The Dagger Of Dresnia

By Satima Flavell

Queen Ellyria just wants her sick triplet sons to live, each ruling over a third of the kingdom as their dying father wished. When she finds herself trapped in a deadly bargain with a Dark Spirit, she recruits a band of young mages to help - but a terrible curse takes over. The Dark Spirit befriends her enemies and seduces her friends, and Ellyria soon finds that famine, pestilence, betrayal and bereavement are all in its arsenal. Can Ellyria unite the elvish and mortal sides of her family and in so doing, save the kingdom? See Goodreads, Amazon, sqmag.com for some of the excellent reviews.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Satima Flavell
• Release date: Jul 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370954162

Satima Flavell

My first full-length published work, The Dagger of Dresnia, is the first book in The Talismans Trilogy. Book two, The Cloak of Challiver will be released soon as an ebook here, along with a physical book available soon afterwards. You might also like to check out my short story 'La Belle Dame' in the anthology Mythic Resonance. (I've loved fantasy all my life, as you can see from my list of influences below) My first publication was a poem in The Manchester Guardian when I was seven. I continued to write poems, vignettes and non-fiction throughout my childhood and teenage years, and as an adult I graduated to writing reviews, interviews and feature articles for The Australian, The West Australian, Music Maker, ArtsWest, Dance Australia and other journals. (Under the name Carol Flavell Neist, I still write occasional reviews for the Artshub website.) However, I did not start writing fiction until I hit my fifties, so now I'm trying to make up for lost time! Born in Manchester, The United Kingdom GenreFantasy, Nonfiction, Poetry My Influences: Juliet Marillier Glenda Larke Karen Miller Robin Hobb George RR Martin

Book preview

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Copyright Notices

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Part One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Part Two

