Chapter Nine: The Fires of Ordon
Misly held her chin high, ignoring the sly looks as she moved through the palace. She had a dreamy sort of smile, one she had practiced in front of her mirror until it was perfect. Pared with her long lashes and dark curls, it spoke to a soft, sensuous nature. Normally used to invite attention, it served well as armor against the whispers.
The first weeks had been horrid. The fear that the queen's favorites would be punished, banished, maybe, or imprisoned. Many fled to their estates, relying on their private guard to protect them.
Misly's mother and father quickly declared allegiance of those claiming to support the king. They did not have enough political or economic clout to risk standing by the queen. Misly did not blame them. Much. It was why she was in the palace in the first place, why she suffered through years of lessons and tutors. She had four younger siblings to think of.
She remembered them when others of the court pointed out how close to the queen she had been. When their barely veiled threats grinned malevolently at her, she draped herself on the furniture and smiled her vapid smile.
"She was a dear, wasn't she? I would never have thought she could do such a thing to poor King Baepheus!"
She still didn't. The one lesson she could attend and remember was literature. Keto had written this play, some two hundred years ago. The princess is deposed, believed to be executed. The king controlled by his puppets. Unbeknownst to the traitors, the princess' lover had whisked her away. She hid disguised as a servant until she could reclaim her throne.
Zelda hadn't seemed interested in the Ordonian prince, but as he vanished the same night, Misly suspected he had something to do with her escape. He was definitely the type to come to the aid of a distressed damsel, bold, charming, handsome.
And gone. Nothing had been seen or heard of either of them in months. Weeks passed and she smilingly played her part, watching helplessly as the infirm king was led about like a trained bear. His face was as vacant as hers, but so were his eyes.
It was sickening. She avoided the court gatherings as much as she could. It gave her an excuse to hide in her room and read. But even her favorites could not amuse her. She ended up pacing most days, restless and useless.
How would it end? When the king died, as he must soon, naturally or not, who would step into his place? And what destruction would follow if the conspirators disagreed? If they disputed each other's claim to power? When one finally betrayed the others and civil war broke out?
Misly snapped her book shut. It was a history of the Adametene War and it turned her stomach to know she would see such a thing in her life. What hope for her siblings then?
She kicked off her slippers. She fiddled with the seam of her skirt. She fanned the pages of her book. Banishment might be preferable to this horrid waiting and watching.
The hour sounded and the guards changed shift. She listened, sitting up as she recognized the newcomer. Her dreamy smile deepened with mischief.
The young man standing outside her family's suite was good-looking, if a little on the short side. Misly refused to slouch but tried not to be too much taller than him as she floated down the corridor.
She glanced casually at him, then looked again.
"Cadet Clarsonin," she said with feigned surprise. "It's been ages since you were assigned to this wing."
He flushed a little. "Afternoon, miss."
Misly knew exactly why he had been sent to the reaches for the season. She looked down demurely, so her dark lashes would stand out against her fair skin. "Are you still mad at me?"
He struggled mightily, but in the end grinned a little. "Of course not." She hid her smirk. She considered a season of outdoor duty a small price to pay for a half an hour spent in a dark corner with her.
"I am glad to hear it," she murmured. She cast him a provocative look. "Until next time."
His partner, stationed at the next passageway, scowled at her as she went by. She ignored him with supreme disdain.
But flirting could only distract from the suffocating tension, not alleviate it. As she sat in a salon with her parent's 'friends' for an evening gathering, she couldn't even work up the brash to wink at the guards.
Taxes, trade deals, horse racing. It all blurred into an hour of noise and boredom. She sat to the side, trying to avoid eye contact with the grossly inappropriate Magistrate of Retno or his handsy son.
A servant leaned down to her. "A drink, Lady?"
"No, thank you." Chrestly's death was still fresh in her mind. She was leery of any unsolicited offers of food or beverage.
The man did not move on. "Are you well, miss?"
"Yes, thank you," she said with a bite of impatience. Not only was he irritating her, he was risking drawing the attention of the others in the room.
"I am glad. I know Her Majesty would be happy to hear it."
She looked swiftly to his face. He was unfamiliar to her, the blandness of his features the same as all the other lower staff. He bowed respectfully and moved on.
She sat frozen, eyes unseeing as her mind raced. Captain Kyln had followed the orders given to him by Magistrate Jharen and Sinon. No division of the military followed the coup. 'Evidence' had been produced, proving the queen was conspiring. Any supporters of the queen were long gone, and the country had moved forward with barely a hiccup.
Unfortunately, the queen's own strength had ensured this relatively peaceful take-over. Her courts were fair and respected, her magistrates duly appointed and ratified. Her own power, the order she had enforced, had been her downfall.
