Mercy's Prince (2 page)

Visible
from the Keep, the mountains of the Dragon’s Backbone, jagged, black, and
forbidding, cut across the land and divided it in two. Instead of the North’s
rocky hills, evergreens, and lonely moors, a forest blanketed most of the
southern half of Levathia with redbarks, shaggy beards, and black oaks.

In
the far corner of the Southern Woodlands lay an isolated village of pacifists.
Enclosed by forest and a wooden palisade, twenty thatched wooden huts stood in
neat rows bordered by vegetable gardens and sheep pens. And in one small
cottage near the village gate, fourteen-year-old Mercy ladled porridge from a
blackened cauldron into a bowl, careful not to spill any on her homespun dress.
She set the bowl on the table for Papa when someone knocked on the door.

“Enter,”
Papa called. He pushed back his stool and went to greet the visitor.

It
was Mercy’s older cousin, Michael.

“Uncle
Joel,” the visitor gasped. “Brother Gabriel is calling all the men for an
emergency meeting. We have just received a summons from the king.”

“A
summons?”

“A
general call to arms.”

Papa
straightened his cap and his long braid and nodded at Michael.

“Mercy,”
he said, not even glancing in her direction. “I shall eat later. Find Rafael
and keep him out of the way.” He strode out the door.

Michael’s
gaze followed Papa before he turned to Mercy.

“Are
you well, cousin?”

Mercy
gave him a shy smile.

“As
well as can be.” She swallowed and glanced past him to make sure Papa wasn’t
watching. “You know you shouldn’t be here alone with me.”

Michael
stepped closer. His cap brushed the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling beam.

“It
pains me to see you working yourself to death for a harsh father who doesn’t
appreciate what you do.”

“Michael,
don’t.” She backed away, bumping into the table. “Papa wasn’t always like this.
He still grieves for Mama.”

“It’s
been more than four years.” Michael frowned.

“I
think Papa’s heart turned to stone that day,” she whispered.

“You
deserve better. You’re too young to be so ill-used.”

“Please—”

“I
won’t apologize, Mercy.” His eyes narrowed. “It’s just one of the things I’ve
been questioning lately.”

“Questioning?”
She swallowed, glancing out the door again, lest anyone hear them. “What do you
mean?”

“Your
situation, for one. There are so many things wrong with it, I don’t have time
enough to expound.” Michael lowered his voice. “But lately I’ve been
questioning my beliefs in our pacifist ways. I understand why murder is wrong,
but I don’t see how defending yourself and your family from someone who wants
to kill you could ever be wrong.”

“Michael!
You could be flogged if anyone heard you say that.”

“You
wouldn’t tell anyone, would you?” He grasped her hand.

“Of
course not.” She pulled her hand away. Didn’t he realize it was not seemly to
touch her now she was betrothed?

“Even
Gabriel?” Michael frowned. “Even when he’s your husband?”

Mercy
shook her head, wiping her hand on her apron.

“I
would never betray you, not even to Gabriel.”

Michael
sighed before speaking again.

“Thank
you, Mercy. I shouldn’t have said anything, but I’m so unsure of things I’ve
believed all my life.” His eyes brightened. “You know I’ve been going with
Father to the trading post this past year, and I see men of the world. Every
one of them wears a knife on his belt. I even saw a knight once. He sat upon a
beautiful warhorse. He wore golden spurs on his boots, and a red and gold
surcoat over his chain mail, and he carried a spear. Magnificent!”

The
exultation in his voice frightened her.

“Forgive
me, cousin, for causing you distress.” Michael bowed his head.

“You
are forgiven.” But her voice trembled. Her cousin’s words had touched on the
doubts in her own heart she had been unwilling to acknowledge.

“Promise
you won’t mention any of this?” Michael lifted his right hand, palm facing her.

She
placed her palm on his.

“I
promise. Upon my life, I promise.”

He
briefly squeezed her hand.

“I’d
better find out what’s going on now.” He paused and brought her hand to his
lips. “You know, if we weren’t so closely related, I’d marry you myself.”

“Michael!”

He
backed away.

“I
know, I know. But I hope Gabriel realizes what a great blessing he’s been promised.”
Before he turned to go he said, “By the way, I saw Rafael at the sheep pens.”

Mercy
rushed to the door and watched Michael run toward the meeting house, his dark
braid bouncing against the back of his homespun tunic. His words made her heart
heavy. They used to be such good friends, until Papa forbade contact between
them. She scraped Papa’s porridge back into the cauldron and hurried to the
sheep pens.

