Chapter 3
Chapter Three
During her first day at the palace, Orla had been ushered directly from the stables to King Mikki’s private rooms. Lantana Palace was situated defensively between the Capron Ocean and the greater city of Imsil, placed strategically to defend Emmental’s capital city from an attack by sea.
Orla hardly had time to take in the opulent stone structure, with its imposing curved towers, pale blue turrets, and stained-glass windows before one of the king’s messengers came to hurry her into the fortress.
The king’s rooms were grand. Furniture and walls of the deepest blues and the richest golds. She met with him in his parlor, with the king’s study and bedchamber to either side of the large room. In the center of the parlor was a low table adorned with teas and various cakes and pastries.
When she arrived, King Mikki was waiting for her. The male was known to be ruthless, but at this moment, he looked gentile. He smiled politely, deep lines etched in his dark, papery skin. His white hair was pulled into a low ponytail as he regarded her.
“My king.” Orla bowed low when she greeted him.
This wasn’t how she had expected to first see him.
She was tired and dirty from her ride from Benin.
She also hadn’t prepared herself mentally for the task of being in the king’s presence.
Though King Mikki knew of Orla’s struggles, she was certain he expected her to still act like the warrior she once was.
“Lady Orla, I trust you know why you are here?”
Orla shook her head. Sure, she knew he wanted her in these meetings. But why, exactly, was still a mystery.
“When you left the service as a commander of my army, we came to a certain agreement. A bargain if you will. Well, I am calling it in. I need your support during upcoming meetings with the heir of Edam, and I need to ensure that you will confide in me anything that seems amiss with the heir and his lords.”
Orla nodded. “What kind of support, Your Highness?”
“The details will be shared at a later date. For now, I need to make sure that you remain loyal to this kingdom. Regardless of what transpired at Fontina, you are still my fiercest warrior, and I need you to remind the Edamish royals of that fact.”
Orla nodded again, still unsure of what the king needed from her and feeling uneasy at his vagueness.
“My king, can I ask why the Edamish royals are coming to Emmental?” To say that the relationship between their two kingdoms was fraught would be an understatement.
The years of war and tension between the two kingdoms went as far back as when Edam broke away from Emmental, becoming the first kingdom on their continent to do so. The other kingdoms followed suit after.
“One hundred years of war is a long time, Lady Orla. But when you have lived as long as I have, one century starts to mean very little. Our two kingdoms are the largest and most powerful on the continent of Esrom, and though King Vernon would have loved to conquer this land, even he knows that animosity between our kingdoms only serves to make us both weak. He will put aside his petty squabbles with me in time. The longer we are at odds, the more time the other kingdoms on our continent have to consolidate power against us. I can’t have that. ”
“And my presence will help somehow?” Orla asked tentatively.
“You ended the war, my dear. And thank Gaius for that fact.”
Orla’s face twisted at his words, hating the images of blood and death that his statement conjured up. No, she would not thank the Gods for what happened at Fontina, least of all Gaius.
“You’re out of practice with court politics, Lady Orla,” King Mikki said, noting her change in facial expression with a quirked eyebrow of his own. “As I said, you ended the war, and you protected my kingdom.”
“At what cost,” Orla replied quietly, thinking of all those who died because of her.
King Mikki tutted at her as if she were a child.
“A necessary cost. Nothing shows the strength of this kingdom like having the Hero of Fontina in her rightful role. The warriors lost in battle can be replaced; my kingdom cannot. Now cease this train of thought, you will put the weakness of your kind behind you as we move forward.”
Orla nodded a third time, knowing that any further argument would be futile. The king and Elven nobility had made up their minds about the war long ago. She was their hero whether she liked it or not.
* * *
Orla hated being at the palace, for it reminded her of her life before. Before Fontina and before the never-ending nerves that plagued her since. Thankfully, one of the palace messengers had come to tell her that she would be attending a meeting with the heir of the Kingdom of Edam.