But now, in the palace, were there those who would rebel? Those who knew where she was?
She swallowed the acidic taste of fear. If whoever sent that message knew she supported the queen, then others did as well. She must convince her parents to let her leave the palace.
Cowardice and shame left a similar sour feel on her mouth. Her queen, her friend, might be alive. But what could she do? She was a nobody, accepted into the court by default only, allowed to serve her queen in exchange for the chance to strengthen her family's dynasty. She had no power.
"Lady Terpandra."
She could not stop her flinch but managed to turn it into a start of surprise. "Lord Retno! You startled me!" She swatted at him. He deftly caught her hand in his. She let him. It kept it off her waist.
"You seem glum this night, my dear."
Misly's mother beamed at her from across the room. Retno was a prize she would give much to capture.
He kissed her hand, smirking down at her. "What has troubled you?"
Misly took refuge in a brilliant laugh. "You will think I am so silly."
"I already do. But tell me anyway."
"Tristrim."
"Whom?"
She opened her eyes at him. "Tristrim. Have you not read it?"
Literature was not Retno's strong suit, and certainly not a little known epic from a generation ago. "I am not familiar…"
"It is so romantic." She launched into a lecture about the convoluted plot and dozens of characters. "He truly epitomizes the true meaning of a hero. He reminds me of the prince."
Retno's smile had grown stale. "Prince?"
"Prince Link. The Ordonian."
Retno's smile became condensing. "I know you fancy a pretty face, my pet, but attempting to assassinate the king is hardly heroic."
At this point, putting the man out of his misery might well be considered an act of heroism.
"That depends on who you see as the hero." She scolded herself and giggled to remind him how 'stupid' she was. "That's what my tutor always says, anyway."
His hesitation spoke to his sudden uncertainty. She gripped his fingers and not-so-subtly drew him closer. "I have not seen you in ages, my lord."
As she hoped, he was distracted by the indecent amount of cleavage her mother let her sport. A rich husband was essential to her family's prosperity. It would not be Retno, but she would use his interest to protect herself.
His hands did wander, like usual. She freed herself after an endless half hour by yawning hugely and standing before he could grab her arm.
"Until next time," she said, voice full of promise.
He grinned. "I look forward to it."
Misly escaped the stuffy room into the cool corridor beyond. Rubbing her arms against the goosebumps from the sudden change in temperature, she hurried to her own rooms. She did not want Retno to chase her out here.
She stopped suddenly. The man who just passed by…
"You, there." The servant, the same from earlier, turned at her hail. "Yes, you. I left my wrap in the salon. Bring it to my room."
"Yes, my lady."
It was late into the night when he came. Her maid, shared with her two younger sisters, was just finishing tidying.
"Let him in," Misly said, trying to sound sleepy and annoyed. Her heart raced until she felt sick. "I gave him an errand."
The delicate silk he held out to her was either her own or a perfect match. How had he managed it? Misly took it with a lazy, "My thanks."
"I am at your service, my lady." She waved him off and lounged to her bed chamber.
Tucked inside the fabric was a small fold of paper. The Golden Eagle of Hyrule was sketched on one side. The other was blank.
Misly turned it over, the paper heavy and thick. Expensive. She received many letters and billets from all sorts of people -men, usually- and saw many types of paper. This was of the finest quality, a pure cream, no flecks of pulp. She angled it to the candlelight. Tiny glimmers of silver caught her eye.
She hurriedly rummaged through her writing desk. She found an invitation, penned over a year ago on the same paper. The queen's beautiful scrolling hand crossed the sheet, requesting her presence at a garden party. Below the official message, she had added a personal note.
Galgon has promised to attend.
Unexpected tears annoyed her. She dabbed carefully so as not to smear her eye make-up. How they had laughed at the unfortunate Galgon, sweating in the heat of the day and doggedly trying to get the queen off by herself.
Her tender thoughts changed to anger. For all his 'deathless devotion' where was he now? Hiding in his private palace, like so many other 'supporters' of the queen. Had no one aided her? Ordon, yes, but only to help her escape the trap that had been laid under their very noses. He deserved to be her Consort, not any of these other sycophants.
And with her anger, hopelessness. What could she do? She was a nobody, no wealth, no influence. The only asset she had was her body. She shuddered. She would do many things for her queen, but not that.
She smoothed the mysterious note. The Eagle's wings were spread in flight, a piece of the Triforce clutched in each claw and beak. She stilled, looking again.
In the right claw was not the Triforce of Power, but a crescent. The moon? In Hylian art, the moon was usually depicted as full. A crescent moon meant decay, aging. Or deception, something hidden.
But where?
