North Queen (Crowns Book 1), page 33
“Rhines,” Kiran told her. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
“I’ve never seen anything like them, let alone in the winter.”
“You’ve never seen flowers?” Vitalia asked.
She stilled. She’d seen flowers before. Small blooms of purple and yellow speckled across the Mercian mountains flashed in her mind. They weren’t something she remembered seeing, yet they were something she still knew. If she saw them again, would they bring more memories? An ache grew in her stomach. If she couldn’t return to Mercia, she wouldn’t be able to find out. And how could she hope to gain her memories in the Shadowlands, a place so foreign to her, with nothing of her old life, nothing of who she once was?
“Do you like them?” Kiran asked, bringing her attention back.
She drew in a breath to clear her mind and smiled. “Very much.”
His eyes smiled. “I know a place you’d love to see, then.”
Norah followed him through the castle and outside. They curved around to the south side, and she grinned when she saw where he was taking her. Beautiful greens patterned the ground in a large garden. They made their way down the small pebble walk as she marveled at its beauty. “It all grows in the winter?” she asked, amazed.
“Some of it. These are all evergreens. They stay green like this all year. Some flowers you’ll see on the winter plants…”
Kiran’s words continued, but she didn’t hear them. The sound of a horse had caught her attention, and she looked over her shoulder toward a grand building offset from the castle. Behind it were circled paddocks, some with horses.
“Is that the stable?” she asked.
Kiran paused in his flower tour. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Is my horse there?” She desperately wanted to see the mare again. She had a connection to the animal. Maybe it was a connection to her old self. And she was fond of the mare—a friend in a place where she had very few.
“I would assume so,” he answered. “But we should get back, Your Majesty. The lord commander will check that you’ve returned to your chamber, and Captain Artem, too, no doubt. And forgive me, I’ve led you outside the castle with only two guardsmen.”
“I don’t answer to the lord commander,” she answered shortly. “Or the captain.”
“Please, Your Majesty,” he said softly. “I do.”
Norah sighed. She didn’t want any trouble for those who were kind to her. She gave a relenting nod, casting one last glance toward the stable, and they headed back the way they’d come.
Chapter forty
Each day passed slowly. Norah struggled to find her place in it all. She was a queen, but she still felt more prisoner than queen in the kingdom of Shadows. Would that change when she became salara?
She pulled back the draperies on the windows, letting the morning light pour in. Vitalia had gone early to the dressmaker, but Norah spotted the tray of breakfast she’d left on the table. She smiled. Biscuits and honey. She loved honey, although she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had it.
Norah dropped down and curled into the cushioned chair at the table, crossing her legs up under her and into the warmth of her nightgown, then scooted the tray closer. Perhaps she was letting this honey draw too much excitement, but she was alone, and she’d let herself have this small joy.
She broke the biscuit in half to pour the honey across but then pushed it back; she really didn’t care about the biscuit, and instead scooped her fingertip into the small jar of gold. She gave barely enough time for the drip to break before she brought it to her mouth.
And it was the most amazing thing she’d ever tasted. There were hints of lavender mixed in the sweetness; it was rich and thick on her tongue. She wanted to drink it from the jar. There was no spoon to spread it, no knife. It was meant to be poured on the biscuit. She didn’t care, and she dipped in her finger again.
Norah heard movement in the hall—Vitalia, back with her dresses. She grinned and moved to the door. She was going to tell her she was the best maid ever and beg her for more honey. But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Vitalia.
It was Mikael, poised to knock.
Norah stood, her nightgown loose over her shoulder, holding her jar of gold with a honey-coated fingertip. Not exactly how she wanted anyone to see her. Not how she wanted him to see her.
His gaze traveled down her length and back up. “North Queen,” he said.
“Um…” She shifted. “Hello.” She winced. The right way to address him still escaped her.
They stared at each other for a moment. “I’m”—his brow dipped as he glanced at her honey-coated finger—“sorry to disturb you.”
She felt she might die a little.
His gaze rose to her face again. “I just… wanted you to know that I have to tend some things in the south. But I’ll return tomorrow. Late.”
She nodded, trying to act normal. “I’ll… be here.” She cursed herself. Where else would she be?
He nodded back. That seemed the end of his message, but he didn’t move to leave. His eyes shifted down to her hands again.
“Do you… want some honey?” She cursed herself again. Stupid. Of course he didn’t want honey. She bit her lip to keep from cringing. Gods help her.
He didn’t answer, and it only made it worse. But then he stepped closer. His eyes said he wanted something. She swallowed but didn’t move.
Slowly, he reached out and took her hand with the honey-dipped finger. She froze. Her breath stopped, and her pulse thrummed heavily in her ears. His eyes melded into hers as he brought her finger up and wrapped his lips around it.
His mouth was cool against the flame of her skin. The flick of his tongue, the graze of his teeth, sent prickles rippling across her body. Every hair stood on end. It was so brazen of him. And of her to let him. It was shameful, even though it wasn’t shame she felt.
She should stop him.
But she didn’t want to. So she didn’t.
