Chapter Eleven: Rise of the Hero
Her army was several hundred strong. Slaves who refused to be left behind, citizens taking up arms. Some of the soldiers, detained at first but then given their spears after an oath of service.
Unfortunately, they were anticipated now. Plantations were abandoned and fortifications strengthened against them. Pacquin's ships, a tiny armada of shore craft, struck along the coast, splitting the slavers forces between them.
Every chain she broke, every barrack she burned made her more ashamed. She should have done this the first year of her reign.
She was a coward and these half-starved 'indentures' proved it. She hadn't wanted to upset her magistrates, hadn't wanted to be too aggressive so early in her reign. Had not wanted to admit her father was wrong.
How many children had died in the five years since her coronation? How many families split apart?
And what had she gained? Nothing. They had plotted to remove her, murder her in her sleep and she had nothing to show for it.
"Hey, hey!" Sorrint grabbed her arm, dragging her Sword down. "They surrendered. Enough."
She shook him off. "You dare preach mercy to me, Lieutenant?"
The enemy soldiers dropped their weapons, scrambling back from her fury. Her own soldiers surrounded her, protecting her in name but really a kennel.
Sorrint did not back down. "Zelda, enough."
Enough, Champion.
He hated that phrase, stopping him from satisfying the hunger he carried, stopping him from testing how strong he really was. There was so much more, just beyond reach.
"Zelda."
She pushed away his memories. They left a cold knot in her stomach. Anger and self-loathing, that impatience that kept her awake, would not let her rest.
Sorrint gripped her shoulder. "What's wrong?"
She almost laughed but thought she might vomit instead.
"I'm fine."
He didn't believe her. But he led her from the battlefield, a ruined crop of pumpkins. The slaves were freed, the soldiers detained. The citizens informed of their choice: support the queen and her law or be hanged for slavery and treason.
She washed in cold water. The room was the nicest in the small town's inn, but still barely large enough for the bed and washstand.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror. She did not recognize herself, again. She was thinner, browned. A half-healed slice along her cheek bone. Her hair was matted into its braids.
Where was the satisfaction she expected to feel? She was doing what needed to be done, what he had wanted to do for so long. Belated, but she was doing her best.
She leaned over the basin, the water dripping from her jaw. Still that icy lump in her chest. Misery. His or hers? She couldn't tell any more, his memories as real and vibrant as her own.
She could not celebrate with Pacquin and his crew. The newly freed slaves prepared a simple feast. They danced and sang, rejoicing in their liberation.
Where was her joy in their happiness?
The first towns fell easily. No one escaped, so no warning was raised. The crytch rolled over the hamlets, burning the homes, spoiling the crops newly harvested.
He followed at leisurely pace. Why should he rush? This victory was centuries in the planning. He wanted to relish it.
The Shadow followed him, settling over the land he conquered. The Watch would spread and infect the rich soul here. Soon all Hyrule would lay wasted and diseased.
And his beasts needed rest. They lay sprawled on the ground, half-eaten cattle left to be picked over by carrion feeders. He strode through the squabbling throng, admiring their handiwork.
He drew up. A figure sat by the well in the center of town. It waited for him. He could feel it watching him.
He held the Shadow Blade ready. It fought him, just as the boy did. He should destroy it completely, but he enjoyed forcing it to his will.
It was a woman. His memories stirred, trying to place her face. She saw him and stood, brushing the dirt from her cloak.
"Hello, astana."
How had she come here? The moblins did not react to her presence as she approached him.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
She drew off her hood. An old woman, slender, but bent. She smiled tenderly. "Let me look at you."
He leaned away from her outstretched hand. "What do you want, witch?"
Her lips pursed in disapproval. "I taught you better manners, young man."
The ache in his throat must be the boy's. He sneered at her. "I see now. Come to give him strength?"
"No. To give him this."
Her hand thrust forward. He caught her wrist, Blade raised to strike. Light flared in her palm. It stabbed through his chest. He staggered back, breathless from the pain of it.
It faded as quickly as it came. He straightened, snarling forgotten curses.
She lifted her eyebrows. "Mind your language, Link."
