hawk's soft white breast. "How could a person like that, a…" again she struggled to explain, "like a doll, that only has a name or a story because someone else gives it to her, how could a person like that become a queen?"
Lylie regarded her sadly from across the table. "I never knew you felt like that. We were friends, Sana, the best of friends. Why didn't you say anything?"
Keller said nothing.
"Even had you known, there was nothing to be done about it." She stretched a hand behind her, brushed her fingers against the same ugly scar Keller had touched. "But these scars, Lylie, these memories, they're mine. My experiences. I'm not ashamed of them, or of how I came to have them.
"I did some good, and I learned how to do wicked things in the name of a good cause. I can make a difficult decision, relying on only my own judgment, and take responsibility for the consequences. I've learned to judge characters, how best to manipulate the good, the evil, and the apathetic. I know how to fight dirty and how to die with honor – and I'm not ashamed of any of that. I'm a person, now, a complete person. Not a… a palace ornament."
Keller applauded dryly. "How long have you been practicing that?"
"Most of the ride back from Pelosyia," she replied, a trifle sheepishly. "I know thirty ways to kill a man with my bare hands, but oratory remains outside my purview."
"I think you expressed yourself very well. And there's a lot to be said for sincerity," Lylie put in defensively. "People know when you're laying it on for the sake of a few extra pretty words."
"Which do you think better benefits a kingdom," Keller queried, "a queen who, weaponless, can slay her enemies, or a queen who can stir the souls of her people with a few simple words?"
Alessana raised her eyebrows. "I suppose that depends upon the times in which she lives."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, do Elenians know nothing about what's going on in Rendor?"
"Rendor is always seething. It hasn't been a viable threat in years."
"And that's why they'll win," Alessana said cryptically.
"They're sun-baked barbarians," Lylie replied, waving a dismissive hand over the table.
"They organizing, more rapidly than anyone in Chyrellos, or in Eosia for that matter, seems to comprehend. The Alcione Knights are beginning to understand, though." She rubbed crumbs from her hands and turned a serious stare on her old friends. "Two years ago, thirty of your 'sun-baked barbarians' decimated a company of Alciones in less than three quarters of an hour. The Deirans were humiliated and suppressed all news of the disaster."
Keller looked stunned.
Lylie shook her head, obviously unconvinced. "I thought a company was a hundred and fifty men. You must be mistaken; the Rendors would have been outnumbered five to one."
"A company," Alessana repeated firmly. "Their new Prophet, Shamdur, isn't the fanatic the Rendors usually congregate around. He's shrewd, and power-hungry. I doubt if he believes in any god. But he has a lot of charisma and puts on a good show, and with feats like the Alcione debacle, they would be fools not to follow him."
"How do you know all of this, Sana?" Keller asked quietly, gravely.
"When I first left, I went to Rendor. Even then, Shamdur was hiring mercenaries to teach his followers basic military practices. I left five years ago, after being exposed as a spy, and by then he had two or three regiments of soldiers at least as well-trained as Church soldiers. I've lost many of my connections there, so I'm not entirely certain as to the numbers he has at his command just now. Considering the man's personal abilities, though, and with skills of the mercenaries he hired, I would be very surprised if he's trained fewer than ten thousand soldiers."
Keller whistled. "Impressive, for such a short period of time, but hardly a threat to Eosia. Though if he continues to build his forces so quickly, we could have a big problem on our hands in a few years."
Alessana nodded, and she finished the remainder of her supper in silence.
Even in her childhood, there had been rumors of war with Rendor, and though few took the Rendorish problem seriously, Alessana had intended to be ready. She studied their so-called heresies, read their literature, and listened attentively to every story Sparhawk ever told about his years in exile. And when she escaped, she had gone to Rendor first, to learn their culture and customs, to understand her potential enemies, and most importantly, to discover how best to defeat them, should the need arise.
After her identity had been revealed, after the Prophet Shamdur had named her infidel and enemy and had sent his henchmen to attack her in Cippria, she had disappeared into Lamorkand, to learn the art of the siege and to understand the concept of feuding. A religious war was brewing, and she knew enough of religion and of war to know that the emotional, psychological stakes were higher than in other conflicts, that the dissenters would not be easily suppressed – much of the mentality that fed a religious war fed a feud, and Alessana had sought to comprehend the threat.
Two years in Lamorkand, one of them behind the walls of an especially stout fort, and she had moved on to the Tamul Empire, determined to see as much of the world as possible before returning to Elenia. Acceding to Sparhawk's useful, if distant, advice, she had also spent several months in each of the Elene kingdoms, ending her self-imposed exile in Pelosyia.
The life Alessana had chosen for herself had been lonely one, but she had chosen it, like she had chosen nothing else in her life, and she had relished the independence she had stolen. She had known battle, hunger, poverty, and sickness and had overcome them all, on her own, without recourse to servants or councilors or soldiers – or even Champions. She was proud of the self-reliance she had established in her life.
Yet leaving Sparhawk and her own Champion, Belladir, had been the greatest regret of her fifteen years. During her childhood, only Sparhawk had encouraged her interest in military tactics, though he had probably believed it to be a passing phase when he first began to instruct her in the basics of organized warfare. Belladir, then a young novice, had taught her how to ride, fight on horseback, and handle a short sword. He had told her on more than one occasion that although he prayed nightly that she would never need to use the skills he taught her, he would never be able to forgive himself if there arose a time when he could not come to her aid quickly enough, and she might have been able to defend herself.