Finally, he drew her finger from his mouth—slow, tortuous—and lowered her hand, releasing it.
Norah stood breathless.
The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, North Queen.”
She could only nod.
He turned and left, and she closed the door behind him, leaning back against it. Her heart still thundered. She could still feel his mouth, his tongue. The thoughts sent heat pooling to her stomach. This man. She didn’t know what to do about him, didn’t know what to think.
He knew no boundaries, no restraint. Alexander would never—
Alexander—she pushed him from her mind. She couldn’t think about Alexander right now.
She needed air. A walk. Something. She couldn’t wait for Vitalia to get back with the dresses. She pulled a green front-laced gown from the side dressing room and shuffled it on. Grabbing her cloak, she slipped on her shoes and then swept out of the chamber and down the hall.
Her guard picked up behind her, and she fastened her cloak around her shoulders as she walked.
“Do you plan to go outside, North Queen?” a guard asked from behind. Sonal. With Vitalia’s help, she was learning to tell the guards apart. She didn’t like Sonal. He wasn’t accommodating like Kiran, and she didn’t like the way he called her North Queen.
She kept walking.
“You’ve only two guards,” came his voice again.
“Then you’d better find two more before I reach the door.” She walked quickly, hoping to avoid anyone who might stop her, like the lord commander, or the captain. As she reached the entry hall, two more guards fell instep behind her.
That wasn’t as difficult as she’d expected.
“Where are you going?” Sonal asked.
She didn’t answer, giving the guard a taste of their own medicine. But the corners of her mouth drew up. She knew exactly where she was going. The mare.
Outside, the air was chilly, and she pulled the hood of her cloak up but inhaled deeply. It felt good to get out of the castle—to set her mind on something other than Mikael and the morning’s happening. The brief thought again brought a heat to her lower stomach, and she pushed it away.
The castle grounds were expansive, easily double the size of her castle in Mercia, and beautiful. The main courtyard had three fountains and a wide cobblestone path for daily markets and activities. Meticulously kept hedges surrounded the outer edges, and the long side garden that Kiran showed her before held even more topiaries. She lengthened her stride toward the stable.
The inside of the stable was almost as grand as the inside of the castle, with stacked stone lifting the ceiling high to let in the light and beautiful dark-wood stalls lining both sides. Most of the stalls were empty and large enough to fit at least three horses. Then she reached one that was occupied and realized perhaps they weren’t—she’d forgotten how massive the destriers were.
A knicker sounded from an end stall, and she immediately knew it was the mare. She smiled and hurried toward it. When she reached it, she looked through the top bars, and her smile widened. The mare tossed her head and let out a squeal, as if just as happy to see her.
The stall doors were split in half, with most top doors open for the horses to hang their heads out, but the mare’s was closed. Norah reached for the latch.
A gravelly voice, foreign and angry, called out from her right.
She turned as what appeared to be a stable hand approached. He didn’t wear a head wrap. That practice seemed reserved for soldiers.
“He says this one will take a piece out of you,” Sonal said from behind her. “This mare won’t let anyone touch her.”
Norah glanced back at the mare, who wore a stable blanket and had clearly been brushed. Obviously, someone was able to touch her. She looked well cared for, and Norah was appreciative of that.
The stable hand spoke again. “You’d do well to let her alone,” Sonal translated.
She pulled back the hood of her cloak, and the man stilled. His eyes traveled to the guard behind her, and he took a wary step back. He hadn’t realized who he was speaking to.
Norah pulled back the latch of the top door and swung it open, and the mare knickered again and stretched her head out to her. She smiled and gave the animal a hearty scratch on the cheek. The mare snorted. Norah scratched her forehead before running her hand to the soft flesh of her nose. The horse nuzzled her fingers. Her smile widened, and she looked up at the stable hand. “Tell him to leave her top door open, so she can see out.”
Sonal translated. The man’s eyes told her he didn’t approve, but he gave a stiff nod. Then he glanced once more at her guard and left them alone.
Norah turned her attention back to the mare, giving her another round of affectionate scratches, to which the mare arched her neck and leaned out farther against the bottom door. She wished she could go for a ride, but she felt she was already pushing her luck with the visit.
“I just came to say hello, friend, to see how you’re doing. And you look well.” She pulled the mare’s head closer and gave her a peck on the face. “I’ll come back later and see if we can get out of here for a little while. Maybe a ride sometime.” The mare snorted again, and Norah patted her neck. “Don’t hurt anyone, at least not the ones that care for you.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “All others are fair game.”
The animal shook her head, and Norah gave a small laugh.
She should get back, she knew. “All right, goodbye, friend. I’ll be back.” She gave the mare one last scratch and reluctantly headed out of the stable and back toward the castle.
As she made her way back, she let herself admire the gardens. Norah loved gardens. Mercia’s felt so quaint when compared to those of the Shadowlands, but still they were beautiful. She missed them.
She noticed a man on his knees digging a line of small holes. He was an older man; his dark hair was streaked with gray, and his skin had been weathered by the seasons.
