Hey, all! Thanks to Bingo7 for reviewing. This chapter is a little longer than the last; I hope things didn't move too fast! Thanks for reading.
Chapter Eleven
--Ariana--
We finally decided on the less-sleazy-looking tavern in the square. The exterior was still badly painted, but it looked much better than the one next door. The interior was nice as well, I suppose—if there had been less people it would have been pleasant. Iron chandeliers swung overhead, the candles glowed in the dim light, and round wooden tables dotted the large hall. A bar ran from one end of the room to the other, faded stools serving as seats. I suppose it looked like an ordinary tavern. Despite that, it was more than a little rough inside.
A group of goblins, draped in their strange bright cloaks, had congregated around a table near the entrance, and hissed as we passed; I knew from meetings with their king that they preferred to associate with their own kind. Still, they didn't frighten me half as much as the leering, knife-toting men at the table next to them. Deciding to keep up the façade of being Tristan's wife, I took his arm hurriedly. He glanced down at me before rolling his eyes and escorting me up to the bar. Marielle, wrapped in a green cloak that Susanna had lent her, was already waiting at a table and, from the looks of it, carrying on a spirited conversation with one of the goblins.
"I'll have an ale," Tristan said firmly to the girl behind the counter, counting out three bronze coins. "For food…"
"We don't serve food here, sorry." The girl, her voice lilted like Tristan's was, shrugged, reaching for a glass. "And for your lady?" Tristan turned to look at me as he accepted it and took a sip.
"Um," I said, mortified, "do you have, uh, cider here?"
The girl gave me a blank look before shaking her head. "You don't get out much, do you?" she asked good-naturedly, a smile starting in the corner of her mouth.
"No," I shuddered as an elf, obviously drunk, slammed into the wall next to me before laughing loudly and stumbling away. "I'm Ari." I sat down on the stool; I wanted to talk to her for a while. Being queen of Marquia, which I intended to be, meant that I'd have to understand my subjects, and by that point I wanted to fix this village more than anything else I'd encountered so far. "How do you stand to work here…?" I fished for her name, trying to guess it before she said it.
"Renee. My name's Renee. Well, my mother died when I was younger, and my father's a soldier, so he's called away a lot to the capital. I've got to live somehow. There's a brothel across the street. When I think I can't stand it anymore, I look at the building."
"That's awful!" I exclaimed, both horrified and slightly embarrassed. Still, I liked Renee's matter-of-fact tone, and the way she multitasked, mixing drinks while talking. Marielle often complained that once I started talking to somebody, I was dead to the world.
"It's all right. When Father saves up enough, I'll quit and move to the capital with him. Get a job as a cook or something. Excuse me, Ari—" Renee turned around to grab a mug of ale for a customer behind me. "This be all, sir?" she asked, while I turned her words over in my mind.
"Yes," came the raspy hiss from behind me, and I stiffened. I had heard that voice before. Where had I heard that voice before? "I've had a long journey," it continued, and I stood, looking towards Tristan and Marielle.
"Where are you headed?" Renee asked, cocking her head to the right and crossing her arms.
"To the Walled City. I'm looking for a friend."
Then I knew: the king's advisor. Lord Griffyn.
"Oh. Good luck on your search." Renee went back to pouring drinks, humming, but I remained frozen as he slipped away. "Oh, did you hear? The princess is gone!" Renee suddenly burst out, looking up with an expression that suggested only she knew this juicy piece of gossip. I inhaled deeply.
"What?" I tried to act like a shocked and concerned citizen and not said terrified princess, while at the same time trying to figure out what to do.
"Yes, she went off to visit her aunt—the Duchess of Landworth, the king's sister… and the princess wasn't in her room yesterday morning. And, when they checked, she was gone. They aren't sure if she ran away or if she was kidnapped, but by this point…" This time Renee's face held both of the horror of the idea of the princess disappearing and the delight of a scandal.