The shawl held no other secrets. It was hers; she recognized a carefully mended tear at one corner. She sat and stroked the blue silk until her candle sputtered. She snuffed it, guilty about the waste, and continued to think in the moonlight.
She surged to her feet. Heart racing again, she threw open the curtains. Moonbeams fell on her desk. The paper glowed with more than silver threads.
Misly read the message, terrified and excited.
Epide Van'le, Pacquin.
Epide was an archaic word for a passage or bridge. Van'le was a constellation she thought, but which one she had no idea. Anything pertaining to physical sciences was gibberish to her. But she knew who to ask.
"Han! Han, wake up!"
Misly's next younger sister lifted her head. "Misly? Why are you-?"
"Hush!" The third sister slept like a rock, but she wanted to take no chances. "I have a question."
Han groped for her pillow. "Now?"
"Yes, now!"
"Go away, Misly."
"It's about stars."
That got both her eyes open. "Stars?" she echoed, perplexed.
"It's from a book," Misly lied. "A constellation called Van'le."
"What about it?"
"Which one is it?"
"You're joking, right?"
Misly gave her a shake. "Do you think I would be in here at midnight for a joke? What does it look like?"
"Look it up in one of your stupid books." Han was difficult at the best of times.
"Please, Han. Show me which one, it's important!"
Han got up grumbling. "Why?"
"It just is. Can we see it tonight?"
"What, meeting some boy in the gardens?" Han said scathingly.
A good enough excuse. "Tell mother and I'll switch your backside!"
Han shrugged. She found most young men sadly inferior. "Why would she care? It's what she wants, right?"
"Not this man. Now, where is it?"
Han yawned "You are stupid, Misly." She didn't even open the window. "You can't miss it."
Misly stared uncomprehending at the stretch of night sky before her. "Yes, I'm stupid. Which one?"
"It's called the Spear for a reason." Han traced a line down the window. Five stars made an almost perfect line, pointing straight down to the horizon. Pointing to what?
"What direction is that?"
Han's exasperation was of epic proportions. "Really, Misly?"
She bristled. "How did your recitation of the Ballad of Furon go today?"
Han scowled, but relented. "Southwest."
Which bridge lay to the southwest of the palace? And what was Pacquin?
"Thanks," Misly kissed Han's head.
"Can I go back to bed now?"
"Yes. And don't tell mother."
Han snorted rudely. Misly took that as a promise. Now she needed a map.
Raphio was surprised. He didn't recognize the Maiden Misly of Terpandra until she spoke.
With no face paint and her hair trapped under an unattractive snood, she was pretty, but not the ravishing beauty everyone claimed.
She recognized him. She paled a little, but her voice didn't falter as she said, "I'm here about the opening for kitchen girl. My name's Van'le." She held out a limp sheet of paper, cut from a circular.
He grunted and shouted over his shoulder. "Ma'am, there's a girl here."
"Then feed her! I'm busy!" It was just after opening and the kitchen was still prepping for the lunch rush.
"'Bout a job?"
Madame Pacquin made a show of her reluctance. She appeared in the doorway between the bar and the kitchen, a tray of freshly risen rolls braced on one shoulder. "Sit, then. Be with you in a bit, girl."
Misly clambered onto a stool. She sat with her hands folded tightly. In the guise of a lower-class working girl, she looked awfully young. Dark eyeliner aged a woman, even if they thought otherwise.
Madame Pacquin came out of the steamy kitchen like a leviathan breaching the waves. She leaned over the slight girl and raised an eyebrow. "You looking for work?"
She had some courage, he gave her that. Misly swallowed mightily and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
"It's hard work."
"I understand."
"I don't tolerate shirkers nor light-skirts in my husband's place."
A flash in her fine eyes. Raphio smiled to himself.
"I understand, ma'am."
Madame Pacquin flickered her fingers at her. "Tulin will take care of you."
Obedient to the Mistress' command, Raphio beckoned the girl to follow him into the store room. She stood in the dim space with her hands tucked into her cloak. He handed her a small wrapped package which she whisked away into the folds of her skirts.
"You know what you getting into, girl?"
She nodded. "I do."
"We have eliminated certain members of this conspiracy. The others grow suspicious. They use magic to shield themselves. We need you to gather information. You have more freedom in some areas of the palace. We'll be in contact."
"Yes, sir."
He grabbed her arm as she tried to leave. He tightened his grip until she winced.
"Betray us, and I will kill you myself."
She met his eyes and he saw her fear, but something stronger burned through it. Her chin lifted. "I do not take kindly to threats. I gave you my word. If you do not trust me, you have only your own judgement to blame."
A little surprised, he released her. She smoothed her sleeve.
