Chapter Fourteen
Analleia
The second ball was less of a ball and more of a tournament between the kingdoms. A chance to display what you had to offer any potential allies. A chance to feed your ego. And for some, a chance to simply have fun.
“Fifty paces back!”
I excelled at archery.
I stepped up to the railing again, plucking another arrow from the barrel.
The wooden shaft was light in color, possibly pine, with a steel tip and stark white goose feathers.
I hadn’t shot with pine in a while. Cedar was the arrow of choice at the tower, though whether that was because it was the biggest supply of wood nearby or provided a deadlier accuracy, I wasn’t sure.
I had never questioned it. There were many things I had never questioned at the tower. I’d only ever had my end goal in mind.
“Archers at the ready!”
I nocked the arrow, my gloved fingers pulling back slightly on the string. My left arm felt secure with the bracer. I eyed the target, calculating the wind speed and the distance, preparing to take my shot.
“Fire!”
In one smooth motion I brought up my bow, feathers tickling against my cheek as I pulled the string back and released the arrow, sending it flying to the target.
A small smile crept up my lips.
Dead center.
As always.
I didn’t wait for them to announce the contestants selected to advance to the next level because I already knew I would be one of them.
With the bow clutched in my left hand, I wandered across the grass to the refreshment table and found who I had been searching for.
The ambassador of Calderon. I had watched Valeris try to entice him into a deal for the quarry earlier today.
I smirked.
He hadn’t been successful.
And I needed more information to better plan how to further sabotage the alliance he sought.
I picked up a glass of raspberry lemonade, sipping on the sweet drink. The tower shunned such luxuries, and I had been devouring them every chance I had. I moseyed up to the ambassador, keeping an eye on the servants moving the archery targets back.
“Ambassador Fletcher.” I smiled up at him. “What an honor it is to meet you.”
His bushy gray eyebrows pulled down into a stern frown as he turned to see who dared speak to him.
A flutter of anxiety zipped down my spine at the ice radiating from his eyes.
He looked me up and down, a sneer drawing up the left side of his face as he took in my appearance.
My choice of attire seemed to offend him as I had left the traditional route.
Most women competing wore split skirts with only a few choosing breeches.
I had opted for an open skirt style, which had a skirt trailing the sides and back but opened like a curtain in the front to reveal the breeches underneath.
Exquisite gold stitching lined the navy material, the sun glancing off its metallic sheen.
It didn’t provide as much free movement as wearing only breeches would, but it was more practical than a dress, and it was important to dress according to the trends.
I had learned some men held far too great an opinion on what articles of clothing a woman should be permitted to wear, and from the disgust on the man’s face, he was one of them.
“You are?” The man sounded put out, his voice gruff.
“Analleia Kallistar, from Allowyn. I wanted to ask a few questions about the quarry and your available trade agreements.”
He downed his glass of red wine, slamming it on the table and pushing away. “I don’t appreciate being bothered, and I don’t make deals with women. If your little country is interested in making a deal, one of the men is welcome to speak with me.”
I bristled at the insult, at the disgrace he placed upon my country—even if it wasn’t really mine.
Years ago his rudeness would have left me stunned, but a trained face of indifference had been branded into me.
I set my glass on the table. “Thank you for verifying your rank, Ambassador. I mistakenly thought you held a position of higher power. There’s no need for us to waste any more time, as my little country only makes deals with men—not useless scumbags. ”
I strode past him, not bothering to watch his reaction. It wasn’t worth my time. If King Zaricor wanted that alliance, it was all his. Making deals with such a horrid man was punishment enough.
Fingers dug into my hair and ripped me backward, throwing me off-balance as I collided with a chest. The reek of alcohol wafted off the ambassador’s breath like poison. He wasn’t just insufferable. He was drunk.
I swallowed as I tried to steady myself, my scalp burning from his tight grip.
Spittle sprayed across the shell of my ear as he whispered in a harsh voice only I could hear. “This is why women like you should not be allowed at such events.”
His other hand gripped my upper arm hard enough to bruise.
My breaths came in short gasps as my mind jumped back to a different time, when the man with the scars had grabbed my arm and my hair, pulling me down to keep me from escaping through the secret stairwell as he yanked at the hem of my nightdress.