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Part Three

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

SUBMARINER’S MAP IMPRINT

The Dagger of Dresnia

Book I of The Talismans

By Satima Flavell

SUBMARINE MEDIA PTY LTD

Published by Submariner’s Map Imprint Lockridge,

Western Australia An imprint of

Submarine Media Pty Ltd 16/9 Vale St

Malaga WA 6090 Australia

2nd Edition The Dagger of Dresnia This edition first published 2017

Cover Design Copyright © Marieke Ormsby 2014

~~~

Copyright © Satima Flavell 2014 First Edition published 2014

The right of Satima Flavell to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.

Acknowledgements

For many years, I thought I knew how to write. I’d had many features and reviews published in national journals; I’d won the odd poetry competition — and of course, I could write a book if only I had a story… Such vain imaginings! When a story finally came to live with me, I quickly found that getting that story down on paper needed quite different skills from the ones I already had. What was all this stuff about point-of-view, three-act structure, character and story arcs and many other terms I’d never heard before? I had never realized how divergent fiction writing would be from journalism and versification. I am a slow learner and needed many teachers, and I was lucky that the ones who helped me were among the best. Here, in more-or-less chronological order, are some of the many mentors and colleagues who patiently gave me more assistance than I probably deserved: Julie Banfield, Michèle Drouart, Juliet Marillier, Dave Luckett, Glenda Larke, Karen Miller, Phillip Berrie, Patty Jansen, Ian Nicholls, Stephen Dedman, Fiona Leonard, Tom Edwards, Joanna Fay, Sarah Lee Parker, Carol Ryles, Helen Venn, Robert Denethon and all the lovely members of the Stromatolights writing group, the Katharine Susannah Prichard Centre’s SF group, and the Online Writers Workshop. A special wave to Lee Battersby, Lynn Flewelling and Fiona McIntosh, who saw the potential in that little scene I wrote at Lee’s instigation while at Swancon 2003. You will get to read it in book two. Who knew that from less than a thousand words, a trilogy would grow? I must not forget Satalyte Publishing. Stephen and Marieke Ormsby were generous,  diligent  and  patient  in  making  The  Dagger  of  Dresnia  into  a  real,  live  book and Andrew Partington of Submarine Media, who has made an excellent job of preparing this second edition.

Dedication

To my dear children - Chook, Billy, Kurt, Bruce and Scott,

with all my love.

The Dagger of Dresnia

Part One

Chapter 1

* * *

Ellyria strode into court, a page scurrying at her heels. She cast an eye over the small assemblage. It looked as though there was only one case to hear. Good. That meant she could get back to nursing Fairstad and the boys within the hour, if all went well. She stifled a yawn and pushed away the aching sensation in her feet. So what if she hadn’t slept all night – she had no intention of sleeping today either. We elves are tough, she told herself. We can go without sleep or food for days if necessary...

You’ve already gone without food or sleep for three days, a nagging little voice in her head reminded her, but she quashed it as she marched to her place on the dais.

At a respectful distance stood a well-dressed gentleman. Ellyria recognised him: Sir Mikred of Hollowside, a knight who had inherited the leasehold of a fair-sized holding due to the death of his older brother in a jousting match. And a few months ago, his only son had died in the same way. Beside him, looking at the floor, stood his daughter... Algiva? Allarana? Ah, Allifrith, that was her name. Behind them, but within Ellyria’s line of sight, was a young man, his ankles chained, with two burly guards holding his arms.

She took all this in at a glance as she took her seat, nodding to the clerk of the court. She settled herself, then beckoned him. He was empty-handed. No scrolls to read then, Lady be thanked. ‘Just the one case today, Venerable Tandrian?’

‘Yes, madam,’ he answered in a low voice. ‘Sir Mikred of Hollowside accuses Jadrev, the fellow in chains, of trying to run off with his daughter. She’s an heiress with her brother now dead, and stands to inherit the family’s lands and fortune.’

‘Are they both tenants of the crown? Sir Mikred I know, but the man Jadrev is a stranger.’

‘Madam, he’s the son of Sir Desrad Corncropper, Sir Mikred’s neighbour.’

Ellyria sighed inwardly. No passing this case off to someone else then. This could take a while; unnecessary time away from her sick menfolk. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she could only do one thing at a time, and with Fairstad and the boys so ill who else was going to sit in court? She calmed herself by focussing on her breathing while Tandrian turned his attention to the complainant.

The swearing-in accomplished, Ellyria nodded to Sir Mikred. ‘State your business, sir.’