A gust of wind and she was gone. He bellowed at his horde, kicking them awake.
"Search the village! Kill her!"
They bumbled through the ruined buildings, sniffing the ground and thrashing about uselessly.
She had vanished the same she had come, with no trace of her passing.
"You think this will help him?" he shouted to the night sky. "You think he can stop me? You know nothing, old woman! Cretins! Worms! I will slaughter your children and drown you in their blood!"
Firn huddled under a hedge. She could still hear him raging, even this far away. She gasped for breath against the stitch in her side. Her limbs trembled from the exertion of her run. Even with the wind to aide her, she had over-extended herself.
She stood painfully. She had over-extended in other ways, too. The faint power she could access was gone, burned into a husk. Forever, most likely.
It had been worth it to see him again. So changed but so much the same. His eyes, his chin. Even the way he spoke, though she doubted Ganon would admit to himself how tenuous his hold on Link was. He thought Link weak. Link had never been weak. She knew that better than anyone; she had shared his nightmares, knew what terrors he lived in his dreams, only to wake and find them leering down at him.
She looked over the plain, at the fires scattered across the destroyed village.
"I did what I could for you, my dearest. Fight him, Link. Come back to us."
She turned back to the hills. Her daughters were going to be furious.
Zelda stumbled and fell. She pushed from the damp forest floor. The ground clutched at her, trying to pull her down again. She dragged herself up and resumed her trek.
How long had she been here? Her body trembled with fatigue. She pushed past the grasping branches. She had to keep moving forward. But to where?
The whispers mocked her, now.
Little queen, they hissed. Weak, useless.
Were they her thoughts or the others in the mist?
You think you can stand against him. You think you could be the Hero?
She didn't want to be the Hero. He was the Hero, she needed him to be the Hero.
He didn't want it, either. The weight of it crushed him. But what choice did he have? He had never been given a choice at all.
She fell again and lay panting on the ground. It took all her strength to roll over. She stared up into the blackness beyond the mists. She could not carry on, not matter how desperately he needed her. She had failed him yet again.
The ground was cold. It seeped into her body, numbing her. A relief, even as it burned. A relief to not feel anymore, to dull the anger and frustration she dragged behind her.
She closed her eyes. How long until she was one of them? Another voice in the mist, lost in this nothingness.
"Found you!"
The voice grated on her ears. She grimaced, the fiery numbness retreating. A bright light stabbed through the darkness, warming her.
"Come on, fair and square!"
A young girl stood over her. She grinned, a lower tooth missing. "Your turn!"
She scampered away. The brilliant red of her dress flickered between the slimy trees. "Come and catch me!"
"Wait!" Zelda dragged herself over. "Wait, it's not safe!"
The girl's laughter echoed, cascading until it was cacophonous. Zelda gritted her teeth, muscles burning as she forced herself to her feet. "Come back!"
The laughter cut off in a scream. Zelda ran as fast as she could, the branches scratching at her clothes and hair.
She staggered into a clearing. The girl huddled on the ground, the beast crouching over her.
Zelda grabbed the closest weapon, anything. A heavy branch broke over the beast's head. It snarled at her, attention drawn from the terrified girl.
Zelda crouched, snarling herself. She had nothing but her slim dagger, barely longer than her hand. A toy, a child's weapon.
The beast roared challenge. She stood firm as it charged, knowing she would die with it. A sacrifice she would gladly make.
Claws racked her chest as she slammed the knife into its glaring eye. Blood poured over her hands while she forced the weapon deeper into its skull. It rolled over her, ripping the knife from her grip as they tumbled, a mass of fur and teeth and death.
A suffocating weight, the stink of it coating her throat.
The sharp points in her side receded as the beast relaxed. Its fangs scraped her face, frozen in a gaping maw of hatred.
The girl was still there, sobbing hysterically as she tried to free her. Shouts approached, people calling her name. She managed to wriggle free. She gasped for air. Her hand came away from her side slick with blood. Her blood.
The girl clutched her tightly, but she didn't mind the pain. They were alive to feel it.
"Thank you," the girl whispered. "Oh, thank you, Link."