"Are we done? I will be missed."
"Yes. And…" He hesitated a moment. "And I apologize."
She gave a him a regal nod and swept out.
The colors of fall settled like gems on Ordon's forests. Against the clear sky, the trees glowed red and orange, balanced by the dark green of the conifers. The fields held golden promise, heavy with grain.
The first of the fires caught easily. The wooden buildings, thatched and coated with resin to render them water-proof, had little resistance to the flames.
He had spent many hours training with the other soldiers to contain and extinguish an accidental blaze. He had labored frantic days and nights to stop lightening-fires from consuming this city in the dry years.
Now, he walked through the smoke and heat and reveled in its destruction. It hurt, seared his skin and clawed at his throat. But it felt good. He felt it, on every inch of his body.
One building would not burn. Built of redstone carried block by block from a distant quarry, the temple to Ordona endured the onslaught. The wide plaza at the base of the steps held the flames at bay.
Bent nearly double, the High Priest Cantor watched sightless as his home fell to ash. He shuffled forward, feeling his way with a stick, his sandaled feet tentative on the shallow steps. He came to the center of the plaza and peered up into Link's face.
"Why do you burn your home, Link?"
The roaring in his head drowned out the noise of the flames. "This is not my home!"
"My boy-"
The withered man was nothing to his strength. Cantor clutched at his gauntleted wrists, toes scrabbling for purchase.
"You do not own me."
Cantor fell in a pitiful heap. He pushed himself from the ground. He looked up with tears streaming down his face.
"I am so sorry, Link."
"Sorry? Sorry?" Even the fires retreated from his rage. "Sorry that you ripped me from my home? Sorry you condemned a child to torture and depravity? Each night the moon rose, as your witch's compulsion drove me to the edge of madness? Look at me, Cantor! Look!"
The command was irresistible. The man they called a Hero shook with his fury and betrayal. Did he realize his voice shifted timbre as the two souls in his heart battled for dominance, each deadly in their anger?
"Tell him your regrets, old man. You think he's still fights for you? You actually believe he wants to return to the hell you built for him? That his 'family' expected of him?
"You talk of choice, of free will? What freedom did I have? Burdened from childhood with Her yoke? When you sent me to face death in the name of righteousness? When you forced me to heal over and over, to rise again your weapon?"
The Shadow Blade was hungry. Cantor saw his death in it, as hard and unforgiving as the stones beneath him.
"That's all I ever was to you. A tool. A slave."
Cantor rose to his knees, then painfully to his feet. He would not die groveling before this monster who stole his son. "No, Link. You are our hope."
"Hope." He spat the word, making it foul, vulgar. "See what your 'hope' has won you."
Cantor watched the sick gleam of the blade as it rose, cutting through the fog of his failed eyesight. He looked to the face of the boy he loved and smiled tenderly.
"Don't stop fighting, Link. You are stronger then him. Remember how much we love you."
He didn't know who's bellow it was, the Hero's or the Enemy's. He closed his eyes.
The priest fell limp to the ground. The man he had raised fell to one knee, still snarling. Sweat ran down his face, cutting paths through the soot. It masked the tears, wrenched from him in painful gasps.
The Blade made a dull sound against the ground as the broken Champion wept with bitterness.
The city was gone. Every building, every tree, every garden. The beautifully worked stone was marred by char, some of it cracked under the intensity of the flames.
Ordon was destroyed.
"What now, my lord?"
He dragged his eyes from the smoke still drifting up into the dawn. It had been a mistake to come here. The boy's spirit was too strong on this land, Ordona's influence breaking through the barriers trapping him. His pain was intense, suffocating, but only because his love had been deep.
"The Gap is sealed," he said. "But there are other ways into the Demon Watch."
Zelda came awake with a gasp. Retching, she nearly fell from her bunk. Her soldiers slept around her, oblivious to the smoke choking her, coating her mouth and nose.
She stumbled with the kick of the waves, fighting to reach the door. Tav was on guard, sitting with his back against the hull.
He came fully awake. "Your Majesty?" He peered at her, even as the flames gnawed at him. "Ma'am, are you alright?"
She could not answer. She rushed out into the night. The moon was setting, casting a silver path along the waves. Her legs wanted to run, escape the fires that consumed her. She put her face to the brisk wind. It washed away the fear and the nausea. The anger.
"Zelda?"
It was Sorrint. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see the flames again. Sick, hungry things.
"Zelda, what is it?"
"Nightmare," she said. Her voice cracked on the lie. Much more than that.
Great Goddess, what has he done?
"Are you well?"
"I will be," she said. Maybe another lie. Could she be well, knowing what atrocities his hands committed under Ganon's control? Could she be well after telling this man his home was destroyed by his own prince? Should she tell him?