Thirteen. I was only thirteen. Terror surged through me.
People screamed from the city below, the crash of steel against steel echoing down the corridors.
Attack. We were under attack. I kicked out at the man, catching sight of one my maids bleeding out on the floor as I reached for the oil lamp and smashed it over his head.
“Always speaking your minds, thinking you have something important to say.”
The ambassador’s voice penetrated the prison of my mind, and his face merged with the scarred man’s to form one monster.
I faded in and out of the present, caught in the midst of a nightmare.
I focused on a blade of grass, trying to root myself to the present.
The fingers of my right hand twitched, reminding me of the glove I wore and the trigger within.
The man’s voice distorted as he whispered in my ear.
I knew he was spewing horrible things about me, about women, but I couldn’t fit them together.
The knife. There was a knife concealed in my glove.
The crash of the lantern over the man’s face filled my mind, the screams of pain and the smell of burning flesh.
I needed to activate the knife. Run. I had to run.
“Let go of her.”
The voice brought my eyes into focus, back to the second ball and the archery fields.
No fire. No scarred man. No screams. The knife.
The knife in my glove. I lifted my arm, prepared to strike the ambassador, but his grip on my arm disappeared and was replaced with a reassuring but firm hand on my other shoulder.
I blinked, finding Desmond standing beside me.
He glared at the man, murder glinting in his eyes.
Two soldiers approached, each grabbing the ambassador by the arms.
“Ambassador Fletcher is guilty of improper conduct,” Desmond said. “Take him away and I won’t press charges.”
The ambassador’s face deepened into a dark purple, and he flailed his arms to escape his captor’s grip.
“She— This is an insult! Release me at once!” he demanded.
The soldiers ignored his request, dragging him away as he raved and struggled against them.
I took in the scene around me.
Eyes.
Eyes watched from everywhere. Anyone within hearing distance had turned to stare at us, and competitions had stopped as onlookers sought the source of commotion. Attention was the last thing we wanted.
A kind-faced woman approached me. “Are you all right, miss?”
I stared at her, trying to gather my senses. Trying to remember myself.
I nodded.
Desmond wrapped an arm around my shoulders and led me away. Away from the scene. Away from the eyes. He leaned in close to whisper, “Stop shaking.”
His words made me aware of my trembling limbs. Cold sweat pebbled on my skin, my tight bodice digging into my expanding ribs as I gulped down air. Desmond took me to the edge of the crowd and glanced around for listening ears.
“You had another episode,” he said. “Didn’t you.”
I drew in a shuddering breath, listening to the pounding of my racing heart and not wanting to answer him.
“We can’t continue with this mission if you’re haunted by this, Analleia,” he said. “We can’t risk a repeat of what happened six months ago. It’s going to cost one of us our lives. If you had released that dagger in your glove, it would have blown our cover.”
Why was this happening to me? For two years the attacks had left me. I thought I had shed them for good, but then I had relapsed during the mission when I saw the scarred man’s face. And just now ...
I shoved a hand through my hair and took a step away from my brother, trying to pull myself back together. My heart slowed. A whistle blew, and I caught sight of the archers lining up for the next round.
I could do this.
I could.
I had to.
Succeeding at our mission was the only hope of leaving these nightmares behind.
“I’m fine,” I said, filling my voice with confidence to both assuage him and reassure myself. “It won’t be a problem.”
Disbelief rolled off him, but he didn’t follow me as I turned and walked back to the lineup.
I brought my shoulders back in an attempt to appear confident, but my hands shook as I lifted the bow and drew another arrow from the quiver.
Most of the crowd had returned to their previous conversations, but a few stared.
The heat of their gazes bored into me. Waiting for me to react. To break down. To fail.
“One hundred paces!”
I could do this.
I took a deep breath, clearing my mind. The river beside the tower flowed through my thoughts, the multitudes of flowers blooming along the banks in spring like a rainbow.
The serenity of it all. My eyelids slid shut, blocking out the world around me and centering my focus.
No more flames. No more scarred men. No more screams. Only the wind and the feel of the smooth wood of the bow in my hands.
“Archers at the ready!”