"That's… that's really awful! Renee, I'm going to sit down now, all right?" I stated quickly, the words slipping out so fast they tripped over themselves. Dimly, I wondered how she had heard the story, but brushed the thought aside. "It was lovely meeting you."
"Come see me whenever you're here," she nodded cheerily.
I crossed the room to where Tristan and Marielle sat chatting quickly, and stood behind them. "Marielle, put your hood up," I said tensely, my gaze flickering to the corner and back, where Lord Griffyn sat, chatting with an elfin girl. Once, I thought I saw his black eyes glance in our direction, but I couldn't be sure. Why had I left my cloak back at the inn?
"Why?" she asked, obediently pulling at the garment. Tristan looked towards the corner as well.
"Lord Griffyn is here, just do it," I muttered, combing my hacked-off hair over my face with one hand and trying to appear casual.
"You never told me who you were," Tristan said suddenly, his eyes intense. I turned to
look at him, and just I had the day before, I found myself spellbound. Is it magic? I wondered suddenly, held to the blue eyes. Abruptly, he broke the spell himself by looking down to take a final slurp of his ale. I exhaled briefly, feeling almost a letdown. But that wasn't important now; we had to leave.
"Are you finished? We have to get back to the inn. We have to leave now." The words spilled out of my mouth, unintended, and my vision righted itself.
"Why?" Tristan stood, though, genuinely concerned this time. "What is it?"
"Trust us, we just do," Marielle stood and began marching for the door; Tristan sighed, and got up to follow her, knocking his ale to the floor in the process. I started for the door, not waiting for him to right it—I had to get out, had to get out, had to get out—
"My dear, where have you been?" An ice-cold hand had clamped onto my shoulder, freezing me where I stood, and the raspy, reedy voice could come from only one person. "Your husband is looking for you." Terror rose inside me, building as I opened and shut my mouth, trying desperately to make a sound. Anything. Anything to get me away from this man. The hiss continued in my ear. "We need to get back to the capital," he stated, forcing me towards the back door while I complied like a limp puppet. "And I need a way to do so. Would you like to be a bird, princess? You'd be kept in a lovely cage. You would have to be silent, however, my dear. I wouldn't want you to get hurt. Your husband wants you as… unmarked as possible."
The last threat came, and frightened me so much that, like with Braxton, I found my strength. I jerked my arm away, shouting as I did so, and slammed Lord Griffyn into table before he could react. The table collapsed, and I scrambled backwards as the mage, panting and furious, got to his feet, drawing his knife and grabbing at me. He got the edge of my dress and yanked, hard. I kept struggling, but no—he was going to choke me—I couldn't breathe—
Just as red rose before my eyes, he had dropped the garment, and I sucked in as much oxygen as I could, trying to get to my feet. My vision came in flashes—Tristan was standing next to me, shouting something, and then a blast of light shot out of his palms; Lord Griffyn was crashing back down on top of the splintered tabletop. I gripped the edge of a table, trying to catch my breath, and finally I could see the pale, unconscious figure on the table. "You're all right?" Tristan asked, suddenly concerned, and I nodded, my eyes trained on Lord Griffyn. He did not stir, and Tristan rubbed his palms, which were glowing with green sort of light, on his shirt. "That goes for—for anyone else who tries to touch her!" he shouted with the bravado of a soldier, glaring around at the now-silent room. I stood, frozen; I could not react.
"Let's go," Tristan turned to me and, when I didn't move, pulled at my arm. "We have to get out of here," he whispered as the unnatural, shocked silence continued. Finally, Tristan grabbed my wrist, pulled me to my feet, and marched me out of the building. I barely noticed, keeping my eyes on Lord Griffyn's blank, pallid face until the door shut behind us.
I exited into the cool night air, my mind still reeling. Marielle had presumably gone back to the inn—in any case, she wasn't outside, but I was not worried about her. She could take care of herself. Hurried, Tristan began to walk back towards the inn, with me struggling to keep up. "I doubt they'll come after you now," he smiled, trying to make a joke, and I cringed inside. Of course they would—except next time they would aim to kill.