“What are you doing?” she asked him.
He looked up with a start and rose to his feet when he recognized her. “Salara,” he said, bowing low. His voice held the warmth of welcome, and his eyes smiled like summertime. “How can I be of service?”
That he spoke the Northern tongue surprised her. “What are you doing?” she asked again.
“I am planting isarium, Salara. While they’re dormant.”
“North Queen,” Sonal said, “we should return to the castle and leave this man to do his work.”
She ignored him. “What’s your name?” she asked the man. One of her soldiers broke away and headed toward the castle. If only the rest would leave her too.
“My name is Bremhad, Salara.”
He was such a gentle soul. He reminded her of Kiran.
“Bremhad,” she repeated. “Can I plant one?”
His eyes widened in surprise—he looked a little worried even. “This isn’t work for Salara.”
“I’ll decide that,” she said, picking up a root ball waiting to be planted and looking closely at it. “Do I just put it in the ground?”
“Here,” he said, crouching down, “I’ll show you.” Bremhad scooped some loose soil and put it at the bottom of the hole he’d already dug. Then he waved her to set it inside. She placed the root into the center, and he filled in the sides with the soil, leveling it off with a layer on top.
She smiled, looking at the row of holes. “I want to do another.” She moved to the next, scooping the loose soil to the bottom as Bremhad had done, and then setting the root ball on top. She filled in the sides and added a top layer. The dirt felt good between her fingers, and the smell of earth was familiar somehow. She smiled, feeling pleased with herself.
“So, you speak the Northern tongue?” she asked.
“Common tongue? Yes, of course.”
Sonal interrupted the man with sharp words in the Shadow tongue. The man’s smile fell, and Norah knew he’d been warned. She shot a look at Sonal, giving him a warning of her own.
“Does everyone speak the Northern tongue?” she asked.
The old man was silent, and his eyes darted to her guard. Footfalls came behind her, and she looked back to see the lord commander approaching, followed by Captain Artem and more soldiers. Had the commander not gone with the king? She groaned inside.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
It was none of his business. She pursed her lips. “I’m planting flowers.”
“North Queen, you can’t be out here digging in the dirt.”
“Bremhad has already done the digging,” she said flippantly. “I’m planting the flowers.”
Agitation rolled off his brow. “You can’t be out here planting flowers.”
“Why not? What am I to do? Sit in my room all day?”
“Something more proper for a queen.”
“You should let the queen decide what’s proper for queens,” Norah said shortly. “I’ll go back inside once I’m finished here.” She could feel the heat from his anger, but she focused on her next root ball.
The lord commander gave an order in the Shadow tongue, and each soldier quickly picked up a root bundle and dropped them into the holes lining the walkway, covering the roots with dirt.
“You’re finished now,” he told her.
Norah gritted her teeth, anger swelling inside her. She stood, glaring at the lord commander. His eyes returned her stare like pools of hell. But what could she do?
She turned to the old man. “Thank you, Bremhad. Perhaps I might come again? I’d like to see how things are coming along.”
“Of course, Salara. I’m here every day and would be honored.”
She gave the lord commander and the captain another scowl and then turned back toward the castle.
Four guards. Four guards now stood on duty as she stepped out into the hall from her chamber—no doubt a punitive response to the day prior. But she wouldn’t give the lord commander the upper hand.
She smiled at them. “Oh, perfect. I was headed outside for another walk, so we’re all ready.” And she started down the hall. They fell in step behind her. Close. Too close. Suffocating. She tried to brush it off as she passed the dining hall—where she’d originally intended to go. Petty rebellion was much more important than breakfast.
Her stomach grumbled in protest. She ignored it. She’d eaten a hefty dinner the night before, taken in her chamber. Nine hells before she’d eat alone with the lord commander. And being out for a walk wasn’t for naught. She hadn’t properly explored the castle grounds. She wished she’d thought to bring Vitalia.
The beauty of the Shadowlands was hard to deny. In every recess of the castle sat a garden area, meticulously kept. The walls and stonework were well maintained, and even the cobblestone walks appeared to have been scrubbed clean. Tall iron posts lined common walkways, holding oil lanterns for the night.
She turned the corner of the castle, and the walk opened to a broad green space. Within a short distance were structured activity fields, each filled with training soldiers. The fields were much larger than in Mercia, and on first observation, the training was much more aggressive. Where her Northmen practiced in an organized fashion, the Shadow fields could easily be mistaken for battlefields.
Norah stopped and watched, wide-eyed. With no reservation and no restraint, the Shadow warriors fought—lethal strikes with real weapons and devastating consequences. How were they not killing one another? Her pulse quickened. Even if they were Shadowmen, she didn’t want anyone hurt…
Suddenly, her eyes found Captain Artem. Except him. He could hurt himself all day. And so could the lord commander—wherever he was. The captain stood in the center of the far-right field as he scanned the soldiers, calling out commands of gods only knew what. And then, as if he sensed her gaze, he turned. The hair stood on the back of her neck, and she broke away to keep walking.