Finally, she thought. The quicker we get these meetings over with, the quicker she could leave.
As dawn approached, Orla readied herself for the role she was to play, though in previous years it hadn’t been a role at all.
Orla looked at her reflection in the large mirror in the bedchamber she had been appointed.
The room was spacious with powder blue walls and silver sconces lit with mage lights.
The large bay window overlooked the palace gardens.
Cerulean pillows lined the window seat and the bookshelf next to the window made it a perfect reading nook.
Gods, this kingdom loved the color blue, she thought, gazing at the various places around the room where she could find the hue.
Across from the window was the large bed, nearly twice the size of her bed in Benin.
A large marble-topped table was on the far side of the room, near the door that led to the rest of the palace.
Her half-eaten breakfast still sat atop it.
So overwhelming were her nerves, that each bite felt like a mouthful of char.
The mirror Orla was currently looking at was next to the armoire near the entrance to the washroom.
Orla stood with her head high, shoulders back, and face set in a neutral expression.
She had been telling herself she could do this for nearly a quarter of an hour as she gazed in the mirror.
The high cheekbones of her dark umber skin caught the light coming from the window.
She looked healthy, albeit a bit tired from her week-long journey to get to the palace.
She had bright, coffee-colored eyes and a slightly upturned nose.
Her midnight hair was braided in a series of individual braids that reached her lower back.
She had only seen portraits of her mother, but she knew their faces were nearly identical.
Her full figure, pointed chin, and oval face were the only traces of her father she could see.
She looked nearly as she had seven years ago.
It wasn’t the outside of her that had changed since Fontina.
It was all the tiny things inside that made it difficult to recognize the person staring back at her in that mirror.
She had readied herself in her pale silver leather armor, long sword strapped to her back, and two daggers sheathed on her thigh. The sigil of the Kingdom of Emmental, a blue hydra, was emblazoned on her chest.
She hated the effect. She looked every bit the warrior that she had fought so hard to become and then loathed with every fiber of her being.
Steeling herself, she flexed her shaking hands.
I can do this, she thought again. Hopefully, it will only be for a few more days and she can go home.
Back to quiet, back to her garden, and back to being left the hells alone.
Her first few days at the palace had been anything but quiet.
News of the Hero of Fontina’s arrival back in Imsil spread fast. Within a few days of being here, the stout palace messenger, an imp named Clem, had delivered several letters.
Most had been invitations to various dinners and court functions.
Thankfully, she could ignore those, saying that she had little time away from her official duties.
One, however, stood out from the rest. It was from Cessly.
She hadn’t seen her in the two years since she left Imsil.
And even before her departure, she had been avoiding her.
Cessly had written to her often over the ensuing years, but Orla couldn’t muster the courage to face her. That letter would also go unanswered.
As Orla entered the hallway of the bustling palace, the looks and chatter started immediately.
“Oh, there she is,” said an elderly woman with wrinkles around her eyes and short spiraled horns.
“The Hero of Fontina,” an Elven man with gray wings whispered as she went by.
Orla forced herself to hold her head high as she marched on, when what she really wanted to do was turn tail and run back into her room.
The walk to the throne room was a familiar one to Orla; she had made it many times when providing the king with reports from their battles with Edam.
She hadn’t remembered it being this long before though.
The walls were a pewter color with gilded paintings of various bucolic depictions running its length.
The closer she got to the throne room, the more the images changed.
Nature scenes turned into depictions of important battles which gave way to royal portraits.
She ignored the painting that depicted her, Cessly, and Rhyan at the Battle of Byaslag, two years before Fontina.
Rhyan had brought down the commander of the Edamish armed forces while Orla and Cessly held off a horde of their vicious hellhounds.
She used to love that painting and all it represented.
Not only was she a decorated hero but she was one worth remembering in the hallowed halls of the palace.
Now, instead, she wished to be forgotten.