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Startled by a sharp rap on her door, Meera stood and opened it. The tall knell woman who had deposited her in her room the night before peered at her down her sloping nose. Then she proceeded to turn and walk away. Meera opened her mouth to call after the woman, closed it, and scampered into the hall behind her, unsure of what else to do. She pumped her arms furiously in an effort to keep pace with the woman’s long legs. But just as she finally gained ground and drew up alongside her, the woman turned a sharp corner and left Meera behind again.
Breathing hard, Meera silently fumed at the imperious woman in front of her. How difficult would it be for her to slow down or explain where they were going? Biting her lip to keep from calling out to the knell woman, she decided on a new approach; she slowed all the way down—she walked at a leisurely crawl, shortening her stride and slowing her pace until she felt a growing vine could overtake her. She took one creeping step, then another, and the woman was forced to pause and wait for her at the next turn, a look of absolute loathing on her sharp face.
Meera continued with her leisurely pace and followed the imperious woman around the corner—finding satisfaction in watching the woman’s long, lean legs take short, stunted steps that they clearly weren’t made for. With a small smile, she slowed even more, looking from side to side as if fascinated by her surroundings. Meera might have even been fascinated by her surroundings, were she not entirely on edge—unsure of exactly where she was or what the knell would do with her. Even as she caught her breath and her legs gave up their chase, her heart continued to race. Sidling up next to the knell woman, she asked, “Where are we going?” She tried to sound casual and unconcerned, but her disused voice came out raspy and pathetic.
“The queen,” the woman replied without turning her glossy, chestnut head. Meera had suspected as much, knowing the queen had wanted to question her further. Still, her heart beat even faster.
“And … where are we?” she asked, desperate enough for information to risk sounding like a complete moron.
“This is the south wing,” the imperious woman answered tersely, misunderstanding the question. She had the same lilting accent as Shael and the other knell Meera had heard the night before. However, Meera had thought Shael and the queen sounded musical when they spoke, and this woman just sounded harsh—her accent managing to clip every word like the slap of a teacher’s ruler.
Biting her lip, Meera tried again: “Yes, but … the south wing of what building?” she asked sheepishly, “And in what city?” she continued, forcing herself to ask the ridiculous—though necessary—question. At that, the woman turned and gave her a look of utter revulsion like she was being forced to explain table manners to a steaming pile of horse dung. Meera did her best to raise her chin and meet the woman’s fleeting gaze.
“This is the Levisade Estate in Aegorn’s province of Levisade,” the woman finally replied. Meera nodded in mock understanding, regretting
the question since the answer didn’t mean anything to her anyway. Then she continued to follow the woman and picked up her pace, eager to reach her destination and be rid of her reluctant guide.
Finally, the woman stopped at a pair of stained-glass double doors, gestured to them with a flick of her boney wrist, and walked away. Meera stood at the doors and stared at them, unsure if she should enter. Presumably, the queen and the council she had mentioned were within, waiting to question her. Standing there preparing to meet the knell queen felt oddly familiar; Meera couldn’t help but be reminded of another door she had stood before and another monarch she had waited to meet from her life in Terratelle. In that moment, her life at the palace in Terratelle felt strangely distant, though it had only been a matter of days since she had left it—fled it, really.
Shifting her weight anxiously, she tried not to make any noise, lest the inhabitants of the room should hear her and know she was loitering. Then she thought back and counted the days in her head: it had only been about five weeks since she had stood in front of the door to the Terratellen royal family’s private dining room before being unceremoniously shoved inside to present herself to the king. That had been a very different door, she thought, eyeing the colorful stained-glass depiction of a forest scene on the knell double doors. Shimmering green and yellow-hued trees fanned out before her, dazzling her eyes with their rich shades. Meera could almost feel the sunshine dappling through the glass leaves, and minute, detailed animals slumbered beneath their shelter.