She gasped awake, hands going to her ribs. The pain was fading. No wounds under her fingers, no blood.
She was in a bed. She stared at the unfamiliar room.
A knock at the door. "Your Majesty?"
Dresa Port.
Her own memories rushed back, filling the void. She was Zelda, queen of Hyrule. She had taken Dresa two days past, her growing army of freed slaves and citizens sweeping over a Sigla stronghold.
"Ma'am, I heard you call out. Are you well?"
That was Sorrint. Dear, kind, loyal Sorrint. Who had taught him to ride and how to make tiny paper boats and snuck him treats when Firn banished him to his room with no supper.
"Zelda, answer me!"
"I'm fine," she croaked. Her voice was still rough from shouting orders during the battle.
"Open the door!"
She dragged her clothes on. Sorrint shoved her out of the way after she unlocked the catch. He did a quick sweep of the small chamber. "What happened?" he demanded.
"Dream." But was it? He scowled at her and sudden tears dripped down her cheeks. His baffled look brought a gurgle of laughter to her lips, even as she hiccupped.
"Why are you-?"
He grunted as she hugged him.
"Zelda?"
"He just loves you so much, Sorrint."
He was still confused and now concerned. "What are you talking about?"
"Link. He…you are what he dreamed a brother would be."
Sorrint stood still a moment, then held her tightly.
Feel this, she urged Link. Remember how much he cares for you. How much they all love you.
Sorrint pushed her to arm's length. "What did you see?"
She couldn't explain. It wasn't the memory itself, but the purpose in his heart. The need to protect, to defend. Even before he was the Champion.
"He was so good," she said, unable to articulate her feelings more eloquently. "He was good, even carrying such a burden. The Power in him was pure. If we can free him from Ganon!"
Sorrint gave her a gentle shake. "We will. Or I will die trying."
"I love him, Sorrint." She had forgotten. Maybe on purpose. It had hurt too much.
"I know." He half-smiled at her. "And I'd never seen him so flustered."
Flustered? The stoic Champion of Ordona? The man always in control, cool and calm in the direst situation? She found she craved this small vanity. "Really?"
Sorrint chuckled, aware of her intentions. "Yes, Your Majesty."
She thought over those short days. Before she had known his true character or seen his grin of mischievous pride. Before he started trying to make her laugh in spite of herself. Did he really feel the same? Had she imagined that certain warmth in his eyes?
"I thought he hated me."
"Oh, he did. He ruined four of our practice dummies. Hacked them to pieces."
That memory was there, now, too. The sun was just rising, but he was already drenched with sweat. The wooden mannequins lay in pieces at his feet. He swore at them, venting a formless frustration on the mute enemy. Aware of his Lieutenant's amusement at his outburst.
She blushed as she smiled. "Did you tell him to stop being such a brat?"
"And have my head loped off?"
It felt so good to laugh. "What time is it?"
"Nearly noon, Your Majesty. You needed the rest."
She agreed, though they also needed to keep moving. "Are we ready to move on?"
"As soon as you're ready, ma'am."
She stopped him. "Tell me, did he play in the forest outside the city?"
Sorrint nodded. "He would skip lessons all the time. Enon unfortunately takes after him in that regard. Nearly got himself killed a couple times, too."
Not a dream, then. Where had these memories come from? Could he see them? Remember who he really was?
Her army waited, ready to march on the next fortification. She wept again, blaming it on the wind gusting from the sea. Those left behind cheered and waved, shouting their joy to the heavens.
Sorrint rode next to her.
"It will be alright," he told her, reaching to grip her arm. "Everything will be alright."
It would. No matter how this ended, she trusted that everything would be as it should. She had her strength. She had her Sword. His memories to guide her.
She had hope.
It was a larger town. A garrison put up a stiff resistance. They fell, of course, but slaughtered a fair number of shadow spawn as they did. No matter. The Shadow was endless, infinite, eternal.
He stood on a rise and watched the people flee. Their wails of sorrow and terror drifted up to the smoky sky. Unfortunately, none had recognized this body.
He would enjoy the shock and betrayal, the hopelessness as they realized their supposed Hero was a monster.