Sorrint's hand pressed into her shoulder. "What has happened?"
"Link-" She drew a sharp breath. "Ganon has taken Ordon."
Sorrint gripped her hard and spun her to face him. "What?"
"The city, it's gone."
"The people, the king-?"
She reluctantly thought over her visions. "Safe. No one was in the city."
"Are you sure?
"Ordona says they are safe."
He sagged a little. "Thank you," he whispered. He dropped his hands and stood looking down at his palms. "How could he…?"
She had spoken the truth: Link had destroyed his home. His anger had been his own. Ashamed, but real. How could he do such a thing? But Sheik had warned her months ago as they planned the secret trip into Ordon.
He is dangerous, my queen. He must be kept in check, or he will destroy us all.
She had dismissed the warning, trusting in the same lie he had been told.
Do not underestimate him. I have seen him with my own eyes. He has power we cannot fathom.
She had seen it, too, and marveled that he could hold it back. When he showed a fraction of his strength, she had blinded herself to the implications, believing the false hope.
She caught her thoughts and berated herself. She had to believe in him. She had to trust. He had to be the Hero or all was lost.
But what now? Where were the people of Ordon? She had not prepared a place for them. She hadn't declared herself, had no army, no support. Ganon was at her border, readying to invade and she had nothing to stand against him.
She leaned against the rail, palms pressed to her eyes.
She did not know she spoke the same plea he had many times, overcome by the same hopelessness, the weight of duty.
I can't do this.
He was uncontrollable. Her influence would be nothing. Some pretty face he hardly knew, contending with a lifetime of disappointment, both in himself and those he trusted? Ganon was too powerful. She was a fool to hope. She would fight; she had to fight, but she would lose and her people would fall with her.
She didn't realize she was sobbing until Sorrint pulled her close. He held her tightly, not in a way to create tension, but as a comrade. A brother.
She let herself cry for a few minutes, then straightened and wiped her face impatiently.
"I'm sorry," she began.
"Don't be," he said. "You of all people have reason to weep."
She sniffed mightily. "Thanks."
He stood by her as the last of the moonbeams faded. The night was very dark and the stars magnificent.
"What do we do?"
She wished she knew. Hylia was still uncertain herself, unusually and disturbingly vague. Zelda did not like it; her goddess always knew, was always decisive. Had she come to rely on that too heavily? Could she think for herself or was she nothing more than a puppet?
"I don't know, Sorrint. We can only go forward. We must meet the Zora and beg for aide."
The soldier started to speak but broke off. "What's that?"
She looked the direction he pointed. Against the constellations, dark forms rose from the sea.
"It must be the Sisters."
"No, that."
Another shape, closer than the horizon. "Another ship?" she guessed. Even with no moon, the water itself was gleaming faintly.
"No Hylian ships come out this far," he reminded her. He watched the patch of blackness move closer for a tense moment more. "I'm getting the captain."
She followed, rousing the sailor from his sleep. He grumbled about nervy dirt-eaters and raised his glass in the direction they indicated.
"Nothing," he said. "Now, if you'll excuse me?"
Zelda was too wound to sleep, so she sent Sorrint to bed and stayed up, watching the horizon until the sun rose.
The Sisters were astounding. Towering from a small cluster of rocks miles from the mainland, they looked southeast over the churning ocean. Each held up a hand, or what was left of one. Ordona's arm had broken long ago and lay half-submerged in the shallows at the base of the figures. It was easily the length of the ship.
"Who built them?" she asked.
The captain shrugged. "The first Hylians to come to these waters. Had powerful magic, it's said. And the Zora helped."
Hylia's stern countenance could not be softened by seabird nests tucked into the arches of her crown. Ordona's smile was as gentle as ever. And Faroe…
Zelda examined the third sister. The Goddess of Death and Prophecy had a place in the pantheon, but little love in Hyrule. She haunted the burial grounds, her disciples grudgingly paid for their services and then sent on their way, lest they taint the lives around them.
As the ship moved on and the Sisters fell behind, Zelda stared back, thinking.
She was eating dinner when the alarm came.
"To the guns!"
The pounding of feet and creak of wood as the ship was brought about. She followed the shouts onto the deck.
"What is it?"
"Raiders!"
Their ship, the Dancer, lived up to her name. She was slender and quick. Turned full to the wind, she raced away from the oncoming ship. It was a large vessel, double-masted to their single.
"Can we out run them?" Zelda asked.
The captain shook his head, mouth grim.
She listened again to her Goddess' uneasy murmurs. Frustrated, she shut them out. What would he do? Likely, something reckless and utterly insane.
