AN: Before I start to ramble, I'll cut myself off and only say: Here's the first chapter of something of which I have a lot planned for. Enjoy!
Also, remember reviews=happy author. And who doesn't want a happy author ;)
One more thing, a big thank you to Metonomia for beta-ing this at 3a.m! :)
~P.B
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Chapter 1:
Child's Play
The little girl giggled, parting her pink lips. "My Papa would like to hear your stories. He will be home soon."
Trembling breaths and ragged gasps echoed through the room, bouncing off the bedposts and flying up the walls.
"Tarkheena, please allow me." He stepped behind the Tarkheena, and took hold of her chair with one hand.
Her body twisted, further entangling itself in the contorted clawed at her mind.
Bloodcurdling screams rang out…"Momma!"
Her head lurched to the side, gluing damp, dark strands to her face. Sticky, hot drops rolled down her forehead only to be slung off.
Harec pulled the knife out with a sickening squelch. The lifeless body crumpled to the floor, letting the skull smack the tabletop, and fall in its own pool of blood.
Thump, thump, thump…
Gleaming, metallic liquid dribbled into the cracks of the floorboards.
Air surged into her lungs in short bursts, and her limbs shook under the sudden weight put on them. Her eyes frantically swept across the room. No body, no knife, no Harec, no blood only the furniture in the master bedroom and the faint moonlight shining in from the window.
A dream---it was only a dream. Everything is fine.
Air began to come more easily, and the furious thudding in her chest decelerated to an almost average pace. Faeriln lowered her weight onto her elbows, blinking away the droplets of sweat atop her eyelashes. Drowsily, she swung her legs over the bed, willing herself to walk to the desk at the far side of the room.
From the bottom left drawer, she took a bottle and a small glass, sighing when she saw the almost untouched bottle of sleeping tonic. She sipped at the spicy, fruity spirit, embracing the warmth creeping through her body.
White paper caught the corner of her eye. If only I could burn you. I should pretend I never recieved. Faeriln fingered the letter, making crescent-shaped indentions with her nails. Though the fireplace was cold and vacant, she could almost feel the flames. They would kill me.
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"The master gives instructions for you to wait in the east parlor," the slave girl said in her usual meek tone.
Behind her, Faeriln followed, apprehension building in her gut. She'd read the letter, four times, in fact. How is it that after years of missions getting that letter, the letter still made her feel like retching? The second time, or rather her seventh mission, her second time actually witnessing a killing, her body gave in and she did vomit---all over her brother.
Faeriln sighed in annoyance when she saw that the slave was still standing in the doorway of the parlor.
"You may leave," she tersely told the girl. At the Tarkheena's obvious aggravation, the slave girl dropped into a fleeting curtsy before hurrying off to another task.
After hearing of the guest's foul mood, the next slave nervously bustled into the parlor, trying his best to steady the tea pot wobbling precariously on the silver tea tray. He set the tray on the table in front of her, sighing in relief.
"Tea?" he offered, lifting the ornate teapot.
"Yes," Faeriln shortly replied.
Just as Faerlin was taking the first sip of her tea (a rather bitter sip it was, for the Rahmeedrins never took but a pinch of sugar with their tea as did most honorable Calormenes), a tall woman entered the parlor. Oh, Tash, give me self control. I fear I shall need it greatly. Before the elder woman could rebuke her poor manners, Faeriln stood and curtsied.
"Granddaughter, I bring you good wishes from our friends in Besmer," her grandmother greeted with the same wrinkled, judgmental frown and stern, black eyes her face had become accustomed to displaying.
"You must extend my thanks to them," Faeriln replied, picking her tea cup up again. "Pardon my error if I should be incorrect, but were you not to return at the end of the month?"
"Yes, that is what I had planned." The elder Tarkheena tentatively sipped the steaming cup of tea the slave had just poured. "Unfortunately, Nellah and Gaztro's daughter, Cernai took ill. I feared it could be contagious, and at my age an illness is unaffordable."
"I suppose she is an infant, Cernai that is," Faeriln lethargically questioned, speaking the first thing that came to mind.
"No, she is not. Cernai is engaged to that handsome spice heir from Galma. Do you not remember the summer you spent at their lake villa? You two became fabulous playmates." Her grandmother's reproachful reply sounded more like an out right scolding.
"No, I do not, Grandmother for such a thing never happened. Perhaps, you are thinking of Dehveen and Cernai."
"I see you are going to be stubborn just as you have always been," the old woman said. "Though, that reminds me of something so I shall be kind and change the subject." Here, Faeriln resisted the urge to snort. "I received a letter from Dehveen the day I returned. You know her courtship with Prince Rabadash has grown quite serious now."
"Yes."
"Since the two are practically engaged, your sister has requested that I ask you what artisan made the necklace you wore at your wedding ceremony."
"Oh, I would not know," Faerlin listlessly replied as the slave boy poured her another cup of the herby tea. "Taluash might. He gave it to me the night after I finished my sacrifices to Zardeenah."