His horde picked over the remains, rooting through homes. He lounged at the foot of the broken statue of Hylia. Her stern face glared at him, half buried in the mud.
He saluted her. "Hail Hylia."
Her rage was impotent. He will stop you.
"Why do you still resist? Accept that I am your king."
You are as fleeting as the rest of humanity, Ganon.
His reply was cut off by screams. The bokoblins hooted with savage glee, dragging a woman and a child from the ruins. The woman cowered on the ground, shrieking, pleading for mercy from creatures that knew only hunger and hate.
The child clutched at its mother skirts. The woman saw their death and wrapped her arms around the child, barely out of infancy, hiding its face from their final moments of horror. Fleeting indeed, barely alive at all and already returning to their goddess.
A crude sword rose, crimsoned and thirsty.
"Mama!"
"Hush, darling." Broken with sobs. "Mama loves you!"
The bokoblin stared down at the steel piercing it's chest. He pulled it free with a wet, grating sound. The beast collapsed back.
His hand burned where it touched the sullied Sword. He had to drop it, unable to hold the searing hilt. It lay on the ground, flat and dull.
He stared at his reflection in it. His features were blurred, murky. But his eyes shone golden, slicing through the shadows within.
The Hero will end you.
"No!"
The boy's spirit rose up defiant, pushing against his bonds.
"No!"
The afternoon wavered. He staggered to his feet, screaming.
"Destroy it! Destroy it now!"
His beasts panicked, demolishing everything. Fire damaged timbers crashed to the ground. Masonry crumbled. The remnants of the statue to Hylia were crushed into rubble.
She laughed at him. They all laughed at him.
"I control the Triforce! I control the prophecy. There is no Hero!"
Everything was fading, the buildings, the fields. He clutched at reality, as flimsy as gauze.
She shrieked with glee, tossed high into the air.
"Again, papa! Again!"
The man laughed, his crown held securely by his retainer as he played with his tiny daughter. The sun shone brightly and everything was golden and perfect. She was too young to realize it could never last.
The air snapped with cold. She rode by, only a little frightened by the animal's frisks.
"She has a good hand, a light seat. She'll ride well to hunt," the trainer said to Sheik. "A pity she's not a boy."
Not a boy, not a boy. The phrase wormed its way into her heart, planting the seed of doubt, of rot and self-loathing.
She waited behind a curtain, a tall woman at her side. The woman listened for a moment, then turned to the young princess.
"Only a few minutes, my dear. She is very weak today."
Zelda nodded and slipped into the dim room. A shell of a woman lay in the bed. She saw the girl and smiled, thin hand outstretched.
"My dearest girl."
"Mama!" Zelda ran to the bed, ribbons fluttering. She could see how much thinner she was, no healer able to find a cure, only palliation.
She lay hidden under her bed, as still as possible until they gave up and searched elsewhere.
"Where is the dratted child!"
"Someone must talk to the king about the girl. Maybe he can talk some sense into her."
Their voices faded away. A strong hand gripped her leg and dragged her out into the open.
Sheik looked down at her with a raised brow. "Under the bed? Really? Have I taught you nothing?"
"They caught me unawares," she said hotly. "I had to improvise!"
"Lord Gyr will be offended."
"Gyr is a lecherous toady! And his son, too!"
Sheik swatted her bottom. "For your cowardice. If you despise him, act like a princess and send him on his way. Do not hide in your room like a child."
But she was a child, still. Dimly aware of how her future was being bartered, men trading commodities and power for her body and the crown it would carry. It frightened her, even while she didn't fully understand it.
Endless rain, as if the sky was mourning the death of the queen. She lay cold and still in the bed, no matter how many times Zelda pleaded for her to wake up, wake up just once more, to hear her voice just one last time.
"Come now, my sweet," he murmured. "Don't tease." His hard eyes clashed with his honeyed words. "Your father gave his-"
He jerked back, her dagger dragging blood up his cheek.
"Touch me again and I will kill you," she promised. The man snarled and left, cloak swirling. She pressed her hand to her mouth, nauseated. But proud; she was not a child any longer. She would decide her future herself.