"Thank you," I said awkwardly over my shoulder to Tristan, who was slipping his hands into his pockets. "I… it's not easy to face someone like that, and… I doubt he'll be back," I lied.
"He could have hurt you," came the answer, though Tristan was speaking to the ground. Finally, we had reached the inn, and I waited for him to open the door. "Now, why do you need protection from all these people? Mercenaries, kidnappers… really, I'm surprised you've made it this far." This was said partially in jest, but in the sudden light from the windows of the inn, I could see that his face was serious. "What are you, a runaway damsel?" My stomach clenched; he didn't know.
I exhaled suddenly and shivered, biting my bottom lip. "Let's just go back to the inn. I can tell you there."
Tristan nodded once and then looked at me expectantly. "Oh! Oh, yes, I'm sorry," I apologized, feeling like an idiot as I held open the door. He entered first—again, it was odd—and I quickly followed, giving a sigh of relief as I stepped into the warmth of the open room. One or two boarders sat by the fire, enjoying what looked suspiciously like fresh bread and cheese, and I suddenly felt ravenous. "Let's go wait for Marielle," I suggested, wondering briefly where she was.
"You're staying here for the night, dears? I'm Elsa, the lady of this inn—that's my son who owns it." A voice piped up suddenly at my side, and I turned, startled. A wizened old woman, her white hair piled on top of her hair with multicolored combs, peered at me from not three inches away.
"Ah, yes, um, I'm Ari, and he's my—we're—" I started helplessly, disconcerted by her sudden appearance.
"This is my wife," Tristan clarified, placing a hand on my shoulder. I tried not to flinch, remembering Lord Griffyn's freezing touch.
"Oh, how sweet! You look young, is this… recent?"
"Yes, very recent," Tristan spoke suddenly, a wicked grin slicing his face in half as an idea occurred. "In fact, we were married just three days ago."
"Well, congratulations!" The old woman, oblivious, smiled benevolently. "Would you like something to eat? Do you know what, you won't even need to pay—newlyweds, how romantic." She started off for the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, "Oh, I've got some lovely soup, and bread fresh out of the oven…"
"My sister is staying here as well," Tristan shouted after her. "You may have seen her… blonde hair, green cloak, sort of crazy—"
"What are you doing?" I inquired, a small smile starting in the corner of my mouth even as I tried fiercely to disapprove. "We're not really married, and she's giving us a free meal…"
"Well, we probably overpaid her lousy son up there. Anyway, why shouldn't we continue the charade? It's easier than making up different stories." Tristan turned and began to march for the sofa in front of the fire. I followed him, trying to come up with excuses. If we kept buying everything, we would run out of money. I wasn't exactly sure how much Tristan had or how much Marielle had brought, but I knew that our pockets weren't exactly bottomless.
"It's… it's dishonest," I winced as soon as I spoke. What, exactly, had been at all honest about me during the past two days?
"Speaking of dishonesty, Ariana…" I looked up at him, surprised. "What?" Tristan asked, noticing my face.
"Nothing, you just haven't called me by my name this whole time," I noted. "That's all." The fire blazed, giving the room a cheerful feeling, and I relaxed into the couch, leaning back ever so slightly. True, it wasn't incredibly comfortable, but it was much better than the barstool.
"Why didn't you try to shout or something when that man first approached you? Why didn't you fight back at first?" Tristan asked randomly, examining one of his hands.
"I… I was just… afraid, I suppose," I answered slowly, bemused and feeling sort of stupid.
"Well, if it happens again, you should… not let go of it, but don't let your fear control you. It's like I used to tell my sisters, you're stronger than you think you are." There was a brief silence, broken when he coughed. "Anyway, you still haven't told me why all these people are following you," Tristan continued, turning to look at me. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, Elsa reappeared suddenly, bearing a tray laden with three bowls of soup and a full loaf of bread—plus three identical mugs of cider (Finally! I thought eagerly). She placed the tray on the coffee table in front of us, and once again beamed with happiness for our imaginary life. Guilt sank in.
