Allegiance by Cayla Kluver
When dinner closed, my father announced that he would retire, moving more slowly than usual from the room to make his way to the third floor.
“It’s good to have you join us, darling,” my mother said, preparing to follow her husband. She gave me a small smile, then added, “I hear London is improving.”
“Yes, he is, and as he grows stronger, so does hope for Miranna’s rescue.”
I wanted, in some small way, to ease her anguish and sadness, but instead she eased mine.
“I have not lost hope, only time that could have been spent with her. I’m so glad that you are back among us—I do not want to lose time with you, as well.”
She gave me a light embrace, then left me to my thoughts. I returned to my quarters, my spirits having improved with rest and with the knowledge that London was on the road to good health. Kitten greeted me happily, and I passed the evening curled up with my fluffy pet and a good book in one of the leather armchairs near the hearth.
By the next day, London was markedly improved, his voice more robust and his breathing easier. He still needed much sleep, however, so I planned to keep my visit short. While Destari and I talked with him, Bhadran arrived to assess his patient’s condition. Probably thinking he would find a corpse, the mystified physician was compelled to admit that the soldier was on the mend, the infection apparently having bled out with the removal of the arrowheads. When the doctor departed a few minutes later, Destari and I did likewise, leaving London once more in the hands of the healer Bhadran had assigned.
By the next afternoon, London was propped up against the pillows with a piece of parchment and bits of charcoal laid across the quilt that covered his lap. The healer was no longer in the room, an indication that Bhadran had visited him earlier in the day and was confident his patient was doing well. Destari took up position in the corridor, wanting to give me some time alone with my former bodyguard.
“How are you feeling?” I asked as I took a seat at his bedside, curiosity high about what he was doing. When I’d been a little girl, he had often sketched pictures for me, mostly of animals, but I had not laid eyes on a drawing of his since then.
“You need to invent a new question,” he said, a welcome tease in his voice. “You ask that every time you come through the door.”
“It seems a natural question, considering the circumstances. But if your mood is any indication, you’re feeling much better.”
“I am, but unfortunately, as my health increases, so does my boredom. I’m afraid I have never learned how to be idle.” Unable to resist a slight jab at his captain, he finished, “Of course, Cannan and the doctor are being utterly unreasonable, insisting that I stay in bed.”
“You seem to be keeping yourself entertained.” I indicated the pieces of parchment atop the spread, ignoring his comment about Bhadran and the captain. “Have you drawn much?”
“A few things. The only fortunate part of all of this is that it’s my left arm that’s injured.”
“May I see them?”
“If you wish,” he answered, sounding tired.
I reached for the stack and began to sort through the parchments. As a six-year-old, I had not been able to appreciate the talent behind the drawings made to amuse me, and now gazed in amazement at what I saw. Although they were only sketches, the landscapes and buildings were depicted with startling detail and realism. I more closely examined one of a wide, sprawling city depicted from high above.
“Is this Hytanica?” I asked, thinking the inquiry unnecessary, but his answer was perplexing.
“It’s Cokyri.”
I nodded, not knowing how to respond, supposing that all the time he had spent in the mountains of late had put the land of the enemy in his mind.
“Most of the pictures are of Cokyri,” he said, laying his head back on the pillows.
After examining all of the sketches, I returned the pieces of parchment to their place, a remark about his obvious gift on my lips, when another sheet, isolated from the others on the bedside table, caught my eye.
“What’s this?” I asked, reaching for it just as London gave a small exclamation. Once it was in my possession, whatever protest he had intended to utter died, but I could feel his eyes boring into me.
The picture was of a beautiful young woman, perhaps in her early twenties, whose features were oddly familiar.
“London, this is lovely. Who is she?”
“Just someone I used to know.” His response was deliberately casual, as well as deliberately unrevealing.
I considered him for a moment, and a conversation with Destari from over a year ago surfaced in my memory. Destari had told me that London had been betrothed to a woman of noble birth before being imprisoned in Cokyri. He had been presumed dead, and her parents had forced her to marry another man. The woman in the portrait, of whose identity I was almost certain, had to be his former betrothed. Of what other woman would he sketch such a stunning likeness?
London fractured my thoughts with a short laugh. “What? You’re not the only woman in my life, Alera.”
“I know,” I said, mildly defensive. “It’s just, from the way this is drawn, it seems a fair guess that you were in love with her.”
There was a beat of silence, and I flushed at my boldness. Just when I was about to apologize, he gave a half smile and a shake of his head.
“It’s only a sketch.”
“Of course,” I agreed, but there was still one more way that I might be able to affirm my suspicions. “May I keep it?”
At his leery glance, I felt the need to clarify.
“You never draw for me anymore, and this is quite beautiful.”
“If you really want it,” he said with a casual shrug that was not quite convincing.