‘My lady, this man here lured my daughter Allifrith to his father’s land under pretence of improving her riding skills, and kept her captive with the intention of forcing her to marry him. His father had approached me about a match last Springfest, but I refused him. The Corncroppers have their eyes on my estate after I go, and with my daughter being my only heir she is very vulnerable.’

Ellyria regarded Allifrith carefully. Around her left eye, a dark bruise was slowly turning greenish-yellow. There was a story here that needed investigation.

‘Sir Mikred, I need to hear this story from your daughter’s own lips. Swear the girl in please, Venerable Tandrian.’

In a soft, hesitating voice, the young woman gave her name as Allifrith, swore her oath on the Book of Melkavar, and then glanced at the throne and away again before Ellyria could catch her eye.

‘Allifrith, come forward so I can listen to your story. And look at me while you are speaking. I don’t bite, you know.’

Allifrith looked up but was plainly nervous. Ellyria smiled at her. ‘Tell me what happened, Allifrith.’

‘Madam, I was out riding with my ladies on Mithrevsday last week. We met Jadrev Corncropper and some of his father’s men. They were on our land, madam, and armed. But they were very polite and we got to talking about riding, and Jadrev offered to help me with some riding things that I don’t do well. I’m not a good jumper, madam, and my father is always going on at me about it. He says I’ll have to be as good a rider as a man if I expect to run his estate one day.’

‘So, did you do some jumping practice with this Jadrev?’

‘Well, madam, Jadrev said he’d take me to a low fence on his father’s land where he said he’d learnt to jump. I went with him, madam, which I know was foolish of me. He didn’t take me to a fence, but to a hunting lodge, and meantime, my women and his men had been left behind.’

‘And what happened when you got to the hunting lodge, Allifrith?’

‘Jadrev said he thought I might like a drink, seeing as it was so warm for this time of year, madam, and I foolishly went inside the lodge with him because I did indeed have a fair thirst. But once I was sitting down with a drink in my hands he fell to his knees and said how much he loved me and wanted to marry me, and how he wasn’t going to let me go until I agreed to go straight to the priest with him. When I refused he threatened me with violence, madam. He locked me in a closet and said he would come back later when I’d seen sense, and if I hadn’t he would not only beat me but take my maidenhead so no one else would have me. I screamed and I screamed in that closet, madam, but it was a long time before my father came. Luckily one of my ladies had escaped from Sir Desrad’s men and followed us, and when she saw where Jadrev had taken me she went to fetch my father.’

Ellyria studied the girl carefully. ‘Did Jadrev hit you at any time, Allifrith?’

‘No, madam, he did not. My father came to get me before Jadrev got back.’

‘Then how did you get that nasty bruise over your eye?’

Allifrith bit her lower lip and glanced at her father. ‘I... I ran into a door the other day, madam.

A sudden vision of Allifrith being beaten by her father sprang up in Ellyria’s mind. You play the whore and make a fool of me again and you won’t stand up for a month. Curses on the gods for taking my son and leaving me with nothing but a fool of a girl as my heir. There were more bruises, she was sure, under the girl’s clothes. ‘All right, Allifrith, you can stand down. Venerable Tandrian, swear in the defendant.’

Jadrev had little to say for himself. He did not appear to be ashamed or penitent. The whole escapade had been his father’s idea, he said with a shrug, and as for himself, he had no mind to marry anybody.

Ellyria regarded him closely. Here was a restless spirit that needed taming, and only experience would do that. ‘Well then, Jadrev, I think the best thing for you would be a few years away. You will be put aboard a ship for Kyrisia. You may travel as befits your station, but when you arrive you will be taken to the recruiting office of the Emperor’s army, and there you will sign up for ten years’ service. It will either make or break you; it’s up to you.’

She turned to Sir Mikred. ‘Sir, I will take Allifrith into my service. I shall keep a close eye on her, and no doubt she will eventually meet a suitable husband here at court. It will be a great opportunity for her.’ And she’ll be safe from your bullying, you beast... ‘Allifrith, there is no need for you to go home. Your father can send your things. Come with me, and I’ll introduce you to my other ladies.’ With that Ellyria rose.

‘Court dismissed,’ called Tandrian, and Ellyria swept from the room, the page and Allifrith almost running to keep up.

‘Come, Allifrith,’ Ellyria called back over her shoulder. ‘The King and the Princes are all ill, and I must tend to their needs. Ramerad...’ She beckoned the page. ‘Please take the lady Allifrith up to the tower room and introduce her to the lady Rosaleda. Tell her she is to stop spinning for the day. Instead, she must see the lady Allifrith is settled in and show her around.’

With a nod to Allifrith, Ellyria turned to hasten back to her chamber. She needed to get out of her stately gown and into something practical for her husband’s sickroom.