"Come about."
"What?" The captain's eyes were busy on his sailors' work.
"Tack to meet them. Surrender."
He scowled at her. "This ship is my livelihood."
"You will keep your ship." Her voice was strong and confident. It didn't feel like hers. "Come about. I will parlay with them."
"Are you mad?" Sorrint demanded. She knew then this was the correct action. The voice she did not recognize confirmed it.
"I will not be cowed. We meet them."
"Zelda-"
She barked her orders. "Lieutenant! Gather the men on deck."
He snapped his mouth shut, taken aback, "Yes, ma'am."
Tacking into the wind, their progress slowed. The pirate ship surged forward, guns out.
"Furl sails."
Now they were cautious, surprised at the sudden change of attitude of the smaller ship.
The ocean yawned hungrily below her, armored and armed as she stood on a railing. Davin had dunked her in a lake in full kit. She'd managed three minutes of frantic treading before the weight had pulled her under. The double-masted ship slowed, keeping its distance. The glint of spyglasses showed her presence had been noted.
Five, ten minutes passed, the Dancer making no effort the flee, the pirates standing wide off starboard. Someone dove over the side. Zelda tracked their movements through the water and was not surprised as they burst from the waves and landed on deck in graceful leap.
The Zora was easily eight feet tall. A male? With a wide face and pointed teeth. Zelda strode up to meet him, trying to channel Link's confidence. It was a giddy feeling, the same as when he stood before her palace and declared himself a prince.
The Zora leered down at her. "Well, what have we here?"
The Ordonians had dispersed into the watching sailors. At her signal, they would attack. He was not as large as the Goron king, but she swallowed the same trepidation as Link had when challenging a creature that could kill her in a single blow. She kept her eyes forward and face calm.
"I am offering myself up for surrender. You may take myself and my men captive. The captain and his crew will go free with their ship."
He smiled and it was ghastly. "I am afraid I cannot do that."
"You do not know who I am."
"Nevertheless, you do not interest me at the moment." The Zora shifted his attention to the captain. "My business is with Master Penth."
The captain was horribly pale. He gripped his sword in both hands. "What do you want, Pacquin?"
"I warned you what would happen should you show your colors in these waters again."
Penth pointed an accusatory finger at Zelda. "We're on the queen's business!"
The Zora turned to sneer at her. "The Hylian queen? Do you take me for a fool?"
She stood with hands on hips. "I am Zelda."
"The queen was executed for treason."
Is that the story they spread? Cowards. "Thankfully, my head is still attached to my body. I do not know what lies those who betrayed me have told, but I am Zelda, rightful queen of Hyrule."
He wasn't convinced. "If so, why do you consort with this…person?" Somehow, he managed to convey the utmost revulsion in that word.
"Obviously, I am not in a position to be selective in my allies. Whatever his crimes against your people, I apologize."
This Pacquin's smirk was irritating her. "My people, your excellence?"
She turned to see Penth retreat toward the bow, his men following his lead, weapons out, as more Zora scaled the hull.
"Your Majesty?" Sorrint called.
Wait!
She held up a hand. "Hold, Lieutenant."
The Ordonians did, standing silent as the boarders menaced the sailors. Penth looked to the Ordonians' stern faces and went red.
"Cowards! You just going to let them slaughter us?"
Sorrint approached Pacquin. "What is your quarrel with this man, sir?"
The Zora jumped forward and snatched the captain out of the group as easily as a child grabbing a toy. Penth thrashed in his grip until he was thrown to the deck.
Pacquin's blade sliced through the man's shirt. Hunched over, with his hands over his head, the tattoo between his shoulder blades was clear in the nooning sun. A black triangle, with a smaller one cut out of the base.
Sorrint's snarled curse shocked her. He lunged forward and gripped the man by his hair, dragging him over.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "Where did you get this mark?"
"Please," Penth whimpered. "Have mercy! I have gold, jewels, we are but humble sailors-" He choked, Sorrint's dagger drawing blood at his throat.
"He is of the Sligo," Pacquin told the soldier.
Sorrint spoke through gritted teeth. "You have proof?"
"I do." He signaled to one of the Zora. Against the shiny blue scales on the creature's chest, a dull scar in the same angular shape stood out in the bright sun. "Inflicted aboard this very ship."
Penth let out a gurgle as Sorrint's knife jerked through his windpipe. Sorrint turned on the Hylian crew, a grimness she didn't recognize in his face. 'Iltz eko."
It was an Ordonian phrase she knew too well.
Destroy them.
Pacquin's protest went unheeded. He stepped forward to try to stop the slaughter, but he did not know the ferocity of Ordon. His crew scrambled out of the way, some diving back into the sea to escape.