Her people cheered for her. She was not a man, yes, but a queen. She would rule alone until she found a man worthy of her. If the Goddess could, then so could she. She took the Lady's name on her coronation day. Her Grace, Queen Zelda Lyari Faroen Hyrule.
Could he see her blush? Feel the frisson that ran over her whole body when he smiled that certain way. She drew her sash tight around her waist, as if the flimsy organza of her wrap would shield her from his presence.
She tried to put up walls, but he scaled them as easily as her real ones. When I refuse your hand. If he only knew how she longed to offer it, yet feared his answer, feared to lose one of the few people she felt she could trust absolutely.
His blood stained her dress. He would not wake up, just as her mother hadn't, just as her father couldn't from his rambling daytime dreams.
She had failed him. He had trusted her, had needed her help to save his people. Had done so much for hers, quietly and without expectation of thanks.
She tried to tap into the power she carried. It would not respond to her pleas. As useless to her as she was to him. The cart jerked over the rutted road and he grimaced. She soothed him, tears falling from her face to his. She wiped them away, leaving bloody smears on his skin.
She stood in a doorway, looking out over a city. A row of gallows was visible in the central plaza. No bodies hung there, but the air still carried the feel of death.
She sighed and turned. She drew back, surprise washing over her face before a smile lit it with golden light.
"Link!"
She rushed to him. Checked herself. Reached out with tentative fingers and brushed his cheek.
"Is it you?"
Yes! he wanted to shout. I'm here!
His voice stabbed at her. "You found an army, little queen. Are you prepared to watch their deaths?"
She drew back. A storm gathered in her eyes. They searched his face. "Link, speak to me."
"Your Hero is gone."
No! Zelda, please!
She touched him again. He could just feel the calloused tips of her fingers, muted by the cage around him. There was nothing dull about the lust her touch aroused. He retched, sickened by it.
"Have you changed your mind, my dear? I recall you refused last I offered. Shall we end this pointless war?"
"Link is the only man I will marry."
He gripped her arms, pulling her closer. She let him, though he begged her to stop him.
"You can have him," Ganon told her. "I'd let him loose whenever you wished. We'd both enjoy it, the mighty Hero as your plaything."
She laughed, a rich, deep laugh that clenched his heart.
"You're wrong," she murmured. Her lips brushed his neck.
"About what?" he asked. Breathless; not all this want was his own. She was perfect. A queen, a goddess who walked with men.
"Link isn't the Hero." The cage pressed closer, crushing him and his nothingness. "I am."
He staggered back into the chill afternoon. He gripped the hilt of the knife and wrenched it free. Blood welled up from the wound in his side. The shadow beasts were still bleating, overturning every cart and crate.
He stared at the blood coating his fingers. She had moved so swiftly, caught him in a moment of weakness.
The boy's spirit burned, furious and deadly. He tried it smother it, fed it its own hate and pain. It consumed them like dross.
"I will not kill her," he promised him. "Her bloodline is pure, worthy to bear my sons."
There was little humanity left of the snarling thing inside him. He mocked it, mocked her declaration, mocked the boy's love, devolved into bestial want.
She the Hero? From whose soul he had ripped Wisdom as easily as he had broken the boy? He laughed, even as blood dried on his chest.
They were nothing. It was time to show them what true power was.
Trevil was actually a nice man. Boring, but nice. He didn't try to paw her or drag her into dark corners. In fact, he seemed quite determined to not touch her at all.
His father…Misly had to still her shivers when his eyes fell on her. They were matte, almost. Empty. She couldn't meet them for long, tossing her hair or looking down demurely to break their dead stare.
She was invited into the family's suite. Several times larger than her parents' and filled with the finest furniture and art. If she wasn't at risk of being murdered, she might have agreed to this marriage.
Lady Trevil, a brisk woman with a short temper, raised her eyebrows at Misly admiration of their library.
"My husband collects books." She seemed perplexed by it.
Misly longed to touch the bindings, arranged by author and date. The Novus Codices, a first edition of Milla. An original copy of the Eratus.
She jumped when Lord Trevil spoke behind her.
"Go ahead, my dear," he said.
