Her Dangerous Visions (The Boy and the Beast Book 1) (17 page)

At sixteen, when Meluscia first made it known she wanted to succeed her father as Luminess, Rivdon had come to many of her training sessions with Sword Master Haruuz.

After one particularly frustrating session, he took her aside.

“A sword does not befit your hands. And it needn’t for you to become Luminess. Katlel tells me of your passionate studies in the Scriptorium and your heart for history. Your grandfather first served as an acolyte there too. Do not think a sword can outmatch what you have beneath your beautiful red hair.” Gently he placed his hand on her head. “No matter what others say, knowledge is far more powerful than blades and arrows.”

And throughout her next six years, as she studied the laws and traditions, he’d sought a private audience with her every now and again. Giving her insights into what was happening between the Hold and the Verdlands. Rivdon did not share the general consensus that King Feaor was the root of the problem. He had given her a different picture of the Verdlands’ king. A picture that came with a history that stretched back to when Rivdon had accompanied her grandfather on a number of diplomatic trips.

And Rivdon’s sentiments of King Feaor matched well with what Meluscia had gathered through the servants of the Hold.

It was what the servants had gathered, that gave her the confidence to write the letter she was presently working on.

Whenever dignitaries or travelers from the Verdlands came to the Hold, Mairena had a very particular number of staff she would assign to them, and they knew how to keep quiet for Meluscia. It further proved to her how important it was to regard the trust of the servant class in the kingdom just as highly as the lords and dignitaries. And these servants, who were not unlike friends…they had very good ears. Were, in fact, quite good at lingering just outside cracked doors.

On two occasions, Meluscia herself had gone to the dignitaries and asked if she might share a meal with them. Being the daughter of the Luminar, her requests had been readily accepted, and she had had a pleasant discussion with each of them. Meluscia found ways to turn the conversation upon the skirmishes between the Verdlands’ farmers and her kingdom’s woodsmen.

She knew better than to trust King Feaor’s dignitaries, but it wasn’t too difficult to read between the lines. And besides, the most reliable information always came after she left. The dignitaries were always eager to discuss the matters she’d raised with their advisors…and the ears of the servants were just outside their door, or above, listening in the quiet of the night as the voices echoed up hewn rock shafts that gave light during the day.

One time, even she had heard directly:

“
. . .
He won’t stop the raids.”

“His daughter seems oblivious to the fact. Innocent and curious. She didn’t know a thing about what’s really happening. Only the gods know if she believed anything I said.”

“You were wasting your time with her. Even if she did believe every word you said, she couldn’t change that fool’s mind. No one can”.

“Trigon’s only posturing. I still believe there’s hope.”

He’ll deny the raids until he dies with his secrets. Either that or
…
”

“Or what?”

“Or he’s got a darker agenda than the King realizes. Could the Luminar be in the clutches of the Beast? What if he is working with Praelothia?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s just stubborn, like a deep rooted weed that’s tough to pull up.

“Perhaps someone’s feeding him lies.”

“Speculation is useless, Chanovas.”

“And so is hope. At the end of the day, nothing short of the Verdlands’ obeisance will satisfy Trigon. The bloodshed won’t be abetting any time soon. Not until the sunweed blight takes him to the grave. Then…then you can have your hope.”

Dozens of other conversations stirred in her mind as they were retold by a kitchen maid or serving boy. It was these conversations that she knew reflected reality. And with the words her servants had overheard in the past year, a consistent impression of King Feaor came through.

And that was the distinct impression that he was willing to compromise. Her father and Feaor both felt wronged. Both were stubborn. But it was her father who would not be moved.

Meluscia felt hope stir in her as she read through her letter, her mouth whispering the words.

I send this letter in the hope that it will be the first step toward friendship between us; between the Blue Mountain Realm and the Verdlands.

She promised the king respect from the throne if it were hers to have, and pledged to end the aggressive posture of the Hold’s army. But she gave him warning: if he did not put pressure on her father, Trigon would likely appoint Valcere as Luminar. Without parsing words, she told King Feaor that if he did not want a successor who was the image of her father, he should request a peace delegation led by herself.

Meluscia stared down at her last line, the ink still bleeding into the parchment.
Promise my father whatever you must as long as it is I he sends, and I swear that if I am sent, we shall have peace between us, and our people.

A tense smile edged Meluscia lips. She placed a thimble of hot wax on the fold of the letter and sealed it.

Now, to have it delivered.

_____

MELUSCIA

The smell of horses and hay always reminded her of Mica.

Most of the stables lay inside a massive cavern on the lower plateau of the Hold, but she usually found Mica working outside with the horses coming and going. Many riders came to the Hold to find audience with her father, and most kept their animals at the stables.

A heavy mist fell from the grey clouds that covered the upper plateau. It had been drizzling since last evening, and everything was thoroughly wet. Meluscia enjoyed the cool moisture on her face. It was far too easy to confine herself inside the mountain or the Scriptorium, and miss the refreshment that the outside sounds and smells brought.

At the edge of the stables, she paused, taking hold of a wood beam. She peeked around the corner inside the large covered entrance. A handful of merchants and other riders were unpacking supplies, and a few stable hands were attending them. She went inside and walked up to the closest party. A servant spotted her. It was Augel, a blond-haired man close to thirty years.

“My Lady,” he said, stopping what he was doing to bow. The travelers he was helping did the same, whether they recognized her or not.

“Is Mica, the stable master, on duty today?” asked Meluscia.

“Yes, he’s in the feed rooms,” said Augel, “I can take you there now if you’d like?”

“Thank you, but I know my way there.”