She reached out a tentative finger and brushed it along a trunk. She half expected the rough consistency of real bark but was met with smooth, cold glass. These doors alone contained more light and color than existed in the entire palace in Altus, she thought, roaming her eyes over the enchanting forest scene. What else was different in the strange land? Meera fidgeted with her fingers, fretting about how the queen would receive her. But then she thought of King Bartro; she had put her best curtsy forward and endeavored to speak eloquently in front of the king, and for that, she had caught his notice—something she deeply regretted. The thought of King Bartro’s flickering eyes boring into her on their first meeting sent tension through Meera’s shoulders.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out, she dropped her shoulders away from her ears and studied a tiny, ornate rabbit nibbling a flower at
eye-level. This time, she wouldn’t preoccupy herself with impressing the queen, she decided; her future was her concern. She had already made her first impressions on the knell queen, after all. Meera didn’t know what the woman had made of her pain-leaden, half-delirious words and actions the night before, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care if the queen found her weak or pathetic. She didn’t need the notice or special attention of the ruler of this land; she only needed her mercy—to be granted permission to stay and make a life for herself in Aegorn. She didn’t want to be a spy or a secret weapon—she would be content to work in the estate kitchen if they would have her.
Just then, she noticed movement through the glass doors. She had to go in, she knew—but then what? What were the customs of this strange land? What would they expect of her? She probably should have asked the imperious knell woman about the protocols in Aegorn, but she’d been so distinctly unfriendly … Meera was getting the impression that knell weren’t fond of humans. But, how strange! Most of Aegorn was inhabited by humans, wasn’t it? Oh well, she thought; she didn’t need the knell to like her—she just needed them not to kill her, or imprison her, or send her back to Terratelle …
Hearing a voice within the room, Meera jumped and reached for the doorhandle, but then she hesitated and glanced down at herself one last time. She was wearing the soft, lightweight clothes that had been left in her room for her. They were a pale orange color similar to the stones that made up most of the estate—like the knell would rather she blend in and not be such a human eye-sore. Her top wrapped around and tied at her side. It had a lower v-neckline than she was used to, and she had ended up tying the shirt tightly in an effort to raise the neckline. Now, however, she realized that tying it tighter also made the shirt hug her curves more snugly—too snugly, probably. But, with a sigh, she left it how it was; presumably, the knell found the style appropriate.
Meera’s new swirling, silvery scar peeked out from her shirt across her collarbone and up the right side of her neck. She didn’t mind the scar but still started in surprise every time she saw it. The most shocking part of her appearance that day, however, wasn’t her tight shirt or her new scar, but her pants. Under her new wrap shirt, she wore loose pants of the same color that tapered in at her ankles with her trusty brown leather boots. Meera had never worn pants
in her life and felt ridiculous in them, but she had seen several knell women wearing pants and figured she’d get used to them. Patting at the bun on the crown of her head, she tucked in a few loose curls and took a steadying breath. Then, with a sudden burst of decision, she grasped the iron handle before her and pushed open the door.
Stepping forward, she found herself in front of a large marble table in an oval room surrounded by windows. The light and colors beaming through the windows immediately drew Meera’s attention, but she tore her gaze from them to focus on the people around her. Shael sat across from where she stood, and the queen was at the head of the table to her left. Many of the other seats were also filled, and all eyes turned to her. Once again, Meera was transported to standing before the king’s family in their private dining room, and her already tense body stiffened further, giving her the beginnings of a pressure headache.
She turned toward the queen but didn’t curtsy—she hadn’t seen any curtsying or bowing since she entered the estate, so she merely stood waiting for instructions, trying not to fidget with her hands. The queen wore her light brown hair braided into a low bun at the nape of her neck, and the same simple gold circlet as the previous night graced her brow—her clothes a similar shimmering gold. Meera couldn’t tell whether the queen was wearing a dress or pants, and she had to resist the urge to bend and peek under the table. Then the queen gestured with a sweeping hand to an empty chair and said, “Please, sit.”
Meera waited a moment for one of the present men to pull the chair out for her, but none moved. With a loud scrape of wood against stone, she pulled it out herself and sat across from Shael, making brief, unreadable eye contact with him before glancing at the other people present. Sweeping her eyes over the table, she noticed that the Queen’s Council consisted of both men and women, all of whom appeared to be knell. Some of the knell regarded her in turn, while others averted their eyes with compressed lips and pinched expressions that reminded Meera of her unwilling tour guide. None smiled.
Meera didn’t exactly feel welcome, which heightened her nerves. She sat so stiff and straight that her back didn’t touch her chair, and she clasped her hands in her lap until her knuckles turned white. Then, unsure of what else to do, she turned her full attention to the queen and waited once more. After a moment of silence, the queen addressed her down the table: “My name is Darreal. I am queen of
Aegorn, and this is my council of advisors. You, Meera Hailship, have been called here to explain your presence in Levisade and your actions and motivations leading up to the escape of Rider Shael and his raek.”