In her youthful perspective, they had proven themselves trustworthy and it had broken her heart to break faith with them.
Tucked into the bodice she wore beneath her shirt, she kept Sparhawk's first missive, which had arrived remarkably soon after Alessana sent her letters to Cimmura. It was brief and to-the-point, as abrupt and straightforward as the man himself, but proved that he had accepted her reasons and her regrets, and loved her in spite of them.
Keep writing. So long as you do, I won't say anything. Be safe.
Sparhawk's letters grew longer and more complex as the years wore on, and it hadn't taken Alessana long to figure out that her grandmother was contributing significantly to the letter-writing process, as many of them were filled with notable political issues and with domestic news: births, deaths, marriages and the like. All ended with the content of the first letter.
Now, for the first time in ten years, Alessana was home. And though she dreaded facing her parents, she knew that at least Sparhawk and her grandmother would be happy to see her. The years of estrangement had come to an end.
It's not as if you've been alone all this time, Black's husky voice whispered peevishly, indulging in an annoying tendency to read Alessana's mind. Not since Cippria.
I know, she thought, setting her spoon down a final time. And I've been lucky to have you, Black, truly. It was worth it, but that didn't make it easy. I've missed the old man. And my grandmothers. And, she hesitated, my parents.
Imagine that.
I must have frightened them so badly. Until the day I turned fifteen, she knew where I was and what I was doing, every moment of every day. And then… nothing. My whole existence blanked out of her perception.
Nervousness settled into her belly, and Alessana pushed her bowl away. She had defied her mother, with the aid of the sullen Elene god, and Queen Danae had been granted ten long years to determine an appropriate penance. She would be forgiven, she knew; her mother's love was an absolute, but Aphrael had a childlike proclivity to pettiness. And given her ten years of fear and ignorance, she was sure to exact a cutting revenge.
She understood for once what it meant to be human. It's not necessarily a bad thing. Aphrael never did quite grasp the concept of human limitation. You probably did her a favor. Black fluttered his feathers a little, his tone gruff in an attempt to comfort her.
She won't see it that way. Alessana threw a speculative glance at the hawk. For a bird, you're certainly very knowledgeable.
For a child, you're certainly very presumptuous.
"Have you had all of that you want?" Lylie gestured to the half-eaten stew. Alessana nodded, and Keller silently took the bowl away, disappearing down the stairs once more.
"You'll have to present yourself at the palace tomorrow, you know. Much of the bureaucracy was convinced that you were abducted and killed ten years ago. They immediately set upon the Queen and the Prince Consort to produce another child." A shadow came over Lylie's face.
Alessana stretched wearily and nodded. "I expected that." She had; the Elene god had taken steps to ensure that, unless Alessana were killed abroad, she would remain the sole heir to the Elene throne, as per their agreement. He had not been able to touch Danae, of course, but Alessana's father was an Elene by birth, and belonged at least nominally to Alessana's divine ally.
"Do you have clothes for court?" Lylie glanced at the gray leather and the blades on the floor behind the screen.
"No."
Lylie's mouth twisted a little with distaste, and Alessana could not help but smile. "I could hardly maintain court dress on the road, dear heart. Besides, I don't intend to make a public appearance for awhile."
"Do you really think you can avoid it?"
Alessana sank into her chair, savoring the softness of her robe. She closed her eyes. "Yes, I think so." She offered no further explanation.
Keller returned, closing and locking the door behind him. "You think so what?"
"She thinks she can avoid making a public appearance."
"Ah. To what end?"
Alessana didn't open her eyes; instead she curled up in the chair against the cool wall beside the window. The long ride was catching up with her. "Perhaps a misplaced sense of responsibility."
She sighed. "The Elene people have been without an heir apparent for a decade, now. As have the Queen and the Prince Consort. I wish to present them all with a princess they can be proud of." She cracked open one eye. "Not a road weary traveler with too many scars and skirmishes behind her."
"I thought you weren't ashamed of what you've become," remarked Keller ironically. Lylie frowned and swiftly pinched the pragmatic young man.
Alessana made a soft sound that, in her weariness, passed for laughter, and closed her eyes once more. "I'm not ashamed. But I'm not ignorant of what's expected of me, either. All of this," she gestured vaguely at the leather and the daggers and the paired short swords, "was a means to an end. I became someone else for a while, hoping that in time I might become a worthy Queen of Elenia."
She heard Keller stand – he wore leather trousers not unlike hers, and the leather creaked slightly as he rose – and opened her eyes to find him kneeling at her chair, staring intently at her. "You really have grown up, haven't you, Princess?"
A chuckle rose from deep in her throat. "At twenty-five, one would hope."
Her cousin took her hand, and said softly, gruffly, "It's good to have you home, Sana."
Straightening in her chair, Alessana leaned forward to embrace the kneeling man. "Oh, and it's so good to be home." Her own voice had become curiously thick.
Lylie, easily moved, flung herself on the pair, and the three old friends held one another tightly for several moments.
Touching, Black noted, and for once, the voice in Alessana's mind held no trace of sarcasm.
Just as Alessana's usual reserve began to reassert itself, a heavy hand pounded on the door, and all three pulled quickly away.
"Were either of you expecting someone?" Alessana asked softly.
Both shook their heads. Lylie looked a bit frightened, and Keller immediately put his hand on the hilt of his dagger.
She went to the door and, after sharing a meaningful look with Keller, pulled it open.
"Hello, Sana."