"Thank you, ma'am," Tristan nodded towards her and patted my arm again. "My darling and I are very grateful."
"Oh, bless your souls…" Elsa turned and was gone. Briefly wondering how she got around so fast, I turned back to Tristan. I'd promised to tell him.
"Can we go back to my room?" I asked quickly, looking from corner to corner. There were a few people seated around the room, and I couldn't risk it. Once Tristan had nodded, we gathered the food and hurried off. "Shut the door," I added, as he began to create the strange yellow lights that Ben had back at the manor, glancing from corner to corner. It was much lighter in the room, and I felt safer. Even though Lord Griffyn was incapacitated, I didn't trust the area. Tristan obliged, his eyebrows raised. Quietly, I sank onto a corner of the bed, and faced him. "What I'm going to tell you is true," I warned him, hoping he'd believe me. It didn't seem likely, given his previous attitude, but maybe… I cleared my throat and shook my head, beginning seriously. "My name is Ariana, and I am the princess of Marquia."
***
And so it was that, sitting on my bed in an inn, I told an almost-stranger everything. It was a relief, really, to release the burden I'd been carrying around for days—Marielle knew, but it was her burden as well and really did not concern her life. Tristan was a very good audience; he listened, this time, really listened, to me pouring out the truth. Marielle listened, but then that was her job, and I knew that half the time she was coming up with responses or stories in her head when I spoke. I felt better, confiding in him; I felt honest again. He nodded, and smiled when I told him about the scene with the frog, but quickly sobered when I told him of the manner in which we'd escaped. It felt wonderful just to let someone know.
When I finished, half my soup gone, Tristan nodded slowly, processing. Finally, he looked me in the eye, and sighed. "I believe you," he stated simply, placing his hand on my wrist once again. "And, I know I probably shouldn't, but…"
"Oh, I can prove it," I said hastily, remembering the letter to the rulers of the Bright Isles. It was still in Marielle's bag. "We've got an official proposal, with the Libonessen royal seal, Marielle will tell the truth—and what they said in the tavern, about the princess being missing…"
"No, I do. I mean, it sounds ridiculous—sorry for offending you, Your Highness—" he added quickly, and I winced. "—but it does, except it explains everything. The way you act, the way you speak… I don't think reflexes can be learned, either."
"You understand that you're in danger, then, and don't use any titles when you speak to me, please," I added quickly. "Just call me Ariana." A memory of the scene in the tavern flashed behind my eyes: Tristan jumping to my defense, Lord Griffyn tumbling backwards… Tristan removed his hand from my wrist, and I suddenly had the sensation that I'd been burned there. I placed my own hand there, but it stayed the same.
"I understand," he said quickly, nodding, "but don't worry, I won't leave you. After all, you are my princess; I wasn't born in Marquia, but I was raised here. Your father has been a good ruler. According to Susanna and Master Salus, things are better since he took the throne."
"You mean my mother," I chuckled, picking up a piece of the bread. "Father's just there, really—I do love him, I mean, but it's my mother who rules."
"That makes sense, actually." There was a pause, and I turned away, watching the shadows on the wall. Tristan coughed and continued after a moment. "But, if I can ask, why didn't you just take him to court?" Him being Braxton, I assumed.
"Well… the court is divided; no pun intended," I added, and he grinned wryly. "There is a faction of traditionalists, who support my father, and then another that supports Sir Luis, one of the councilmen. This isn't a republic, it's a monarchy, but still, Sir Luis has a lot of influence," I played with the sleeve of my dress, feeling awkward. "He wants me to marry the king because he believes that we will gain more territory that way. He supports King Braxton in almost everything, and he's…" I stopped, unable to describe it. "He's very charismatic, and persuasive. He could easily convince the court that I was lying, especially since the only other person, practically, who can translate the letter is a maiden. And he believes that my father will name him as his successor." Though it isn't true, I added in my mind, as I always did. It can't be true.
