the north and battling demonic hordes.
Chapter 11
I t wasn’t long before Ciardis heard the gates of the imperial palace open to her traveling group of soldiers and friends. It would have been hard to miss as the sound of the massive iron doors swinging open was like a trumpet piercing the quiet morning air. Curiosity overcame her for a moment. She had seen the imperial palace many times. But never from this entrance. It was the entrance to the quarters of the second-most powerful person in the land.
The husband or wife of the current ruler.
The last person to call these quarters home was Sebastian’s mother. Empress Ryana, long may she rest in peace, had died in childbirth while bearing Sebastian into the world. His father, Bastien, after losing two wives successively in less than a decade, had declared he didn’t wish to lose another. So he refused a third marriage. It had been over fifteen years and he had kept that promise. As they passed through the gates, Ciardis wondered if the emperor’s choice to not marry again had more to do with the fact that Maradian had taken his place than personal problems about having a third wife.
Then she shivered. Because if that was true they had all been paying obedience to a man masquerading as the true emperor for almost as long as she had been alive.
As the palanquin was set down on the ground, she climbed out and thanked the soldiers for bearing them.
She may have been a noble woman and the future wife of the emperor, but Ciardis still showed respect and gratitude when someone did a task for her. She couldn’t imagine it had been easy bearing the palanquin. She knew from experience what a heavy load could do to the upper body. She remembered with an uncomfortable twitch of her shoulder blades, the aches and pains that would settle in the muscles of her shoulders after a long morning bearing a heavy load of wet laundry over to the drying lines in the village of her youth. This was no different.
The soldiers murmured their gratitude with surprise in their deep voices.
She smiled, curtseyed, and went to speak with their captain.
Staring into his hard eyes, she said, “Well, we’re here.”
He crossed belligerent arms and she swore a tic appeared in his right eye. “So we are.”
“So you can leave,” she said sweetly.
He raised an eyebrow, looked her hard in the eyes and slowly signal with a loop of finger to his men that they were to pack-up and leave. She noticed that all of his wounded were gone, so the rest were quick to trot back into formation and head out of the palace gates. Their leader following shortly behind on a stallion with one last lingering look at Ciardis Weathervane.
Then Ciardis thought to take care of her own wounded.
She heard Skarar crying from inside the palanquin. His father had poked a ruffled head in between the curtains to soothe him but she knew he needed medical attention first. A woman came out of the palace wearing a linen maid’s uniform. She looked to be on her way home rather than toward Ciardis’s group for service.
“Please,” Ciardis shouted out frantically, “we need help.”
The woman looked at them, muddied, broken and obviously of ill repute, sniffed, and walked away toward the gate.
Then Sebastian stepped in her path. He was five feet away from the woman, but his face was like rolling thunder. Dangerous and deadly. He said something and whatever it was had the darker-skinned woman so frightened that she turned and ran back into the palace. Less than two minutes later she was back with a woman in healers’ robes, two guards holding a stretcher, their wary palace guards with swords held out, and a gaggle of servants that only seemed to grow.
The healer with skin like a summer mink’s coat did her job with little fuss and asked the soldiers to transfer Skarar to her infirmary. Before they could move him, Ciardis said, “He’ll be able to leave of his own free will, yes?”
The woman looked up at her shocked.
Chapter 11
I t wasn’t long before Ciardis heard the gates of the imperial palace open to her traveling group of soldiers and friends. It would have been hard to miss as the sound of the massive iron doors swinging open was like a trumpet piercing the quiet morning air. Curiosity overcame her for a moment. She had seen the imperial palace many times. But never from this entrance. It was the entrance to the quarters of the second-most powerful person in the land.
The husband or wife of the current ruler.
The last person to call these quarters home was Sebastian’s mother. Empress Ryana, long may she rest in peace, had died in childbirth while bearing Sebastian into the world. His father, Bastien, after losing two wives successively in less than a decade, had declared he didn’t wish to lose another. So he refused a third marriage. It had been over fifteen years and he had kept that promise. As they passed through the gates, Ciardis wondered if the emperor’s choice to not marry again had more to do with the fact that Maradian had taken his place than personal problems about having a third wife.
Then she shivered. Because if that was true they had all been paying obedience to a man masquerading as the true emperor for almost as long as she had been alive.
As the palanquin was set down on the ground, she climbed out and thanked the soldiers for bearing them.
She may have been a noble woman and the future wife of the emperor, but Ciardis still showed respect and gratitude when someone did a task for her. She couldn’t imagine it had been easy bearing the palanquin. She knew from experience what a heavy load could do to the upper body. She remembered with an uncomfortable twitch of her shoulder blades, the aches and pains that would settle in the muscles of her shoulders after a long morning bearing a heavy load of wet laundry over to the drying lines in the village of her youth. This was no different.
The soldiers murmured their gratitude with surprise in their deep voices.
She smiled, curtseyed, and went to speak with their captain.
Staring into his hard eyes, she said, “Well, we’re here.”
He crossed belligerent arms and she swore a tic appeared in his right eye. “So we are.”
“So you can leave,” she said sweetly.
He raised an eyebrow, looked her hard in the eyes and slowly signal with a loop of finger to his men that they were to pack-up and leave. She noticed that all of his wounded were gone, so the rest were quick to trot back into formation and head out of the palace gates. Their leader following shortly behind on a stallion with one last lingering look at Ciardis Weathervane.
Then Ciardis thought to take care of her own wounded.
She heard Skarar crying from inside the palanquin. His father had poked a ruffled head in between the curtains to soothe him but she knew he needed medical attention first. A woman came out of the palace wearing a linen maid’s uniform. She looked to be on her way home rather than toward Ciardis’s group for service.
“Please,” Ciardis shouted out frantically, “we need help.”
The woman looked at them, muddied, broken and obviously of ill repute, sniffed, and walked away toward the gate.
Then Sebastian stepped in her path. He was five feet away from the woman, but his face was like rolling thunder. Dangerous and deadly. He said something and whatever it was had the darker-skinned woman so frightened that she turned and ran back into the palace. Less than two minutes later she was back with a woman in healers’ robes, two guards holding a stretcher, their wary palace guards with swords held out, and a gaggle of servants that only seemed to grow.
The healer with skin like a summer mink’s coat did her job with little fuss and asked the soldiers to transfer Skarar to her infirmary. Before they could move him, Ciardis said, “He’ll be able to leave of his own free will, yes?”
The woman looked up at her shocked.
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