* * *

Some four or five hours later, Ellyria straightened up from the bench where she was mixing still another potion. Her back ached and her eyes were bleary.

‘Madam, it would be an excellent idea if you were to take a rest.’

Ellyria turned toward the voice. It was the chief physician, as usual. Irritation rose. She pushed it away. ‘Sir, you know I cannot leave the King when he is so ill.’

‘You will be the one who is ill, madam, if you insist on staying on your feet twenty hours out of every twenty-four. His majesty would not wish you to wear yourself out on his account.’

Ellyria shook her head. ‘It’s not just my husband. It’s the princes as well. Every member of my family needs me. My own needs come second.’

The chief physician gazed at her with concerned eyes. ‘There are limits to any mortal’s ability to go without sleep or even rest, madam. I shall send for you at once if there is any change in his majesty’s condition.’

Ellyria closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. Any mortal’s ability... She was no ordinary mortal, but she couldn’t tell the physician that. But she had to admit that even her elvish stamina was wearing thin after weeks of nursing Fairstad, and the boys’ sickness had more than doubled the load.

Duty fought with tiredness, and as always, duty won. ‘I should go and check on the princes.’ She turned to the door, and the room swayed. She staggered and would have fallen had not the chief physician grabbed her elbow.

‘Come, madam, will you not return to your bower, just for an hour or two? If you should fall ill as well, who would run the household and court matters? If you will not consider your own needs, at least spare some thought for those around you.’

She pulled herself free of the physician’s hand. ‘Your position, sir, gives you certain privileges, but they do not stretch to giving orders to the Queen. Nevertheless, I shall do as you suggest, and lie down for an hour. Promise me you will send word if the king’s condition should worsen.’

‘I promise, madam. But please, let one of the junior doctors accompany you. I fear you might fall down the stairs in your weakened condition.’

Ellyria was tempted to put the man in his place again, but his look was so earnest and concerned that she bit her tongue. She beckoned one of the younger men and made for the door. The young doctor held it open for her and offered his arm as he followed her out, and she took it without demur. The chief physician was right. She was exhausted.

* * *

An hour later, she opened her eyes. Now she was rested, she had to admit that she’d been tired beyond the level of safety in a sickroom. But how could she rest when her husband and sons lay dying? The thought of giving in now was ridiculous, utterly at odds with her duties as a wife, mother and queen. And at odds with herself, with the person she was.

And she needed some time alone! Time to weep, to grieve for the imminent passing of Fairstad and likely of their sons as well. Her tiredness hadn’t completely gone, and she wondered if she should risk staying away for another hour.

But she had to get back to Fairstad and the boys! Maybe she should use a strengthening spell. Just a little one to help her get through the next few hours...

But strengthening spells were always paid for in tiredness the next day. And they could endanger magical wards. Even so, a bit of tiredness tomorrow wasn’t much to pay for a burst of energy that could keep her going overnight... and anyway, who could breach her personal wards right here in Sutherven Castle?

She sat up in bed, closed her eyes and settled into the spell-trance. It surprised her how quickly she could sink into the required degree of concentration, even after all these years. Fairstad would not approve...

She set her conscience aside and relaxed, opening her heart and mind to the energy needed to bolster her failing body. She felt her body strengthening, her mind settling. Calm confidence replaced inner turmoil. She wished she could stay longer in the quiet space, but time didn’t permit. She must get back to Fairstad...

Just as she was surfacing from the trance there was a familiar knock on the door, and despite her new-found calm, a flash of anger arose. A pox on that wretched chamberlain! Why did he have to keep bothering her with household affairs, when he knew quite well what she was going through? And now she’d been forced out of the trance far too quickly. Maybe the spell hadn’t had time to work.

But on the other hand, maybe the physicians had sent him with news. ‘Enter,’ she called, hastily grabbing her surcoat and putting it on as she moved away from the day bed. The sudden return to normality brought on a bout of giddiness. She leaned against the wall by the fireplace and closed her eyes, half in trance and half in the real world, and feeling slightly nauseous. She opened her eyes to see Nustofer crossing the room. He was panting. He must have run up the stairs from the keep.

‘Milady, the ships are here, all three of them. They’ve been sighted off the heads.’