"But doesn't the throne go to your relatives?" Tristan, confused, cocked his head to the right, and I shook my head. Ugh, politics!
"Not necessarily. When we seceded from Irenta…" I stopped the history lesson and shook my head. "Not necessarily. It's complicated. You know, the whole usurping thing…" I trailed off, half-smiling. Tristan smiled as well, and we sat companionably in silence for a few moments.
"If you don't mind my asking," I said suddenly, "where were you born?"
Tristan shrugged, finishing a swallow of soup. When he'd finished, he shrugged again. "I don't know. Susanna found me one winter when I was maybe three—she'd let an Irentian woman stay the night, and when she brought her breakfast the next morning, she was gone. Instead, she'd left me on the floor on her way out. No cloak or anything, just a note next to me on the floor. Just said that she was disgraced, couldn't keep me, was very sorry, that sort of thing. She didn't care what they called me. I can't remember what my name was supposed to have been."
"Without a cloak? It was winter—you could have died—" I tried to ignore the disgraced part; I sensed that it was painful for Tristan to hear.
"No, but whoever gave me up didn't care about that, did they?" Tristan's tone held, for the first time since the tavern, a hint of irony, and I looked away from his crystal blue gaze and into one of the strange yellow lights Tristan had made. The light flickered, dancing and shimmering and making uncomfortable shadows on the wall. I shivered and glanced away, the thought of wolves making me wonder where in the world Marielle had disappeared off to. Now I was actually starting to get worried.
"Where's Marielle?" Tristan asked as I turned to ask him the same thing, and I shook my head, the sudden sense of alarm startling me.
"I don't know. Lord Griffyn, he… he couldn't have—" I couldn't voice the sudden fear—since we were seven, Marielle had been a constant. If she was hungry, and I knew she had been, she wouldn't have intentionally missed a meal—no, she had been kidnapped or stolen or lost or murdered or… well, she was probably lost, but the darkness of the night in a strange place makes one doubt one's own decisions and intuition.
"No. That spell will knock him out for at least tonight; I've never tested it, but that's what the spellbook said." Tristan got to his feet. He's a worried about her, too, I realized. "Maybe we should…"
Just as he began to speak, the door to my room swung open and Marielle stormed in, positively livid. Immediately, relief sprung up to replace the fear that had occupied it seconds before… I suppressed a smile as I recognized that I'd been right: she'd been lost.
"Where were you?" she howled, stomping over to where we sat. Her cloak was still wrapped tightly around Tatiana's old dress, and she appeared to be fine, but the look on her face… "I waited outside the tavern and then I thought you might have left but I didn't notice, so I went to go back to the inn, except it wasn't the inn, oh, no, it was an—" even as she stopped to take a breath, her face flushed scarlet, "—unspeakable place, with bad people and bad things and I went back out but you were gone and I didn't know where you were and…" she trailed off and crossed her arms over her chest, looking even more helplessly irritated. "It's not funny!" she cried as Tristan continued snickering. I looked at him, partially confused and partially amused by her rant. And then, of course, it dawned on me.
"You went across the street," I said, and that was all there was to say.
Face still flaming, Marielle went straight back to fuming at us. "Yes, I did, and it was horrible and I will never, ever, forget it as long as I—is that bread?" she stopped suddenly, looking at her plate. This time, Tristan and I both burst out with laughter, while Marielle reached for the remaining piece (it was a good quarter-loaf) and began to gobble it down, ignoring us completely. She sat down right on the floor and started in on the soup with voracity. Marielle has never been much for table manners.
"He knows, Marielle," I said quickly and quietly. Holding up her hands and gesticulating wildly, Marielle made fierce attempts to swallow before finally saying thickly, "What did you tell him for?"—giving Tristan a mistrustful glare.
"I promised I would," I answered, slightly bemused.