At the mention of Shael, Meera couldn’t help but glance at him. She knew the queen had questioned him the night before, and she wondered whether he had been healed and given any time to rest. His face looked peaceful and rested as far as she could tell. He wore a wrap shirt with a v-neckline similar to her own in a shade of dark green, and his shirt was tied loosely—the deep neckline plunging to where she knew the word “Demon” had previously marred his chest. Now it was smooth and bare, the same olive tone as the other knell around the table; Shael was healed and unscarred from his torture—physically anyway.
Realizing she was staring at Shael’s chest, Meera raised her eyes to his face, found him looking back at her, and smiled an awkward, tentative smile. Despite the many hours they had spent together, she still didn’t really know the man before her. Feeling blood flood her cheeks, she quickly returned her focus to the queen, who had only paused in her speech and now finished, “Speak when you are ready.”
Meera was startled; she had been expecting questions, not an open platform for her to speak. She didn’t know where to begin. Every face at the table turned toward her, and she swallowed, finding her mouth inexplicably dry. What did they want to know? She wasn’t sure, but she probably shouldn’t be as obstinately succinct as the night before … Taking a deep breath, she began, “I worked as a kitchen maid in the Altus Palace and—”
Before she could finish her thought, however, a man with dark brown hair that flowed over his chest and disappeared beneath the table interjected, “You are a human peasant, then?”
Mouth still open from speaking, Meera remained that way for a moment, sucking in air like a pelican with a gaping beak. When she recovered herself, she replied, “Uh … human? Yes. Peasant? Perhaps compared to those who rule over Aegorn but not in regard to the majority of Terratellens.” She answered the question dryly, annoyed by the rude interruption. Then she reminded herself to keep her temper in check; she needed the good graces of the knell.
After a brief pause to make sure there weren’t any other questions, Meera continued: “When Shael and Cerun were brought to the palace, I volunteered to feed Cerun—” This statement released a deluge of questions from the assembled knell about her motivations, the day the troops arrived with the prisoners, the general workings of the palace, and her naming of the raek. Meera could barely keep up with the questions hurtled at her. While none of them were overtly disrespectful, the unrelenting intrigue irked her. Still, she did her best to answer all of the questions fully, while keeping the irritation out of her voice.
When the council members all went silent, she continued. “The king requested my presence out of curiosity. I unintentionally impressed him, and he recruited me to spy for him around the palace,” she explained, cringing preemptively for the onslaught of follow-up questions: “Why was he curious about you?” “How did you impress him?” “How would you describe King Bartrothomeer’s character?”
Meera did her best to answer every question thrown at her. Then a knell woman with very pale blue irises asked, “What information did you provide to the king as a spy?”
Inhaling sharply, she glanced at the table before meeting the woman’s pale eyes and saying, “Respectfully, I will not share that information. I have learned my lesson regarding sharing information that isn’t my own, and I won’t repeat my past mistakes.” Then she pressed her lips together tightly. Meera wouldn’t tell them about the duke, his plans, his family, or his assassination. She wasn’t trying to spare herself; she sought to prevent any further harm to the duke’s family. She hoped they would be left in peace.
She braced herself, prepared for outrage—for demands that she answer the question. She even wondered whether the knell might lock her up and torture her for any information she was reluctant to share. She didn’t think she could withstand torture like Shael had … Her heart thudded painfully in her tight chest, but she was met with silence. The council members looked to the queen, deferring to her judgment on the matter, so Meera looked to her as well, a crease between her eyes. “Continue,” Darreal said, waving a hand airily before her.
With a shaky exhale, Meera went on, sharing how the king had asked her to heal Shael and try to get him to speak to her. However, when she started to go into some detail about Shael’s injuries and how she had treated them, the long-haired man interrupted her again: “We are already aware of the rider’s shame and witnessed it for ourselves
last night. You can move past these details.” Meera started and looked across at Shael, who sat very still with his gaze on the veined marble table.
“I would like to hear the girl’s account in its entirety, Odon,” said a silver-haired woman with a kind face.
“I do not need further reminders of the damage done by our leniency! We should never have allowed a half-human to be a rider,” Odon replied. His voice didn’t raise in volume, but the animosity in it rang clearly against the marble slab table.