‘Ships? What ships?’ Pulling herself upright, Ellyria blinked at him, desperately trying to clear her vision. Never mind the damned ships: the room itself was wallowing under waves of nausea.

‘The princesses, milady. Their ships will dock with the evening tide, less than an hour from now.’

Lady’s light! Her sons’ affianced brides. Ellyria leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes again and heaved a great sigh. How could she have forgotten?

The nausea receded and she opened her eyes to find Nustofer’s face a few hand spans from her own. It was pasty-white above the dark habit of his order. The sickly-sweet smell of his pomade made her eyes water and increased her nausea. She turned her head away, blinking furiously and pulling her surcoat across her bosom. ‘Just arrange a suitable reception for the princesses, Nustofer. Make some credible and innocuous excuse for the princes and make sure the ladies are comfortable.’

‘Shall I make it known that the princes are ill, milady?’

‘Just explain to the princesses that their fiancés are unwell, but that they are looking forward to meeting their brides.’ She flinched inwardly at the double lie: the boys had been complaining about being forced into marriage almost as much as they’d complained about the succession, and ‘unwell’ hardly began to describe their condition. ‘At death’s door’ would be more truthful.

Another knock. ‘Come in,’ she called. Whether the spell had worked or not, she had to keep going. Just a few more hours...

To be royal is to be strong. Her father’s voice and words sprang into her mind from long ago. You can never show weakness. You can never weep in public. Remember that, daughter. She squared her shoulders and turned to the door.

Nustofer left the room as the junior physician entered. He had also been running. ‘Madam,’ he gasped, ‘Best you come at once. His majesty has taken a sudden turn for the worse.’

Ellyria’s exhaustion completely vanished as she ran, barefoot, out the door, down the corridor and up the stairs to her husband’s room. Her father’s words came back to her clearly, as if he were speaking in her ear. Don’t forget, daughter, that this mortal king will grow old and die before you are even middle-aged. Do you want to grow old alone?

She quickened her pace and sent out a prayer. Dear gods, let me be in time. If he cannot be spared to me, at least let me hear his last words...

* * *

Tammi wriggled in the saddle, clenched her thighs and loosened her grip on the reins, already wet with perspiration. Why did her hands always sweat when she was nervous? She surreptitiously wiped them on her gown, one at a time, and resumed her grip on the damp reins. Nearly there now; just this monstrous hill to conquer.

She looked up at their destination. Sutherven Castle, famous even on the continent for its huge size and strong fortifications. The view of its walls and towers from the wharf had been impressive enough, and as the party drew closer the strength and majesty of the structure became all the more apparent. ‘It’s one of the finest castles in the world,’ her mother had said. ‘You are very fortunate to be going to live there.’

Fortunate? Tammi wasn’t too sure about that. A momentous meeting awaited her beneath those well-guarded battlements. Prince Beverak! What would he be like? From his portrait he was handsome enough, but it was rumoured that he was prone to anger. She shivered at the thought. An angry husband was not a happy fate for any woman.

But she wasn’t ‘any woman’. She was a royal princess, destined since birth to marry a foreign prince and help cement relations and trade between their two countries.

She squared her shoulders and clenched her teeth to still her quivering lips.

It made no difference. She was still nervous.

Doctor Baradian stroked her arm lightly. Tammi flinched. She didn’t like Doctor Baradian’s touch. Not that he had ever taken any further liberties, and he was an extremely good physician, but something about his cold hands made her edgy. ‘Pardon, Doctor? My mind was gathering moonbeams.’

Doctor Baradian leaned closer. ‘I said it might be appropriate, my lady, for you to wave to the people who have come to see you and the other princesses.’

‘Oh, yes, Doctor, of course!’ Tammi raised a hand in greeting, turning right and left, acknowledging the curious gaze of the citizens who had braved the autumn chill to line the roadside. Occasional claps and cheers counterpointed the clip-clop of hooves on cobblestones, but by and large the crowd was silent. ‘They are not like our people,’ her mother had warned. ‘They’re a dour and cheerless lot, from what I’ve heard’.

And no wonder thought Tammi, with a climate like this. She shivered again, and not from nerves this time. Evening was closing in, and despite her felted woollen cloak lined with fox fur, she was cold. She turned towards the setting sun, to see only an angry red glow on lowering black clouds.

‘There must be a storm brewing,’ remarked Lady Chauvran, on her left. ‘They do say the weather this far north... Oops! Watch out!