"Oh. Well. If you must." Marielle went right back to eating while Tristan looked on, his face torn between indignation and amusement.
"And she's always like this?" he asked me, not bothering to keep his voice low. Marielle swallowed yet again and shrugged.
"Only when I feel like it," she answered, which was perfectly true in her mind only. The rest of the evening passed pleasantly; we all finished dinner and Tristan left for his room. Marielle offered to take the floor and let me have the bed to myself, but I decided not to let her. A month ago, maybe I would have, but what Tristan had said had really made me think. His comments about my indifference and not understanding peasants were all twisting around in my mind, though I didn't like to think about it more than I had to. After all, I thought as I drifted off to sleep, Marielle mumbling to herself across from me, learning about my subjects is good practice for when I am queen. That is, if I wasn't murdered before I got the chance. And if Sir Luis, who was starting to resemble a wicked uncle straight out of a fairy story, wasn't crowned before me.
But as pleasant as the latter part of the evening had been, I could not escape my problems in the world of dreams. Strangely, I woke in the middle of the night standing in the common room of the inn, my fingers pressed against the door. Dumbly, I tried to think back to what had happened. I'd been asleep… my arm… and then it came back to me, an image of Lord Griffyn, dark against a red background, lunging forward, a knife in his hand, he was going to kill me, he was bringing it down—but no, I was here; I was safe. I pressed a hand to my chest to still my heart's frantic pounding, suddenly grateful that at least it was still beating. I was still alive, still breathing. I turned, and recognized the same, quiet room that I'd eaten in earlier. Had I been sleepwalking? I'd never done so before, but then, I'd never had such disturbing dreams before. I shuddered and stumbled back, sleepily trying to find my way to my room in the darkness.
I felt for the number on the door—hadn't we had thirteen?—and eased it open, hoping I wouldn't wake Marielle. Then again, an army of Libonessenian bandits could march through the room, trumpets blaring and axes swinging, and she still wouldn't wake up. Still, I slipped into the room, and shut the door softly. She'd left a candle burning, but in my dazed exhaustion I didn't notice, just tiptoed over to the side of the bed that there wasn't already a lump on, and collapsed onto the mattress.
***
I woke up first the next morning. I'd passed the next remarkably well, all things considering, but somewhere in dreamland, I'd heard a strange noise, and being a light sleeper, I shot up, my heart racing again. A quick glance out the window revealed that it was only a small brown owl, seated in an oak tree. Really, I scolded myself, easing back down onto the pillow, you're going to die of a heart attack if you keep this up!
It was at that particular moment, as I turned to snatch back the quilt from Marielle, who had stolen it while I had been arguing with myself about owls and heart attacks, that I realized two things. One: the candle was so low that it was becoming permanently attached to the floor with its own wax, and two: it wasn't my lady-in-waiting. I staggered off of the mattress as blood rushed to my face; it was Tristan. I'd gotten the wrong room. "Damn," I hissed under my breath, forgoing any and every bit of respect for the Irentian language that I had ever had. "Damn, damn, damn, damn, dammit!" Mother is going to murder me, was all I could think as I stood, dismayed, staring at the person I'd just slept with… no, that didn't sound quite… damn. This was clearly not a story that I would tell to my grandchildren someday—this was a bury-in-a-hole-and-pray-no-one-ever-finds-out story. Fortunately for me, Tristan had not moved.
I exhaled, relieved; what in the world would he think of me right now, anyway? I stopped for a moment and tried to make sure he was really asleep. Tristan was breathing peacefully and regularly, though I couldn't see his face, as he was lying down, facing the opposite way.
I swore again, and, extinguishing the candle, I backed out of the room, intent on going right back to dreamland. But I found that, even though it was still dark outside, I couldn't sleep.
So… yes! Read and review, please! It's very frustrating to see that someone has added your story to Alert or something, but not left a review. I don't know what to fix or what to add or anything if I don't receive reviews. But a big thanks to Bingo7, especially, for being so loyal.