"I beg your pardon, but the master requests that his granddaughter see him in his study," the slave girl timidly waiting in the doorway announced.
"Very well, Faeriln. You are excused, but you will stay for dinner. Won't you?"
"Yes," Faeriln crossly muttered, the leather of the sofa squeaking as she rose. In a lifeless tone she corrected herself, "I shall."
Gingerly, she straightened out the unsightly wrinkles in the skirt of her dress, managing to keep the same austere face. There is no choice here. As she was led to her grandfather's study, her austere expression did not falter nor did her thoughts waver. I have to do this. I have to. For her. I have to do this for her. The brief exchange between her grandfather and the slave came to her ears as only mumbling.
As she shut the door behind her, her grandfather's black eyes continued to study the long scroll of parchment rolled out on the table before him. Clammy fingerprints lingered on the doorknob even after she had begun to walk towards the man in the corner. Senility had always been something the Rahmeedrins had said themselves to be unaffected by. However, by the way her grandfather was clutching his cane, seemingly oblivious that someone else had entered the room, Faeriln was beginning to reconsider this.
"Faeriln." As she bent her knees into a curtsy, she was careful to retain the stony look on her features. "Come to me, I have something to show to you."
She did exactly as she was told. Faeriln's eyes widened when she read the title of the map: The Kingdom of Narnia.
"This, granddaughter is the barbarian country of Narnia. For centuries, they have angered Tash." He paused to take a breath and gain a steadier hold on the top of his cane before placing a ringed finger on the map. "Cair Paravel, the home of the barbarian kings and queens."
Faeriln was not quite sure of what he had planned, but an awful, heavy feeling in her stomach had an idea.
"You shall travel with Prince Irseef to Cair Paravel. The High King has been told that you, or more correctly, your alias, Kirdra Aboshnee are close friends with the prince. A week after your arrival, Omad will come to aid you." Faeriln knew what his words meant…"You are to kill the High King."
For a moment, she thought she hadn't heard anything. Then, his words came together and her mind made sense of them. Kill the High King. Kill the High King of Narnia.
"What does the prince know?" she monotonously asked, still staring at the tiny drawing of a large castle sitting on a white beach.
"He has been told nothing about our business, but Irseef has been told that if he wishes to take Rabadash's place as his father's (may he live forever) favorite, he will allow one of his father's (may he live forever) most favorable Tarkheenas to accompany him. "
Silence stilled her mind. The weight of the task lay heavy on her chest and her throat tightened.
"When do we leave?"
"In a fortnight's time."
Faeriln stiffened her back, raised her chin, but didn't dare to look up at her grandfather.
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Two weeks past far too quickly for her liking. Taluash returned from his brief trip on business for his father's jewel mines. Nine days later, he left again. Faeriln remembered him mentioning something about the workers in the western mines rebelling. Nadiri changed her favorite color from green to purple, and Dehveen's courtship with Prince Rabadash came to an inevitable end.
Yet again, Faeriln found herself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open, mind ablaze and swirling with thoughts she tried and could not block out. There were no nightmares, just her and the voice of her thoughts. She hadn't bothered to get up for the secret bottle of spirits kept in her husband's desk. Something made her want to remain sober.
Pattering sounds of little toes tip-toeing quickly down the hallway grew closer. A smile crossed her face as the bedroom door creaked open and half of a face and a small hand clutched around a rag doll peaked through the crack.
"Momma," Nadiri called in a sweetly timorous voice. "Are you asleep?"
"I am awake, Nadi," Faeriln sighed, "You may come in."
With a bit of help from her mother, Nadiri tugged her body onto the coverlet and shimmied under the sheets.
"What is the matter, sweetheart?" Faeriln questioned, hugging her daughter to her bosom.
"I had a bad dream," Nadiri whispered, twiddling her rag doll's brown yarn plaits.
"No more bad dreams. You may sleep here with me."
For a moment, they were both silent; the only sound in the room was the chronic chirping of the crickets in the bushes outside.
"Momma, why are you leaving tomorrow?"
"I told you, sweetheart. I am running an errand for Baba," Faeriln replied, forcing a smile through her lie. Using her grandfather's nickname seemed to make it even worse.
"Oh." Nadiri twisted the purple bow on top of her doll's head. "When is Papa coming back?"
"Your papa says he will return very soon," Faeriln answered, tapping her daughter's nose twice. Nadiri's giggles made her smile, genuinely this time. "So you can play with him while I am gone."
"Okay," Nadiri yawned wide, head lulling back.
"Sweet dreams, Nadi," the young mother whispered into her daughter's cool hair.
Nadiri wriggled a bit, trying to snuggle into just the right position. Maybe it was the nights without sleep or stress, but Faeriln could have sworn she heard the little girl lying against her chest mumble, "I'll miss you, Momma." and her heart sank.