The party ahead was shuffling to a halt. Tammi had to back up to avoid running into the Aristandian ambassador, riding ahead with his standard-bearers. In front of them was the party of the lovely dark-complexioned Princess Zavardi who, as Tammi’s senior by a year, had claimed the middle place in the procession. She was riding on one of those ridiculous side seats that Kyrisian noblewomen affected. The horse had to be led by one of the guards and half the people watching only got a view of her back.

Farther ahead, Tammi could just make out the blond head of the eldest bride-to-be, the tall, elegant Edeanna of Falrouvia. Like Tammi, she rode astride, and she had leaned sideways in the saddle to see the cause of the holdup.

Tammi turned to Doctor Baradian. ‘What can be wrong?’

‘I have no idea, my lady, unless there’s been an accident.’

Even as Doctor Baradian spoke, a scarlet-clad guardsman on a tall grey pushed through the press of people lining the roadside. He stopped to speak to each of the princesses’ guardians in turn, leaving a hubbub of voices in his wake. He reined in beside Doctor Baradian and whispered something.

Tammi strained her ears to hear, but all she could make out was Doctor Baradian’s reply. ‘Terrible, tragic news. Not unexpected, of course, but a sore blow.’ The rider whispered something else, and Doctor Baradian nodded, a grave expression on his face.

The guardsman rode on and Doctor Baradian turned to Tammi. ‘King Fairstad, who as we were warned, my lady, has not enjoyed good health for over a year, has just died. Sadly, that means there will be no official welcome. Queen Ellyria will receive you and the other princesses privately later this evening. And no public announcement has yet been made, so we are asked not to speak openly of the distressing event.’

Lady Chauvran, who had been leaning almost across Tammi’s horse to listen, chimed in. ‘It looks as though your wedding might be delayed then, my lady.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Tammi replied, hoping she sounded neutral, but her heart leapt. It was sad that King Fairstad was dead, but all she could think of was that this was a reprieve! She was surprised by the sense of relief that flooded her. Was she really so frightened at the thought of marriage?

It wasn’t just the idea of being married, but of being a queen as well. She was not even seventeen years old! She gritted her teeth and stared at the back of Zavardi’s head, crushing her anxiety down. Were the other princesses as nervous as she was? Zavardi was a tiny girl, but a year older than Tammi and apparently full of confidence. And Edeanna, at eighteen, seemed on first acquaintance to have as much royal aplomb and dignity as both Tammi’s grandmothers put together.

What would happen when Lady Chauvran and the rest of her party were sent back to Aristand? That was the usual practice after all. Five or six months would be as long as she could expect her new family to keep them in service. The thought of being alone and friendless in this strange, cold land was scary. Really, really scary. Lady Chauvran and Doctor Baradian were hardly good company, but once they and her two ladies-in-waiting had gone there would be no one to converse with in her own language, and her knowledge of the Island Tongue was sure to be inadequate. There was a steep road ahead. As if to give life to her thoughts, the hill rose sharply before them until the castle became nothing but a huge stone wall curving away from a tall gatehouse.

‘There is talk, you know, that the young kings are not happy with their father’s will, which was that they should inherit a third of the kingdom each,’ said Lady Chauvran. ‘One of the Falrouvian ladies told me, and with Falrouvia being closer to the Islands than Aristand and Kyrisia, they would have a better idea of what’s going on than we do.’

Tammi turned to Lady Chauvran in horror. ‘You mean there could be fighting? Civil war?’

‘Oh, it’s only talk. Probably just gossip. But I hope it’s not true. We don’t want our little princess marrying into a squabbling family and a country at odds with itself.’

‘Had there been serious danger of such happenings, our own ambassador would have warned us and we would never have set out,’ said Doctor Baradian. ‘My word, this must be a murderous climb for horses in the wet.’

Obviously, he was trying to distract Lady Chauvran by changing the subject. But he was right: the horses were slipping even though the cobbles were dry, and Tammi found she was holding her breath as the gate loomed larger in the rapidly encroaching dusk. Now she had two more things to worry about. The thought that her horse might slip, fall and roll on her was frightening enough, but the idea of civil war was utterly terrifying. But it wasn’t raining so the horse wasn’t likely to fall, and as to the talk of war, no doubt Doctor Baradian was right and there was nothing to worry about. All the same, she loosened her feet in the stirrups, just in case, and breathed a sigh of relief as the portcullis rattled open and the party rode in, on level ground at last.

