Chapter 9 #2
But Marise paid his rudeness no heed and waved to Thea. ‘You must be the business, then. Pleasure to meet you, good lady.’
Thea nearly fell off her saddle. Never in her life had she been called a lady. But then, he was a wine merchant, wasn’t he? He was likely drunk. He had also called her an intense creature… whatever that meant.
‘You too, sir,’ she managed.
‘Sir?’ He tipped his head back and chuckled deeply. ‘You must call me Marise, like your friend here.’ He gestured to Hawthorne.
Both Thea and Hawthorne ignored this.
Baffled by the man’s enthusiasm, Thea nodded. ‘I’m Thea.’
Marise beamed. ‘You must come by for a tasting, my dear Thea!’
‘I…’
People had paused in the street to watch the exchange and she felt their stares boring into her.
Marise seemed to notice the unwanted attention and, with sudden seriousness, approached the Warsword’s stallion. In a hurried whisper, he said: ‘There is to be a dead red event soon. I shall send further details to the fortress.’
Thea blinked. Dead red event? That sounds ominous.
The Warsword bowed his head. ‘Much obliged.’
They rode on, Thea’s nerves well and truly kicking in as they moved through the residence quarter of Hailford, each townhouse more stately than the previous. It appeared that proximity to wealth created wealth.
At long last, the palace walls loomed before them and they came to a halt at the golden gates.
‘You are most welcome, Warsword,’ one guard said, making the three-fingered gesture to his left shoulder.
‘Thank you,’ Hawthorne replied, dismounting but still towering over the guards. ‘My charge wishes to attend the open court. We have a letter from the Guild Master of Thezmarr.’ Hawthorne produced a piece of folded parchment and handed it over.
The man scanned its contents, surveying Thea with an air of disbelief. Nevertheless, he gave the letter back to Hawthorne, addressing him, not Thea. ‘The open court is taking place now. I believe it’s nearly at an end.’
‘At an end?’ Thea started, jumping down from her mare. ‘Now? I thought we had until —’
‘The royals and nobles are eager to start the feast and festivities,’ the guard told her. ‘If you wish this matter to be heard by the rulers, you must go now. Even then, you may be too late.’
Blood roared in Thea’s ears, panic seizing her limbs. ‘But —’
Hawthorne faced her, nodding towards the grand palace entrance and pushing the Guild Master’s letter into her hands. ‘I suggest you hurry.’
‘You’re not coming?’
‘I have other matters to attend to.’
Thea gaped at him.
‘What are you waiting for?’ he prompted.
With her heart hammering and despair lurching in her gut, Thea turned on her heel, bracing to race for the stairs.
‘Don’t run,’ Hawthorne added casually. ‘They’ll put an arrow through your throat.’
Cursing the Warsword, Thea walked as quickly as she could towards the entrance, taking two steps at a time.
No one stopped her, no one shot an arrow through her throat.
The palace was the most glorious place she had ever seen, but she couldn't stop to admire its opulent details.
Instead, she asked the nearest guard where the court was being held and darted off, repeating his directions in her head.
Thea forgot about her dirty, dishevelled state.
She forgot about the surly Warsword. She thought of only one thing: becoming a shieldbearer, and then, a legend of Thezmarr.
This was the moment she had dreamed of her whole life.
This was the opportunity that would make all her training, all her spying, and the many other risks she’d taken worth it.
When she reached the ornate pair of gold filigree doors, a herald greeted her.
‘I’m afraid court is just finishing,’ he said, eyeing her travel worn clothes with distaste.
Still clutching the now crumpled Guild Master’s letter, Thea’s heart plummeted to her stomach. ‘Please, I’ve come a long way.’
The herald studied her for a moment longer, before spotting the Guild Master’s wax seal on the parchment in her hands. ‘One moment,’ he said eventually, before ducking inside the room beyond.
Thea’s heart was about to burst, and there was a real possibility that she might throw up all over the pristine marble floor.
A minute later, the herald reappeared. ‘You were just in time,’ he said. His earlier expression of distaste was gone, in its place was one of pity. ‘They’ll see you now.’
There was no time for shock, no time for panic. Thea straightened and brushed off her clothes as best she could before nodding to the herald.
He opened the doors.
The sight within took Thea’s breath away.
The throne room.
Arched vaulted ceilings soared above her, punctuated with crystal chandeliers that sent light dancing around the room and the crowd of nobles that filled it.
All eyes went to Thea, but she kept her gaze ahead.