She tentatively drew out a slim volume, bound in vellum and fragile. It was the Poems by Idomadus, written over three hundred years before. There were only seventeen known originals.
"Second edition," he explained sorrowfully. "A true first came up at auction last year, but Velca snatched it up for an exorbitant amount. I still have children to feed!"
His laugh was a flat as his eyes. She hastily opened it and read.
Love oh Love, the breeze that never seize,
That glow that obscure even the tiny creatures,
Now I know why my heart double beat,
For love is in and within.
Deceit oh Deceit, the fire without fire,
That failed promise that turns everyone blind,
Now I know why my heart double beat,
For deceit is in and within.
Trevil stepped closer. "My son tells me you are a quite the well-read young woman."
She shrugged, returning the book to its place. "I like to read."
"So does my wife. Trash, all of it. You spoke of the Artasios last night at dinner. Ramon's masterpiece, don't you think?"
Was this some sort of trick? "It is an ambitious epic. But I prefer his Stories of Yaernos."
"Why is that, my dear?"
Misly laughed as falsely as he did. "More women. I find a sad lack of realistic female characterizations in most of Ramon's work."
"You so not identify with the lovely, stricken damsel? No swooning for you, my dear?"
Han would dump cold water on her if she tried to have an artistic fit. "Not really. A bore, I know. No swain will want to rescue me."
"Surely you don't expect to find yourself in need of saving. Why, what evil could befall you in the safety of the king's palace?"
His eyes were dead. They did not reflect the light of the lamps. He was too close.
"Most likely, my mother's scold for being late to supper." She dipped a curtsy and slipped around him. "You have a lovely library, sir. Thank you."
"Come read here anytime you wish."
"You are too kind." She hurried out, unable to catch her breath.
She huddled in the safety of her rooms, chilled through.
The conspirators had grown wary. The rash of 'accidents' had come to an end, leaving the city puzzling over the unusual number of deaths and giving increased offerings to Hylia and Faroe, Goddess of death and chance.
Sheik was hampered by the lack of information. Rumors of a rebellion in the south had drawn little attention. The city was focused on the king.
There was no more hiding that he was not in his right mind. The conspirators had trotted him out too often, displayed him like a dog before the court. Too many people could see that his ailment was not the result of poison, but organic and incurable.
Whispers started. Had Zelda been wrongfully executed? Who would take control now? Was this a disease or magic? If it was, how would they defend themselves?
Normally he would encourage such unease. Now, this belated instability gave the conspirators power. They were strong, calm. The people looked to them for guidance.
Raphio reluctantly left for the Sheik'ah stronghold.
"I fear civil violence," Sheik told him. "And I do not know whom the military will support."
It would take him three days to travel to the hidden city in the Faron Woods. And other five to return with a contingent of Sheik'ah warriors. Sheik shook his hand and sent him on his way.
He was summoned to Pacquin's in the middle of the night. He emerged from the attic to find Madame Pacquin pacing in the front room.
"There you are! Have you heard the news? The queen has been sighted. Alive!"
He had been guilty about keeping that to himself. Madame Pacquin turned to young Zora sitting behind her.
"Swam up the Menoat," it -she? - explained. "Pacquin has joined with the queen and some Ordonian soldiers. They've taken a large portion of Tatola. Freeing slaves. When I left them, they had eight hundred strong."
Nothing to the city militia, but not something to be ignored.
"A message, from the queen," she continued. "Looking for a man, Sheik."
"I am he."
"They are marching for the city. They will take control of every garrison they pass. She hopes to have two thousand men by the time she reaches Fort Hateno. She aims to be in the city in eight days."
He knew a large number of the soldiers in and around the city would support her. That left the magistrates' private guards. The populace? Not all would be pleased at her resurrection and few men would want to fight their own people, even under oath of service.
"Are you able to return to her?" he asked. The Zora woman stood.
"Of course. What message?"
"Tell her the city is divided. Trevil and Jharen control the court. I have summoned help from my people, but they are a week away."
The Zora repeated the message and turned to go.
"Wait. Is Link with you?"
She shook her head. "He wasn't with the other Ordonians." She took her leave of Madame Pacquin and slipped out.