Once inside, it was easier to accept the building as just another castle. The outer ward was lined with barracks and military workshops, just as they were at home. Soldiers formed a guard of honour as they headed for the second gate. This was different from home, for here was an extra ward, lined with tradesmen’s shops. A dying fire behind a huge man with a hammer identified the smithy, a sheaf of staves propped up against a wall indicated a bowyer’s shop, and next to it stood a fletcher’s. Their workers had all come out to welcome the princesses, who barely had time to wave before they were passing through another gate, into the inner ward.

Spacious gardens made a centrepiece for what appeared to be a ring of residences. Tammi looked up at the windows, trying to imagine who might live there. Tradesmen? Courtiers? Probably the latter, she decided, for the glazed windows looked far too grand for falconers, smiths and carpenters.

The party rounded a curve and Tammi’s heart hammered. The great keep of Sutherven, four storeys high, loomed over the entire castle. It was overwhelming! But then she saw the arms of her house and those of her sister brides, hanging from staffs under three of the first-storey windows. A touch of home! And the lowest windows sported boxes filled with autumn foliage mingled with late-blooming foxgloves and nasturtiums. If Sutherven Castle was a fortress, it was also a family’s residence.

Tammi turned to Lady Chauvran. ‘Someone, despite the late king’s illness, has tried to create a welcoming atmosphere.’

Lady Chauvran smiled. ‘Queen Ellyria, no doubt. She is noted for her thoughtfulness. And, of course, she came here as a young foreign bride, just as you are doing, my lady, so no doubt she understands how you and the other princesses must be feeling.’

Those words brought comfort, and Tammi forced a smile for Doctor Baradian as he helped her from the saddle. The other princesses were already ascending the steps of the keep, their guardians on either side, and Tammi, flanked by Doctor Baradian and Lady Chauvran, fell in behind them. All the ladies-in-waiting of the three princesses crowded in at the back. They had brought no guards from the ship. Now that the princesses were Island brides, their safety must be the responsibility of their new country. Tammi felt a slight wrench. Not a single person wearing her father’s livery to remind her of home...

‘Welcome, your highness, your highness, your highness.’ A rather pompous-looking man in clerical garb bowed to each new arrival in turn. ‘I am the Venerable Nustofer, chamberlain to the royal household. Queen Ellyria sends her profound apologies, but as you will understand, the loss of King Fairstad has only just come to pass, and sadly the young kings are also ill. Not as seriously as their dear father of blessed memory, the heavens be thanked, but they are too incapacitated to rise from their sickbeds.’

Tammi regarded the gentleman with what she hoped was a pleasant expression, but gods in their heavens, the man positively reeked! He wore some kind of scented pomade. Why a monk would use such an overpowering substance on what little hair his tonsure and his age had left to him she couldn’t imagine. The expression on his pallid face suggested a self-satisfied character and his manner was as oily as his hair.

Behind him stood three young women. One of them was very young; younger even than Tammi herself. She had red hair, a creamy skin and a very pretty face, but her eyes were red-rimmed. The other two were older — Tammi judged them to be in their early twenties — and they looked very alike. Tall and blond, they resembled Princess Edeanna, but without the weightiness that gave Edeanna and many of her Falrouvian countrymen such an air of gravitas.

Nustofer turned to the women and introduced them, but Tammi didn’t take in the names of the tall, fair ones. The little redhead was the Lady Polivana Northwoods, and according to the chamberlain she had been especially chosen from among Queen Ellyria’s women to wait on the Princess Tamirayne.

Tammi’s heart lifted as Polivana smiled. Someone of her own age who might become a friend! She smiled back as Polivana fell into step with Lady Chauvran, and the little procession set off behind the chamberlain.

He conducted them to a suite of rooms in the second storey, where each bride-to-be was given a sleeping chamber. Quarters were also found for their physicians, ladies-in-waiting and noblewomen who served as their guardians. The princesses also had a comfortable solar as a sitting room, with plenty of rugs and wall hangings as well as a blazing fire.

‘No doubt you will want to refresh yourselves, my ladies,’ said the chamberlain. ‘Queen Ellyria will receive you in her bower shortly for a private supper.’

Tammi took a deep breath. Here was an opportunity to try out her new language! ‘Sank you,’ she said with what she hoped was a gracious nod. ‘Ve shall look forward to ’earing from ’er majesty.’ Then she wondered if she’d spoken out of turn, for Edeanna gave her a dirty look and Zavardi raised her elegant little eyebrows.

As the chamberlain bowed and left, the three brides-to-be and their ladies made for their chambers. Polivana chattered to Lady Chauvran, who, Tammi was certain, would understand not one word.