She left them and made her way to the feeding rooms, each had wall slits that let in the dull light from outside. Her hand fingered the outside lining of her fur coat’s pocket. Within was the sealed letter. She reprimanded herself for being so nervous. It was right what she was about to do. All would go well.

It didn’t take long to find Mica, who was in the middle of ordering supplies with two merchants. Mica had a mess of dark brown hair that curled to his ears and, as he stood there in conversation, she noted the strong, even fearsome, posture with which he carried himself. The strength of his folded arms, his chin raised. But this was offset by kind eyes that seemed to switch from green to blueish-grey every time she encountered him.

At the sight of her, the three men bowed.

“May I speak with you alone, Mica?”

“Of course, My Lady.”

The merchants left quickly, and Mica was suddenly alone, looking at her. Something felt different. Nothing about him had changed—it was something inside her. This was the fourth time she’d gone out of her way to find him. The first time she had spoken no more than a few sentences of thanks for his help to her father on patrols, but the second time she’d come prepared with questions. It had dawned on her that Mica might know a good amount about the politics of their realm working in the stables, where travelers from every city and land came to put up horses while at the Hold. Surely he overheard many conversations and glimpsed a wide range of perspectives. The second and third visits with Mica had motivated her even more toward her political goals—the restoration of peace between the Blue Mountain Hold and the Verdlands. Not that she hadn’t relished his presence before—his eyes, his full lips, the tenor of his voice—but something now felt different. More intense.

For one, her heart was beating much too fast. Secondly, instead of speaking, she was standing there, wondering what it would be like to be kissed by him.

“Come to hear the talk of the realm?” asked Mica with a kind smile.

“Yes,” she said, suddenly feeling flustered.

She realized how awkward she was being, and wrestled her pointless imaginings aside.

“But first, I have an urgent letter that needs delivered.” After a deep breath, she withdrew the letter from her coat. “I need this carried to King Feaor by your most trusted rider.”

A seriousness marked Mica’s brow. “I know just the one. Tanaclast, she has run the route to the Verdlands for your father before. She can arrive in four days if you need her to go without rest.”

“The need is there, but, if she is able, I need her to do it in three.”

Mica nodded. “I will tell her.”

“No, I want to tell her myself. Can you take me to her?”

“Better, I’ll bring her here.” Mica shouted out a name, and a boy came running through the door.

“Fetch Tanaclast,” said Mica to the boy. “She is to be ready to ride for an urgent mission. Go on now, run like a tiger!”

The boy grinned then tore off at a sprint.

Mica’s warm eyes found hers again. “I’ll ready Tanaclast’s horse with supplies.”

Meluscia waited and watched. Mica left, then returned with a large black horse. He fitted a light saddle to it, and a pack of supplies. The contours of his muscular arms shone through the long shirt he wore as he tightened straps and adjusted the reins.

It was not long before a small girl appeared wearing leathers and carrying a strung sack. She took one look at Meluscia, then hurried up to her and bowed.

“I am Tanaclast, My Lady. What errand do you have for me?”

Meluscia held out the letter. “No one must hear of this. If anyone asks what you carry, tell them something trivial. If possible, avoid talking to anyone altogether. No one is to know what you truly carry—and that is an urgent message for King Feaor. Speak no word of it until you arrive at the Verdlands’ castle.” Meluscia turned to Mica. “And the same goes for you, stable master. Don’t speak of this to anyone.” She looked at him earnestly, “Only my father, me, and the two of you know of it.”

“I understand,” said Mica.

Tanaclast moved beside her horse. “Shall I expect King Feaor to send a reply in return?”

“Yes,” said Meluscia. “It is my hope he will. I am told you can make the journey in four days?”

Tanaclast nodded.

“If you are able, try for three.”

In one smooth motion, Tanaclast’s small frame mounted the large black horse. “I’ll give you all I have,” she said, then kicked the sides of the horse with a shout, and tore from the room.

Meluscia watched the rider disappear, the finality of her decision falling on her. A sense of excitement brought with it an inner confidence. Boldness was what she needed. Her father’s approval would not be won by anything else.

She looked back to Mica

Her mind turned to the questions she’d rehearsed.

“Um, what have you heard of late?”

Mica’s eyes fell to her leather shoes for a moment. “Anger. At King Feaor and the Verdlands, and at kingdom politics in general. People are hungry. They’re tired of fish.”

Meluscia nodded. “Is any of their anger directed at the Hold? At our inability to restore our relationship with the Verdlands?”

His eyes met hers. “I cannot tell a lie there,” he said. “Yes, some grow frustrated with the Luminar. There is so much talk on the roads and villages, people are not clear on what the Hold is doing to make things right again.”

It had been a month since Meluscia had come to Mica. She was relieved to hear him pick up where he left off. Last time, she had had to push him to speak words as plain as these, for he had been reticent to mention any ill thoughts regarding the Hold or the Luminar. He knew whose daughter she was, so his reservations were understandable. This fourth time meeting with him, it had only taken a second question for him to share the real sentiment amongst the people.

He was beginning to trust her.

It was very odd, her knowing so much about who he was, and him knowing nothing of her but for these few talks.

“I want to thank you, My Lady, for you and your father’s generosity toward your servants. I’ve heard it is mostly your doing that we are so treated with food.”

Meluscia shrugged. “I can’t seem to keep Mairena quiet about that.”

Mica laughed. The sound had become so familiar, but now it was her making him laugh.

It brought her back instantly to when Mica had been curled up with Praseme, the laughter that had spilled so warmly from his lips. It wasn’t quite the same, but it was similar, and somehow her mind unhelpfully raced to other more intimate memories of him and Praseme. Memories he did not know she had. What would he do if she was Praseme now, standing before him? Would he reach out and touch her? Embrace her and kiss her?