Chapter 4 – A Boat
It took nearly an entire day to calm the castle down after what is now referred to as the "Balverine Incident." Hobson and I met with nearly every member of the staff and court privately, assuring them that no, the grounds were not overrun with beasts and yes, that was Logan dashing through the halls and bellowing about glory and the defense of the crown. The story we spread, concocted by Hobson, was that my brother had ingested poisoned meat that had been meant for me, switching our plates secretly to avoid arousing suspicion at the table lest the assassin was among the guests. My assistant suggested several colorful adjectives to complement Logan's gallant deed; the tale sounded heroic indeed and garnered gasps and blushes from the ladies, laughs and congratulations from the men.
My brother was less pleased with the cover-up, but he preferred it to the truth (most who knew what happened had enough sense not to mention it to him). He would never allow himself to show embarrassment, so he substituted it with extra aggression. He was mysteriously absent at our dinners after that day, though I saw him intermittently throughout the castle; on those occasions, he looked so dark and isolated that I kept out of his way.
Having come up with no suitable way to approach Reaver, I resolved to avoid him. It was an easy task since I'd ordered the guards to keep him off of the castle grounds until the Auroran hearing; Logan was ecstatic (well, I assumed he was – his face never changed). I had a feeling that he had spoken with Walter, however, since the old knight now shadowed me whenever I set foot outside the castle. He claimed that it was so he could feel useful, and I did not want to send him away; as the day of the hearing neared, the positive outlook was refreshing. Walter seemed to think that I could retain my old alliances while simultaneously keeping the treasury full ("All you need is a good plan!"). It was escapist of me to indulge his idealism, I know, but the truth was always on my mind – Kalin was going to ask for more money than our coffers could spare, and I would look into her eager eyes and extinguish all hope for her people's immediate recovery.
Still, Walter complying with any request of Logan's was a rare occurrence, as was my brother communicating with the man who had planted the first seeds of rebellion. Maybe they'd finally found a plot of common ground in hating Reaver (I'm sure he would cringe in disgust to know that he was contributing to world peace). I had no desire to confront Logan on his meddling; a part of me did not want to hear the secrets he kept.
Instead, I spent my days devising gold-making strategies, most of which would never work, as pointed out by Hobson. The little man did much to dampen my optimism. My nights were devoted to sleeping in places other than my bedchamber, for I was sure that Reaver had his own devious ways of entering the castle unawares. Jasper had suggested prime bits of real estate throughout Albion and even offered to set up a bed in the Sanctuary, but I'd politely declined. Instead, I piled blankets in my parents' tomb for myself and Elda. One would think that little rest could be accomplished in such a dank place, but the silence put me at ease and I slept better than ever. None could reach me there if I did not wish it, not even Theresa. I could almost feel my mother's spirit protecting the area, permeating every stone and fixture. While there I dreamt of utopia, a land that could never exist but was pleasing to dwell in. There, my people were happy, their bellies full, Walter's eyes were bright, and Logan's were clear of guilt. Even better, Reaver's were free of ghosts; we sat together, his hands in mine, an image I would come to treasure. Sparrow's music box kept us all serene with its childlike melody.
But fate would only permit me to rest for so long; the day of the hearing hovered outside my refuge. Despite the harmony of the tomb, Elda scratched anxiously at the door as I straightened our makeshift beds. It is said that animals, especially canines, are tuned into their owners' moods – if this is true, then my faithful companion was spot-on. She sprinted back and forth between me and the exit even as I walked to it, wagging her tail restlessly all the while. I found myself smiling wistfully as I watched her acting out the tumult I could never show. Her attitude remained erratic until we reached the castle, where her strict training took over and she stuck close to my side, behaving as any courtly lady would.
Kalin and Reaver were not scheduled for some time, as I had yet to meet with Hobson and then two decorators that he had summoned from the city. But any expectations I might have held for stalling were smothered. Neither of the appointments took much consideration at all, and then Aurorans were filing through the doors, staring in awe at the size of the chamber. Kalin came last, proceeding slowly and respectfully, bowing as she took her place. Reaver appeared five minutes after her – fashionably late as always – without entourage, but carrying that familiar presence of oppression that made even the foreigners silent.
And then, less than an hour later, it was all over. All had gone as I'd feared, and now I sat in the shadow of Sparrow's tomb again. Kalin and her people were now proceeding slowly to the docks, where they would board their ships and be escorted back to Aurora by a flotilla of Reaver's freighters, loaded with building materials, architects, and project overseers, and a fleet of my own warships filled with soldiers to keep order. My kingdom was now a step closer to safety, yet hers would suffer indefinitely.
The displaced Millfields nobles still shuffled awkwardly around the gardens, not quite sure how to continue their usual gaudy lifestyles under the watch of my guards. I, in the garb of a gardener, attracted no undue attention. I'd sent Elda to the Sanctuary for this express purpose; sometimes, it is good to blend in with the background and watch. In my other life, Elliot had partaken in this activity also – we would come here often, disguised, and laugh at passing aristocrats' ridiculous hair and clothing. It was a juvenile thing to do, but then we were nothing but juvenile. If he could have seen me in the hearing, sitting and speaking exactly like Logan, I don't know what he would have said, even given the circumstances. Stone on a throne had been our silly nickname for my brother; now, I could apply it to myself.
Channeling my mother's protection again was fruitless; maybe her influence did not extend past the walls of the tomb. I could not enter it while the guards were posted – only members of the royal family could go inside, and I wanted to use this costume again. Her memory would have to sate me until dusk, so I leaned back onto the cool marble and shut my eyes, calling forth my childhood.