Once they were inside, Tammi turned to Polivana, mentally choosing words and struggling to get them in the right order. ‘Vill you please sit ’ere vis me vile my ladies unpack clean clothes? I need to practeese my new language.’

‘You already speak it well, my lady,’ Polivana replied. ‘Much better than I speak Aristandian.’

‘Oh, you speak Aristandian?’

Polivana blushed. ‘Not really. I have learnt a few words from a gentleman who visits sometimes from your embassy.’

‘Vat is ’is name? Per’aps I know ’im.’

‘Sir Pierstan Malroque.’ Polivana blushed again. ‘He is very handsome. Much better-looking than our Island men.’

Tammi smiled. ‘I’m afraid I do not know ze gentleman.’ She hesitated, wondering if her next query might be inappropriate. ‘Do you know vell my fiancé, Prince Beverak?’ She noticed Polivana’s red-rimmed eyes again and remembered their cause. ‘King Beverak now, of course.’

‘Yes, the princes — the young kings — are my cousins. Not first cousins. My father is their cousin, so that makes me a cousin once removed, or so the heralds tell me. But I’ve always called the King and Queen Aunty and Uncle, so I think of the triplets as my first cousins. Did you know that they look alike, except for one strange thing: Beverak’s hair parts on the left, while Melrad and Volran’s both part on the right.’

‘Really? Zat is good. I vill always know vich man I am married to! Oh look, ze ladies ’ave my gown ready. Vould you be so kind as to unlace zis one?’ Tammi stood up and turned her back, dropping her voice to a whisper. ‘And good luck vis zat ’andsome Aristandian! I ’ope you vill present ’im to me sometime soon.’

Polivana’s giggle was infectious and Tammi smiled as deft fingers unfastened her gown. Perhaps things would not be so bad here after all. She had understood every single thing Polivana had said, and found ready answers. Her skills in the Island Tongue must not be as weak as she’d thought.

Firmly laced into a gown of heavy yellow silk over a matching shirt, Tammi sat down again while Lady Chauvran dressed her hair. She left the back loose and crossed a pair of thin plaits behind her ears. A narrow gold filet set with citrines finished off the ensemble.

Polivana’s eyes were alight with admiration. ‘You look lovely, my lady,’ she whispered. ‘When my cousin is well again he will fall in love with you at first sight.’

Tammi felt herself blush. At that moment the chamberlain reappeared at the door to tell them the Queen awaited their presence.

Tammi followed him down the corridor, up the winding staircase to the third storey and into Queen Ellyria’s apartments. Edeanna and Zavardi were already there, of course — Tammi suspected they, or their guardians, had engineered that — so the three princesses entered Queen Ellyria’s bower in correct order of precedence.

To Tammi’s surprise, the room was frugally furnished. The wall hangings were lacklustre compared to the elegant ones in the princesses’ sitting room and the floor was bare apart from a plain rug in front of the fire. Queen Ellyria rose from one of the fireside seats to greet them.

Tammi’s first thought was that the Northern Isles must be full of tall, fair women, and Queen Ellyria was surely taller and fairer than any. But her most striking feature was her eyes. They were a rich, translucent green, like the waters around the Middlesea Isles. It was hard to believe their owner was the mother of nineteen-year-old sons, for she looked no older than the two fair ladies-in-waiting who had been allotted to Edeanna and Zavardi. But her eyes bore dark circles, the badge of lost sleep. No doubt she had endured many sleepless nights during King Fairstad’s illness. And now her sons were ill too.

‘Welcome, ladies,’ said the Queen. ‘I am sorry you have arrived at such a sad time. You will forgive our lack of ceremony, I am sure, in light of our recent bereavement.’

The three brides-to-be murmured appropriate condolences. Tears welled in the Queen’s eyes, and Tammi’s heart went out to her. She looked at the floor to save the Queen’s embarrassment.

When Queen Ellyria spoke again her voice was stronger. ‘Come, ladies, sit by the fire and tell me of your journeys.’

So one by one, the three princesses — in order of precedence, of course — related the tales of how they had set sail, each from a different faraway land, to come to the Northern Isles to marry strangers. Zavardi had come the farthest. Her voyage had taken slightly longer than Tammi’s, which had itself lasted a good fortnight. Edeanna’s was the shortest, for there was only a narrow channel between the Northern Isles and Falrouvia. It was the most exciting, however, since they had been caught in a storm in the Southern Channel and lost a yardarm. After that, Zavardi’s complaints of sea-sickness and Tammi’s tale of flying fish hardly rated a mention.

‘I am so pleased that you’re all safe and well,’ Queen Ellyria said when Tammi had finished her story. ‘My sons will be glad to learn that you have arrived safely, too. At present they are ill in bed and do not yet know of your arrival or even of their father’s passing. But it was his dying wish that their marriages should take place, so we shall hold a private ceremony as soon as they are