We talked for a while longer, then I invited Destari to join us, knowing he would also want to check on London. As the time for the evening meal approached, I bid London farewell with a wish that he enjoy the rest of his day.
“The most enjoyable part of my day has just ended,” he replied.
I again ate with my parents, but this time with an ulterior motive. I knew that my mother would be able to answer my questions regarding London, the questions that besieged me out of a combination of curiosity and a desire for distraction. I entered the dining room and took my seat, placing the sketch in my lap. My parents stood at the conclusion of our meal, but my mother graciously obliged when I requested that she stay.
“I’d like to ask you something, Mother.”
Her blue eyes, so reminiscent of Miranna’s, were inviting but not bright as she nodded and retook her seat. I placed London’s drawing on the tabletop in front of her, and she took it into her hands.
“Do you know this woman?” I asked, as though I had no notion of my own.
She examined the parchment, her eyebrows drawn close together in concentration.
“I believe this is Lady Tanda when she was young,” she murmured, confirming my suspicion. Lady Tanda and my mother were close friends, so if anyone were capable of making such a judgment, it was the woman sitting before me.
“Where did you get this?” she asked, passing the drawing across the table to me, and I gave her a truthful answer.
“London sketched it and allowed me to take it.”
“London drew this?” she repeated, but there was more than bewilderment in her voice. There was disbelief.
I nodded, silently imploring her to tell me more, but she seemed to decide that it was not her place to speak further.
“He has a good memory,” she said simply, as if the flawless likeness of Tanda in her youth were the only thing that had astonished her.
“But why would he draw Lady Tanda?”
My mother glanced toward the door, managing simultaneously to reveal her discomfort and make my question seem superfluous.
“It’s always been difficult to know what goes on in London’s mind,” she said, but I had my answer.
When I visited London the next morning,
“It’s just a tingle right now,” London was explaining. “But I think I’ll be able to move my fingers soon.”
“That’s impossible!” the physician exclaimed. “Your shoulder blade was shattered—the injury should affect you for the rest of your life!”
“I seem to be managing fairly well,” London observed, his customary sarcasm coming back along with his health.
“Fairly,” the doctor said with a hoot of laughter. “Indeed. You should be dead—several times over, in fact.”
There was momentary silence while everyone recalled the two previous instances of London’s uncanny ability to cheat death. First, when he had escaped seventeen years ago from Cokyri and survived the horrible illness from which he had suffered; and second, when he had been pierced by a poisoned dart just last Christmas. Not to mention the fact that after spending close to a week in the foothills with three arrows plunged deep into his body, he had still been alive for Destari and Galen to find.
“I’ve been fortunate,” London said. With a shake of his head and a small nod to me, Bhadran stepped into the corridor. As I approached London, a puzzled expression settled upon him.
“Where is Miranna? Or is my condition so ghastly you are preventing her from seeing me?”
London’s question stole my breath. Cannan and Destari shared a glance, and it occurred to me they had hoped to keep Miranna’s plight from him until his recovery was assured. I couldn’t meet London’s gaze, not certain that I should be the one to respond and doubtful that I could maintain my composure if I tried. He felt the change in atmosphere in the room and repeated his question, to no one in particular.
“Miranna, where is she? Is she ill?”
I looked everywhere but at my former bodyguard, praying that someone else would speak. It was the captain who finally stepped forward to break the news.
“She’s not here. The enemy infiltrated the palace, managing to place a young Cokyrian woman in the position of Miranna’s personal maid. By the time we had reason to be suspicious, the princess had been lured into a trap and was taken. We believe her to be alive and held in Cokyri.”
London’s face went pale, and he stared at Cannan with a mixture of frustration and alarm.
“Why were you keeping this from me? And what plans have been made to rescue her?”
Destari moved forward in response to his friend’s agitated state, probably to ensure he didn’t bound from the bed and reinjure himself, but it was Cannan who replied.
“We’re waiting to receive the enemy’s demands. They had ample opportunity to kill her if that had been their intention, so I do not believe her life is in jeopardy. They took her for a reason, which they will make known in due time.”
“There are far worse fates than death,” London spat, his eyes flashing. “Do you not know whose hands she is in?”
The almost imperceptible clenching of the captain’s jaw told me that whatever was in London’s mind had already occurred to him.
“I’m going back to Cokyri,” London declared, trying to push himself into a full sitting position with his right arm.
“You can’t, London,” Destari countered, gripping his friend’s shoulder in restraint. “Don’t even suggest it. This is the reason we didn’t tell you. We knew the moment you found out that you’d no longer care about your own well-being. And we need you healthy. There is more at stake here than just Miranna’s life.”
London scowled at Destari, then dropped back on the pillows as if grudgingly admitting the other man’s point.
“How long has it been?” he asked.
Cannan supplied the answer. “Eighteen days.”
London flinched as though this had been a physical blow. “With no word from Cokyri?”
