13. The Princess of Many Names
Chapter thirteen
The Princess of Many Names
W ith every step the mare took, Solveig felt a sickening pull on her stitches. By the time they had cleared the road between the mountains and the city had come into view, a sheen of sweat coated her greyed skin.
With the snow-capped mountains to the north, and the towering defensive wall that surrounded it, Marrelin City was a fortress. Her ancestors had carved the keep, High Tower Castle, into the mountains hundreds of years ago. It was a terrible beast, looming over the meagre dwellings below. Rivers bordered the city, lifelines that supplied the otherwise remote locality with fresh water and easy fishing grounds. Pipes funnelled much of it into the castle, but for now, at least there remained enough in the channels to feed the ever-growing population.
The company came to a halt on the bridge to the western portcullis. General Anik dismounted, making his way over to where Solveig sat slumped atop the mare.
“We’re to remove the shackles before entering the city.”
Solveig stared at him in perplexed silence.
“Orders are orders.” He shrugged. “Try anything and I’ll take you down.”
“Now that would cause a spectacle,” Solveig muttered.
“What?”
She rolled her eyes, shifting on her saddle to face him. “I don’t pretend to understand my parents’ reasons for having you remove the chains. However, I can guess that they are trying to avoid a spectacle before they’ve decided what to do with me.” She eyed him expectantly, but he remained silent. “I don’t know about you, General. But I think the murder of a princess in broad daylight would cause exactly the show they are trying to avoid.”
General Anik smirked. “You’ve been away a long time, sweetheart, long enough for opinions to form in your absence. I’d be willing to bet everything I own on the citizens of this city throwing a party at seeing your pretty head severed from its body.”
She ignored him. “If the king wanted a show, he’d have you take me straight to the gallows. But he hasn’t, has he?”
“How many people did you kill in the last two years, Princess?”
“Fifty.”
“Did you know they announced every single one of them in the city square? They had us guard the wall for days to ensure their names didn’t appear.”
“I followed my king’s orders. They can think what they want. But they won’t get to celebrate until the king pops the wine himself.” She smiled, and General Anik returned to his own horse in silence.
Wrought-iron gates screeched open, and a myriad of sensations hit Solveig all at once. A deafening cacophony of market stalls, and the stench of sweat and sewage. The sickening taste of rotting fruits and vegetables stuck to the back of her throat as the ramshackle buildings of the lower city surrounded them.
They cantered through the uneven, broken cobbled streets. Citizens stared as they passed. Whispers grew as gaunt faces followed their path until every set of eyes in the city were casting judgement down upon her. As the whispers grew to shouts; Solveig couldn’t make out most of the words, but a few choice ones hit their mark.
“Twisted bitch.”
“Murderer.”
“Wraith witch.”
“Reaper.”
“Rot in the pit, Princess Pain.” On and on the insults came, only quieting when they passed up into the higher city and cantered by the Holy Site of the Temple of The Oracle. No one would dare utter such heinous words within its shadow. Mercifully, the upper city was calmer, quieter. Here lay the elemental guilds and the homes of the king’s members of court. People who were far more likely to scheme behind your back than insult you to your face.
Soon they approached the winding tree lined road that led up to the fortified gates of High Tower Castle. Solveig’s back straightened. She would not cower in the castle’s shadow. Not under the strain of the journey, nor the stress of wondering what waited. Certainly not under the weight of hateful stares and whispered malice. She would ride through the gates of High Tower Castle for the first time in two years, with her head held high.
Once they were away from the prying eyes of the city’s inhabitants, the general placed the shackles around her wrists again. The chains rattled, a light echo of the orchestra she had once listened to through the daylight hours at the mine. Though it was much quieter, with only one set.
They stood before an ornate set of carved wooden doors. General Anik knocked once, waited, and then knocked a second time. Solveig could hear the hushed whispers beyond before the deep commanding voice of her father, King Emerson Gunnar of House Maleen, called,
“Enter.”