Zelda turned from the carnage, limbs numb and shaking. A sick silence fell, only the harsh breaths of the soldiers rising over the noise of the wind.
Pacquin dropped his mocking attitude. "Who are you?"
Even Enon had blood on his knife. Sorrint wiped his sword clean. He sheathed it and faced Pacquin with eyes as hard as steel.
"I am Sorrint of the Dhatin, Third Lieutenant of the Demon Watch, Shield of the Champion. This man's people committed atrocities against our prince that cannot be forgiven."
Zelda's vision narrowed. A sharp pain in her eye, lines of fire dragging across her back, fear, suffocating fear and shame, cruel hands holding her down, ripping at her clothes, laughing cruelly as they-
"Zelda!"
She was on her knees. Sweat dripped from her face to the weathered deck. She gasped raggedly, the briny air unable to satisfy her hunger. A need, a desperate hole inside her.
"Your Majesty, what is it?"
She coughed at the foul taste in her mouth. She forced it down and pulled herself back to the present, to the sun, the water. The creak of the timbers, the hiss of the rigging. Pitch, salt, leather.
She stood, waving off Tav. "I'm fine," she panted. "Memories. His memories."
"The Champion's?"
She nodded. "When Ganon broke him-" She bit off her words, altering them. "When he broke the Sword, he broke Ordona's protection."
Sorrint muttered something between a prayer and a curse. "And you can see them?"
Only seeing would be a mercy. "Just flashes, moments."
He was appalled. "Cantor told me what he saw in Link's mind. Ask Ordona to give you the same protection."
She refused. "I need them. I need to know him if I am to save him."
"Wait, wait," Pacquin interrupted "Did you say Link?"
Sorrint looked up to the Zora. "Link of the Gotkasi is our Prince and the Champion of Ordon. You know of him?"
Pacquin glanced between them, possibly alarm on his strange face. "What has happened to him? Please," he added, when Sorrint hesitated. "Please, he is my friend."
"He…" Sorrint was at a loss. He looked helplessly to her. How to explain such a thing?
"This man you know," she said slowly. "My height, light hair, blue eyes, a scar here on his forehead?"
"Yes, yes, Master of the Sword, Slayer of the Wrurakar, worst singer in the land, and herder of goats," Pacquin said impatiently. "Is he alive?"
Zelda had to sit. She found a barrel, not caring about the corpses sprawled grotesquely a few paces from her.
"He is alive. But he…he's been…?" Cursed? Possessed? Broken? She hated that word. Hated that she could even think it, hated that he thought it of himself, even before Ganon. Hadn't they healed him? Did they not see the wounds still festering in his heart? Why hadn't he asked for help? Told his father about the numbness, the anguish he carried?
She gripped the hilt of her Sword, drawing on its power. "He's been taken by Ganon."
Paquin stared at her. "How?"
She could only shake her head, unable to speak of that day. She had told only Cantor everything. She couldn't destroy their hope in him, their trust that a Hero would come. If his family abandoned him, what else could save him?
Pacquin's crew had returned. They waited silently as their leader paced the deck.
"Then we must find him at once!"
"You don't – he has not been captured. He – his body, his soul – has been taken. He is Ganon."
The Zoras murmured fearfully. Pacquin stilled his pacing. "Link, our Link, is being controlled by the Demon-king?"
Zelda nodded. The Zora's shark-like teeth clashed together. "And do you plan to save him?"
"If I can."
Pacquin jerked a nod. "Then I will aide you. Fustra! Search the ship! Slos! Bring the Zephyr about!" He looked down at her a moment, then bowed. "Your Majesty, accept my apologies for my earlier behavior."
She stood and made him a regal, if shaky, curtsy. "A misunderstanding, on both our parts."
"You, Lieutenant…"
"Sorrint, sir."
"I understand your vengeance. But, please, restrain yourselves in the future. I cannot risk too much official Hylian attention on my activities."
Sorrint was not a trusting man. "And what are those, exactly?"
Pacquin shrugged, resuming his lofty airs. "Some say piracy, others vigilante. Many, a hero. It depends greatly on which end of the sword you face."
Sorrint cracked a grin. "Tell me where to find more of these Sliga, and I will leave you to your raiding in peace."
Pacquin laughed while his people tossed the bodies overboard. "Unfortunately, the treasure I seek is held by these same Sliga. Slaves," he explained with a menacing smile. "The Sliga operate the largest slaving trade in the Hafbru sea."
Pacquin's ship was built for the tall Zora people. But once aboard, they found Hylians among the crew, Theicans, and even a few Gerudo. Many had the Sliga brand, as well as others.