Silence was the only response needed.
“They will soon communicate with us,” London asserted, “for their military is now prepared to back up their demands. Regardless of my recovery, you will need me at that point.” Then something else came to him. “Where is Halias?”
“He’s confined to quarters,” the captain responded. “He has not handled this situation well.”
“I want to talk to him.”
“That can be arranged.” Cannan’s voice contained the hope we all felt that London would be able to reach Halias through his layers of irrational guilt.
With nothing more to be said, Cannan turned on his heel and departed, leaving his deputy captains to stare at each other, London obviously still irritated for having been kept in the dark.
“It is my decision as to when I will be able to go to Cokyri,” he stiffly informed Destari.
“No, it is the captain’s,” Destari responded, refusing to yield ground.
London glared at him. “Just leave me.”
Destari shook his head, then threw his hands in the air and left the room, the weight of his footfalls revealing his mind-set. I stared uncomfortably at my hands, struggling to decide whether I should remain or likewise exit, and what to say in any case.
“Should I stay?” I asked.
London was tense and brooding, and the fact that I was facing his profile told me he would probably prefer that I did not. His next words, though polite, confirmed my assessment.
“If you wish to stay, you may, but I warn you, I am not feeling conversational.”
I nodded, though he wasn’t looking at me, and moved toward the door.
“Alera?” His voice arrested me, and I turned to see that horrible sympathy finally present in his eyes. “I’m sorry. But I promise you, I will find a way to bring her home.”
Again I nodded, tears stinging my eyes, and I rushed into the corridor where Destari waited for me, wanting to believe London, but not quite able to do so.
CHAPTER 13
A MESSAGE FOR HER HIGHNESS
LONDON CONTINUED TO HEAL OVER THE NEXT week, regaining almost full use of his left arm. Though it was tender, he could move it normally and flex his fingers; he was also on his feet the majority of the time, too restless to stay in bed. This was to the astonishment of all, Bhadran especially. Indeed, the dignified doctor seemed almost annoyed by London’s unprecedented recovery, probably because the Elite Guard had yet again proved him wrong.
While London’s improvement was good news, Cokyri’s continuing silence was difficult to bear. I had begun to doubt Cannan’s judgment that they would offer terms, for if they planned to do so, why were they waiting so long? Still, everyone to whom I spoke—Destari, Steldor, Galen, London, the captain himself—assured me this was how the Cokyrians operated; they wanted to have us so desperate for word that when they came forth, we’d accept any conditions they presented.
I went to see London every day, for he was not permitted to leave his sickroom. In between visits, I began to reintegrate myself into palace life, finding my way to my drawing room every morning and resuming my duties. The household staff with whom I met behaved awkwardly around me at first, but quickly realized that I desired to return to a normal schedule and so acted accordingly.
As cooler September weather arrived to chase the last remnants of summer away, I finally plunged into the daunting task of catching up on my correspondence. I had been at work in my drawing room for nearly two hours, seated at my desk with quill in hand, the stack of letters seeming never to diminish, when there was a knock on the door. Before I could answer, Destari strode into the room.
“Your Highness, you must come with me to your quarters immediately. Captain’s orders.”
I stood, perplexed by the directive, then went with him into the corridor to discover that two additional guards awaited me.
“What is the meaning of this?” I inquired.
“I’ll explain when you are safe in your rooms,” Destari responded, guiding me toward the Grand Staircase.
We climbed to the second floor, my apprehension growing with every step an
“Tell me now,” I demanded.
“One of our soldiers on patrol at the bridge has brought word that a Cokyrian is on her way to speak to the King.”
Light-headed, I sank onto the leather sofa. Kitten jumped up to join me, rubbing his tiny body against my hand, seeking attention that I was not alert enough to give.
“So this is it? We’ll finally know the reason they took Miranna?”
“Most likely,” Destari said, and it seemed for a moment that there was more he wished to impart, perhaps words of reassurance, but he did not speak again. Now that the time had come, it was hard to have confidence in promises that had been made before.
An hour painstakingly passed. Destari remained by the hearth, occasionally stirring the fire, while I alternately examined my hands and the rug beneath my feet. A loud knock startled me, and I looked to my bodyguard, suddenly not ready to hear the news the person behind the door carried, for these could be the last seconds I would call myself a sister.
“It’s too soon…” Destari muttered, moving to the door to open it, and I stood to see Cannan cross the threshold.
“Your Majesty, we have an unusual situation.”
I took a few steps toward him, trying to steady my shaking hands as I waited for him to elaborate. He did not look as if he bore bad tidings. But still, why would he personally come to see me?
“The Cokyrian messenger has arrived and demands to see the Queen. She says her message is for you alone, and that she will relay it to no one else. She has informed us that she has but three hours to return to her encampment on the other side of the river, or the Cokyrians will assume that we have no interest in communicating.”