A dark-skinned man used to tell me that it was unwise to give oneself to the past. "It makes wise men wizened and clever women cloven," he would chuckle at the joke every time and pat me on the head. I only saw him a few times at the castle, but he always had a gift from his travels – a carved wood horse, a necklace of feathers, a strange glass bead – and a story to accompany it. That was how I first learned of Aurora and the distant, largely unmapped land of Samarkand, and many places beyond that none but the bravest of travelers could ever hope to see. When he stopped visiting, my mother still took Logan and me to wait at the docks sometimes. She didn't seem sad, and only told us that he had finally betrayed his own advice. I didn't know what that meant at the time, but having learned more about her old companions since then, I think I understand now.
But that man's words were far from me then, and so I unwittingly went against his counsel. I had retreated into my mind to look for happy memories, but maybe I should have specified – scholars say that the under-workings of the brain keep the thoughts you don't want and release them when you lose focus. Until then I would have scoffed at the idea; what person could transfer that much control to the involuntary? Surely humans had more power over mental frolicking. For me it was not so; I wanted to see Sparrow's life and so, vindictively, was shown her death.
Again I was eight years old, standing with Logan in the town square and waiting for the royal army to march through the gate. Mother had been gone for almost half a year, having led her soldiers up the river and into the foothills to suppress a bandit uprising. The citizens of Bowerstone had lined the streets, cheering and shouting; guards held them back with pikes and lances. Reaver, ever overstated, had organized a celebratory band of bards (back then he was still only a businessman climbing toward monopoly, making small additions to the Market that was quickly becoming its own industrial sector). I was distraught that Elliot and Elise had to stand in the back with the other nobles – I had no concept of class and circumstance as a child – and constantly looked back at them, even when Jasper tugged sternly at my arm.
Logan stood like a young king, shoulders rigid as if he was already starting to feel the kingdom's burden. He was thirteen, bordering on manhood, but still had the adventurous boyish personality that I'd hoped would never leave him. When I glanced up, he was glaring disapprovingly at Reaver's grand ensemble (at least that hadn't changed). I borrowed Jasper's technique, as children are oft to emulate their elders, and pulled his sleeve.
Walter was shifting uncomfortably as the flag-bearers crossed the bridge. I strained my neck to see our proud banners of purple and gold, but they were absent. The flags were black. Reaver raised his arms for the victory fanfare, looked over his shoulder for my mother riding triumphantly at the head of the column. She wasn't there. The town square grew quiet; Reaver's arms dropped limply.
The soldiers, gaunt and dirty, every face streaked with blame, had parted silently to reveal a makeshift field litter. It looked hastily built out of nearby materials and lashed together with rough twine, but four men bore it like a holy relic. A body – and even at that age I knew it to be a corpse, for the living are not carried by such somber faces – was its only ornament, covered in my mother's royal mantle. I shrieked and ran forward, but Logan caught me by the waist, covering my eyes with his hands.
Not a very pleasant memory. I grimaced and opened my eyes again to the garden; the nobles were still there, milling about in the way of people who have no real function save for keeping the top link of the societal food chain occupied. The sun was lower in the sky now; how long had I lingered in my own mind?
"There you are." I jumped, startled, and turned toward the voice. Reaver's gloved hand waved around the tomb's corner. "Lucky me! Everyone in the castle has been looking for you since noon. Well, not Logan – he's watching from the window, just there."
I looked in the direction his hand indicated and confirmed my brother's silhouette in his bedroom window. "You look ridiculous. Come here, he doesn't come out of his room during the day anymore."
"Oh, he would." Reaver gave a dry chuckle. "And believe me, nothing would be more delightful than seeing little Logan confront me, you know, man-to-man. But I'm not supposed to kill him, so it takes out all the fun."
I couldn't help but crack a smile. "Pray tell, why can't you kill him?" His cane tapped the side of the tomb; I swallowed my mirth. "Ah. I never pinned you as one to obey rules."
"Yes, well." He cleared his throat, peeking around the corner. "Logan left, come over here before he returns."
I joined him on the discreet side of the tomb (which became my regular visitation spot thereafter). "He'll send Walter after me. They don't trust you." My tone was surprisingly curt; I'd meant it as a joke, but it sounded more like a threat.
He laughed it away, however, with only the slightest glint of acknowledgement in his eyes. "Come now, Ava, you can't be angry with me forever."
I regarded him coolly, fighting the urge to smirk at his genuine hurt-dog expression that resembled Elda's when I didn't feed her on time. "I'm not angry." In truth, I was mildly pleased that he'd called me by my name; the last time had been when I was small.
He beamed and took my arm, leading me out of the garden. "Well, just to make sure, I got you a little gift. It's waiting at the dock. But," He paused and looked down at me, holding up a finger, "you can only have it if you promise to forgive me."
"Reaver," I couldn't keep myself from snickering, "did you get me a boat?"
His eye twitched. "A ship, yes, I did." I shook my head incredulously. Only he could build a ship in five days. He pouted at my reaction. "I think it suits you."
"I'm sure." I was grinning at this point. It was too easy to forget what he'd said, the small significance I truly held in his eyes. Everything felt carefree and weightless; for those few hours Ava came unchained from The Queen. Maybe it was the clothes. As we walked toward the beach, I peered up at him mischievously, dodging a playful whack from his cane after I commented offhandedly, "Boats are nice."