The marble floor continued beneath her muddy boots leading to the apex of the chamber, where three gilded thrones sat on a wide, carpeted dais, a ruler seated in each.
Thea had never felt so exposed in all her life. But if this was the path she had to walk, then she would walk it with her head held high. Reaching the foot of the dais, she stopped before the royals and bowed low.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up as something strange reached out to her, wrapping around her senses, toying with the warring feelings in her chest.
Magic , she realised. She was in the presence of magic, and not the forged power of a Warsword, but magic born of the rulers of the midrealms – royal magic .
Here it was, almost visible as a spectrum of colours before her.
‘Rise,’ said a warm, rich voice.
Thea straightened, her eyes locking with those of King Artos Fairmoore, the ruler of Harenth.
Though she had never seen the king in the flesh before, she knew it was him from the tales of his bright green eyes and handsome face.
To his right was a man with a rearing stallion embroidered on his doublet, marking him as King Leiko Stallard of Tver.
On the other side was a beautiful woman who could only have been Queen Reyna Dufort of Aveum, a crown of frosted jewels atop her head.
An attractive man with a matching crown stood behind her, resting his hand on her shoulder; King Elkan, then.
Thea couldn’t help but stare at the power gathered before her.
From her basic lessons, Thea knew that the Fairmoore family, King Artos’ line, was known for mind magic.
Over the generations, they had produced mind whisperers, dream wielders and empaths; King Artos was the latter.
The Stallard royals had been fire wielders for centuries, though it was rumoured that King Leiko possessed but a drop of his ancestors’ power, while the Dufort royals of Aveum were known for their seers of varying strengths —
‘Tell us, child of Thezmarr,’ King Artos said, bringing Thea out of her reverie with a start. ‘What brings you to our halls today?’
A wave of whispers washed over the crowd at Thea’s back.
A lump had formed in her throat and she struggled to swallow it, perhaps her thundering heart had lodged itself there. Thea bowed again, buying herself another moment. ‘Your Majesties,’ she said at last, her words croaky. ‘I seek a concession to the no-women-in-arms law.’
This time, the noise that burst from the crowd was not hushed behind fans and silk gloves. It was outright shock, not to be contained with low voices and subtle glances.
King Artos raised a finger on the arm of his throne and the nobles fell silent at once.
Thea met his green-eyed gaze. ‘I have a message from the Guild Master outlining the matter at hand, Your Grace.’
The King of Harenth nodded to a servant, who came forward and took the parchment from Thea, passing it to the king with a low bow.
Thea clasped her hands in front of her to hide the trembling and she watched as the king scanned Osiris’ message, his brow furrowed, before handing it to Queen Reyna.
‘Your Majesties, all my life I have wanted one thing: to wield a blade in the defence of the midrealms and its people,’ Thea began.
‘I was born to fight, to be trained by the best in our mighty guild, to join the warriors of Thezmarr and keep the looming darkness at bay. I come here today to ask you for that chance, for the opportunity to protect your kingdoms.’
Queen Reyna peered over the parchment. ‘You wish to train as a shieldbearer? To take the initiation test in the next season and become a Guardian of the midrealms, is that correct?’
Magic crackled through the throne room, but there was no telling to whom it belonged or what form it might take. The rest of the court seemed unfazed, but then again, they must be used to its casual display.
Thea bowed her head. ‘That is correct, Your Majesty. It would be a great honour to be a protector of the realm.’
The rulers of the three kingdoms exchanged looks and unspoken words. Her fate was in their hands. It was their ruling that would determine how she would spend the final years of her life… As a poor excuse for an alchemist, or as a warrior of Thezmarr.
King Artos cleared his throat, looking down at her with kindness. ‘I do not doubt your courage —’
Thea’s heart was already sinking, her knees buckled.
‘Or your honourable intentions,’ he continued.
‘However, the past has shown us the way forward. Twenty years ago, a dark day in history altered the course of all our paths. It was proven then that for a woman to hold a blade was to risk peace in our realms. The prophecy spoke, the law was changed. And thus it must remain so.’
Thea bit back a broken sob.
The king rested a hand on his heart. ‘I wish I could allow it, child. But to change the law now would be to endanger the midrealms. It has taken a long time to reforge our strength and power to hold the darkness at bay. Therefore the answer, I’m afraid, is no.’
Thea opened her mouth, but closed it at the widening eyes of the servants.
She was no longer in Thezmarr. There would be no arguing here.
Her fate, it seemed, was sealed.