"Can we trust her?"
Madame Pacquin nodded. "My husband's kin. Fastest swimmer of the bunch."
Sheik gripped her arm. "Hold on, your husband is a Zora?"
She stood hands on hips. "He is. Do you have a problem with that?"
"No, just…" He shook his head. "Never mind. Why isn't Link with them?"
Worry creased her forehead. "That troubles me as well. Perhaps he is gathering support somewhere else."
Sheik did not think the Champion would pass up the opportunity to legally execute every slaver he could find. If Zelda had convinced him to go elsewhere, she had more control over the boy than he thought possible.
Sheik grimaced. He didn't like that, though having such a weapon was useful. Link would grow resentful of his leash. Their relationship had to be equal, her authority balancing his autonomy.
But that was a problem for another day. Now, he needed to prepare the city for her return.
Misly's parents held whispered conversations when they thought her lost in a book. Han noticed as well.
"What is the matter?" she asked. "Why are they so anxious?"
Misly yawned. "Are they? Probably something up before the courts."
Han frowned at them and their sharp gestures. "Maybe."
"…leave the city…" her father urged.
"But, Misly cannot leave now. Trevil will be offended!"
"It is dangerous."
Han's interest was too keen for Misly's comfort. She put down her book and spoke up anxiously. "Go home, father? Now?"
He scowled at their eavesdropping but replied. "We have stayed long enough," he said with a pointed look to his wife. "The harvest needs to be finalized, the land readied for winter."
"But, father, what about Trevil?"
Han was her normal beastly self. "Really, Misly. You are the most selfish brat in the world!"
"I am not!"
"I hate it here," Han declared. "I want to go home. Can we, papa? Please?"
Han was their father's favorite; they all knew it. He wavered.
Their mother was adamant. "Misly must secure Trevil. How can she do that from Brynn?"
"Leave me here," Misly suggested. That drew both their glowers. She smiled her banal smile. "Why make such a fuss? I'll stay and you all can go home."
She knew perfectly why her father did not want her in the palace unsupervised. "Out of the question."
Han made a disgusted noise. "I am so tired of everything being about Misly!"
"Now, Han," her mother began.
"When Misly gets married. We can't until Misly's dowry is paid, Misly needs new clothes, Misly needs, Misly, Misly."
"You know she must make a good-"
"No one wants to marry a slut!"
Han clapped her hands over her mouth the sudden silence. Misly turned to look at her, unsure whether to make a scene or laugh. Han stared back, horror in her white face.
Her father recovered first. "Apologize, Han."
Her sister's tears were more than enough. "Misly, I-I didn't mean…"
She went to the still slim girl and hugged her tightly.
"Forget it, little one," she whispered. "Please, I am not mad at you. I love you so dearly."
Han fled the room. Misly straightened with a tinkling laugh. "Poor dear. I remember being that age. So awkward." As of it hadn't been just four years ago. So much changed so quickly. Where had her childhood gone? She turned to her still appalled parents.
"Please, father, mother. Return home. I will stay. You know I would never do anything to harm our family's future."
"But you cannot be here alone."
"I will ask Lady Trevil if I may stay with them. We are betrothed, after all. Surely, they will understand the needs of our village at this time. They have several plantations themselves."
Her mother cast about for more excuses. Misly deflected them calmly. Her father watched her with narrowed eyes.
He came to her that night as she read before bed.
"I think this betrothal has done you good," he said awkwardly. She rarely gave him cause to compliment her behavior. "You were very patient with your sister. Thank you."
Misly shrugged. "She is young, still."
"Even so," he said. "Thank you. I…" He searched for words. "I am sorry."
"What for, father?"
He fidgeted with his jacket buttons. "If you do not want this marriage, please, tell me. I would not see you unhappy."
"Unhappy? How could I be unhappy? Have you seen Trevil's library?"
He smiled. "You know what I mean. Please, tell me if you…"
She rose and kissed his cheek. "Of course, papa."
"Good night, then."
"Good night."
Lord Trevil was enthusiastic about the arrangement.