Half-human, thought Meera, looking again at Shael who had not moved. He looked like the other knell to her, but she supposed he hadn’t been able to use magic to free himself. Granted, she didn’t know anything about knell magic, how it worked, or who possessed it. “We are not discussing this again, Odon. We made our decision, and the past cannot be rewritten,” said another knell man, the only person at the table who genuinely looked old.
“Let us discuss it again before more humiliation is wrought upon us!” replied Odon to some nods of approval around the table. “And let us also discuss the half-human’s punishment for his failure,” he continued. There were more nods and murmurs from the council, as well as some frowns and uncertain looks.
Then the queen spoke, quietly but clearly: “Rider Shael has suffered enough for his mistake. That is the end of the discussion.” Her smooth face was the picture of calm serenity, but Meera thought she caught a slight twitch in one of the queen’s arching eyebrows.
Odon gave Darreal a withering glare. “Your uncle would never have allowed a half-human to be a rider in the first place. His shame is your shame.” A hushed stillness settled over the table. Meera couldn’t believe anyone would speak to a ruler in such a way, and she looked to the head of the table to judge the queen’s reaction.
Darreal’s mouth compressed ever so slightly, but the skin of her face remained smooth and lineless. Taking a visible breath, she replied coolly, “As queen, the suffering of all my subjects is mine to bear, Odon. Let us proceed.” Then she, again, faced Meera expectantly, and Meera floundered for something to say.
Shael fixated on the black veins running through the white marble table and kept an impassive expression on his face throughout Odon’s outbursts. It was not difficult for him to keep his anger and self-loathing locked within; he was long accustomed to it. However, he felt relief when Darreal put an end to the discussion—though his countenance remained fixedly the same. He supposed he should feel grateful to his queen, but she did not exactly champion him. Shael’s feelings toward Darreal were mixed; he had addressed her with an excess of respect the previous night before his request for a healer, but he had otherwise never groveled before her. He certainly had not thanked her for allowing him to be a rider—something that he considered his raek’s choice, not hers.
When Meera resumed speaking, Shael looked up at her. He was curious to hear her retelling of recent events and listened detachedly while she relayed his many wounds and how she had treated them. He did not especially enjoy hearing about himself lying prone and helpless, so he focused instead on her face. In the dungeon, everything had been flat, cold, and drab—the young woman included—and Shael had felt deep resentment toward her and everyone else occupying the world outside his small cell. His view of Meera had been colored by his grey emotions. Now, however, he noticed the warm brown of her lively, almond-shaped eyes and the proud raise of her chin. He was still learning about this woman who had pivotally affected his life—saved him, really, though he did not enjoy viewing himself as someone who needed saving.
As Meera answered the council member’s questions about how she had broken Borteus’s—Cerun’s—chains, Shael noticed how human she looked compared to the knell around her. Her cheeks were round, not angular, and her skin glowed a soft golden brown that was darker than the fair skin of knell. Her figure was also fuller than most knell, and Shael could not help but appreciate Meera’s curves in her new clothes. Perhaps it was the human in him or growing up with humans, but he preferred women with soft bodies—he preferred them by sight, anyway; he had refrained thus far from learning what he preferred in a woman by feel.
Shael was especially fascinated and amused by Meera’s curly hair. All knell—that he knew of—had straight, sleek hair, and most of the humans in the surrounding provinces did as well. As he observed her, he felt that her hair embodied her human unruliness. Several tendrils of curls were trying to escape her top bun, and one bounced emphatically whenever she moved her head. Shael smiled at the sight of the small ringlet juxtaposed against the calm reserve of the council members. Meera caught his smile and furrowed her brows at him like she always did. He felt fairly certain she found him difficult to read which did not surprise him, considering the long years in which he had practiced masking his features. But when she gave him a small smile in return, a muscle in his chest unclenched. She, at least, would not judge him for being half-human, he thought … Of course, she could judge him for being half-knell. Shael’s ears perked as Meera began explaining her reasoning for freeing him. He still did not fully understand who the woman was or her motivations for putting herself in danger. When he was a prisoner—just days ago, he reminded himself—he had not believed she would free him until it was actually happening. Even now, it felt surreal. Shael had known the Riders’ Code and had known that the other riders would not come for him, but a part of him had held out hope for Kennick … If anyone were to have saved him, he had thought it would have been his best friend and fellow rider. A human kitchen maid? He would not have thought the young woman capable of freeing him—let alone willing—had he not experienced it for himself. Shael was simultaneously in awe of Meera for her actions and entirely perplexed by her. ...