"Useful," Pacquin mentioned when Zelda noted it. "Allows them to infiltrate. Link did it so often, I'm surprised they never recognized him."
"Link helped you free slaves?"
Pacquin nodded. "With obvious reason."
How had she not known? Surely, she would have heard if the Champion was seeding revolt in the south?
Pacquin stopped, webbed hand braced against a wall as the ship leaned over with the thrust of the waves. "I cannot express the depth of his hatred for the Sliga. If I had let him, he would have torn them apart. But that would endanger those still enslaved, driven the other clans to different ports, forced them to conceal themselves. Until Hyrule-" He checked, then continued. "Until you do something about this, I can only pick off the vulnerable. Like Penth."
Zelda knew well enough her failure in this. "Your people do not support you?"
"They do not care for Hylian affairs. Consider you vulgar, petty. What is it to them that you enslave or kill others of your own kind?"
"Why do you care?"
He fingered a pendant hanging at his neck. It was a lovely blue stone, set in gold. "Many reasons, but most of all, my wife."
"Was she a slave?"
"No, but she lived in a town that opposed the trade."
"Your wife is Hylian?"
He laughed at her surprise. "I met her during a raid by the Magistrate's militia. I had been cornered by soldiers. She broke a mop handle over one of their heads." He smiled in fond recollection. "Knew at that moment I could wed no other."
"Where is she now?"
"Castle Town. She receives the slaves we free and trains them, finds them work."
Zelda could only shake her head. "Master Pacquin, you are the most honorable of men."
He smiled. "You'll remember that when I instigate rebellion in your Tatola Province?"
Zelda's smile was as predatory as his. Link's memories were strong here. He had spent many weeks aboard this ship, his emotions powerful and keen. She knew what he would do, what he had burned to do since the first time he had seen a mark like his. It was a girl his own age. He would never forget the emptiness in her face, her spirit broken by years of labor and abuse.
"We are not only going to instigate rebellion," she promised. "I will end this abomination, destroy those who perpetrate such evil, and take back my throne."
Pacquin examined her. "You may cast your country into war."
"So be it."
"When Ganon comes, you may be crippled."
Hylia spoke clearly for the first time in a month. "It must be done."
"Then I will aide you, Your Majesty. What is to be done first?"
She couldn't sleep. The ship moved lightly over the water, less pitching in the larger, more powerful vessel. It was a pleasure to travel in it.
She walked the deck, murmuring greetings to the crew members on watch. A Hylian, after saluting respectfully, pointed to the stern.
"The little one, ma'am."
She found Enon huddled behind some rigging lines. He sat with his arms wrapped tight around his legs, eyes open and staring. She settled next to him and put an arm around his shoulders.
He suddenly turned to her, gripping her tunic, his face pressed tight to her shoulder.
"Tell me, dear one. Don't let it fester."
"I was so angry," he whispered. "I hated them, even Ven. And when Sorrint said to-" He swallowed. "To kill them, I wanted to."
She stroked his head as he shivered. He was too young to have been sent to the Watch. This was the first time he had killed and it was born of fury and vengeance, not duty or survival.
"I know, Enon. And it will be alright."
"It is wrong to kill in anger," he said desperately. "Mama, Mistress Lelin, they all say it is wrong. A weapon is to protect, a sacred duty given by Ordona."
"Those men had done terrible things. Or supported those who did."
"Mama says we must not judge. Only the Goddess can know what is in our hearts."
She cupped his still round face and drew his eyes up to hers. "Ordona knows your heart, Enon of Ordon. She knows you are a brave, kind boy. She knows your love for your family, for your cousin, for all of Ordon." She kissed his forehead. "And She loves you."
"But-"
"She loves you, brave Enon. And She knows that sometimes a warrior, a king, must make choices, hard choices, that he may regret later. The regret proves your heart is good. You are good."
He sniffed once, twice. He dropped his head to her chest and cried, not loudly like a child, but as a man overcome with remorse. She held him close until he drew away. He wiped his face with the back of his hand.
"Thank you," he said softly. "I…I'd like to be alone now."
"Of course." She stood and looked down at his fair curls. "Talk to Sorrint about it."
He shook his head, casting her an anguished look.
"When you are ready. Let him explain his choice. Have him tell you what Link suffered, both as a slave and as the Champion."
Enon blanched. "I…I know a little…"
"Then you can understand his feelings. I spoke the truth, that Sorrint loves Link. They all do. He is their Prince, but more importantly, he is their brother. He fought for them, protected them."
She waited, but he said nothing. She brushed his hair smooth, knowing his mother must despair of it ever behaving. It suited him perfectly.
"Try to sleep, Enon. You will see more clearly in the daylight."