"Are we not almost family?" he crowed, slapping Misly's father on the shoulder. "We'd be glad to have the silly chit. She adds a much-needed gaiety to our table, don't you my dear?"
Misly fluttered her eyelashes, her arm looped through his. "Papa knows I am only after your books."
"Hah! Did you know, Terpandra, she can recite the Furon from memory? Who knew she had such brains under all that hair?" He pinched her chin, eyes flat and evil. "What other secrets are you hiding, I wonder?"
She laughed and slipped away to hang on his son's arm. He smiled at her with such genuine relief she felt a despicable cad as she steered him for the corridor.
"It's stuffy in here, don't you think, Trevil? Let's walk through the gallery."
Sheik did not hide approval of Misly's cunning. She blushed as he praised her.
"I saw the opportunity," she said meekly. He stood in her tiny room, dressed in her family's livery.
"However," he tempered. "This puts you in extreme danger. Trevil is a key member."
She nodded. "His eyes," she said vaguely.
"Have you found anything?"
She shook her head. "His study is always locked. And he suspects me." She twisted the edge of her shawl into a screw of fabric. "I think he knows I know."
"Are you armed?" She showed him a stiletto in her skirts, another in her bodice. "Be vigilant. The queen is coming."
Misly's eyes glowed. "Zelda's alive? Oh, Sheik, how wonderful." She checked. "Then Bustine must know. He has been flattering Captain Kyln, Bafaen, Hendro, others."
Sheik grimaced. "Splitting the court. I expected as much."
"But, won't most support the queen?"
He looked down on this still young woman. She really was a beauty, not as stupid as she appeared, just inexperienced. Naïve. "I pray so, but do not expect it."
"What do I do if Trevil defects?"
"Run. Hide. Fight."
She nodded. "I understand."
"Ordon! Come quickly!"
The scout stood on a narrow ledge of bedrock jutting from the earth. Below them a river twisted at the foot of the cliff.
"What is it, Hur?"
The young man pointed east. "Smoke."
Ordon peered into the clouds. Against the white-gray of the clouds, smears of black drifted from the plain.
"Wildfire?"
Hur shook his head. "Too wet." Indeed, sheets of rain moved across the fields below, the beginnings of the autumn season. "And look, some miles behind." More smoke plumes.
"An attack, then." Moving from the Watch into Hyrule. "Ganon."
"Yes, sir." Ordon sent the man a swift look, surprised at his rough tone. But Hur was a Gotkasi.
"It wasn't him, Hur."
"I know," the man replied.
"We'll get Link back."
Hur's stony face gave his words deadly purpose. "Or we will destroy him."
But how? What could he do to help not only the Champion, but the queen? He had hoped she was to be his daughter. In the short days he had known her, she had brought such light and happiness to his life. He knew Link would have hated an arranged union, but a prince, a king, had to make sacrifices.
With no children of his own, Link had been his son. He had spoiled the boy, as they all had. Even before they knew what he would become.
And now, his beloved child lay waste to these cities, killing untold innocent lives. What about the lives Ordon was tasked to protect? He had women, children, the elderly.
March to her aide.
He turned. The Lady Ordona stood beside him, looking down on the destruction Her chosen soldier wrecked.
Ganon must be stopped. She will need your help.
She met his eyes, Her gaze piercing his.
Save My son, Ordon. Bring him home.
"Sir?"
Ordon blinked, a gust of wind tugging at his cloak.
"Hur, gather the soldiers. Send a message to Eris and Lynn. We march to Hyrule's aide."
"But, sir, what about the women?"
Ordon patted his shoulder. "Our women can handle themselves, my boy. Gather the Watch. We hunt crytch in Hyrule."
Hur saluted and slipped into the undergrowth.
He stood braced at the peak of the watchtower. The battle raged below, metal on metal, screams, explosions. The Hylians retreated pace by pace, pressed back along the road. Many turned and fled as the monsters swarmed over the buildings.
He could just see the glint of the Lake Hylia the haze of the chimneys of the city. Looking further, beyond the hills in the forests of the south, he could see the queen and her army hastening to defend her people.
He laughed, exultant.
"Hurry, little queen! I will be waiting for you!"