At
first she didn’t see Rafael among all the shaggy, bleating animals. Then she
spotted him sitting in a corner with a lamb in his lap. The lamb struggled to
free itself from the boy’s grasp.

“Rafael,”
she called over the din. “Let go of that lamb.” She hiked up her long skirt,
climbed over the low fence and pushed her way through the sheep.

“But
I want to hold it, Sissy.” He gripped the lamb more tightly as she approached.

“We
must go home now.” She bent down and attempted to take the lamb from Rafael’s
arms.

“No,
it’s mine!”

Mercy
fought tears while she wrestled her brother. Though he was not five years old,
he was growing stronger and more difficult to handle. She’d begged Papa for
help, but he was too busy with his healing. Now she was promised to Gabriel,
and upon her fifteenth birthday they would be married. She had to find a way to
control her strong-willed brother by then. If only Mama hadn’t died birthing
Rafael, how different things would be now.

Finally,
she managed to loosen Rafael’s grip so the lamb could scamper away. Mercy
grasped both her brother’s wrists and pulled him out of the sheep pen. He dug
his bare heels in the dirt and yelled the entire way.

“Having
trouble, Mercy?”

Mercy
lifted her head. Serene passed by with a basket on her arm. The older girl’s
smile was sympathetic.

“I
need to get Rafael home.” Mercy tightened her grip on Rafael’s wrists. He
howled even louder.

Serene
changed directions and shifted her basket to the other arm.

“Here,
let me help you.” She took one of Rafael’s arms. “Let’s carry him.”

Rafael
tried to kick Serene, but she was too nimble. Together Mercy and Serene lifted
the boy. Surprised, he stopped yelling and started giggling. The girls ran to
Mercy’s house as quickly as their burden and long skirts would allow. Once they
arrived, they dropped Rafael onto his bedroll in the corner of the single room.
Serene closed the door behind her and stood leaning against it. But Rafael was
still giggling, all defiance gone.

“I’m
hungry, Sissy,” he said.

Mercy
ladled porridge into a bowl and set it and a wooden spoon on the table. Rafael
grabbed the spoon and began shoving porridge into his mouth.

“I
miss being a girl.” Mercy turned to her friend. “Do you remember when we used
to play together after our chores were finished?”

“Now
it seems they’re never finished, doesn’t it?” Serene said.

“I
don’t mean to complain.” Mercy sighed. “I keep trying to ‘remember my
blessings,’ as Brother Gabriel says.”

Serene
touched her sleeve.

“You
have a heavy burden. But I suppose once we both are married it won’t be any
easier. Just different.” Her eyes twinkled as if she were hiding a great
secret.

“What
is it?” Mercy frowned. It wasn’t like Serene to keep things to herself.

“Nothing.
That is, nothing I can tell you right now.” Serene smiled, blushing. “I must
go.” She left so quickly Mercy had no time to collect her thoughts.

She
realized after Serene was gone she hadn’t asked about the summons from the
king.

            *         

When
Papa returned, he was even grimmer than usual.

“Are
you ready for your porridge now, Papa?” Mercy picked up a bowl and ladle.

He
scowled at her.

“Who
can think of eating when things of much greater import have befallen us?”

“I’m
sorry, Papa.” Mercy dropped the ladle in the pot.

“It’s
not your fault you are so ignorant of the world.” Papa began to pace across the
room. “I do not agree with Brother Gabriel that our faith will insulate us.”

“What
do you mean, Papa?” He had never voiced disagreement with Gabriel, the leader
of their village as well as her betrothed.

He
stopped pacing and clenched his fists.

“Peace
is a noble goal, but when war comes upon Levathia, pacifists are the first to
suffer.”

“War?”
Mercy sank to the nearby stool.

“Yes.
We have been invaded from the east, and King Orland has ordered all able-bodied
men to join in the fight to protect our borders.”

Mercy
shook her head. Surely the king understood the men of their village, men who
had sworn the Oath of Peace, would not, could not fight in this war.

***

Even
the late summer sky mourned Prince Waryn’s death; the low clouds leaked drops
like tears. Valerian’s horse plodded past the castle gates. Waryn’s junior
squire, Drew, and what remained of the men-at-arms followed behind. Because Sir
Caelis had gone ahead with Waryn’s body, everyone in the Keep wore black
armbands. The guards and servants bowed as Valerian passed by on his way to the
stables.

Valerian
dismounted and handed Theo’s reins to Drew. The squire wiped away tears and
silently led both of their horses away. A messenger raced toward Valerian and
fell to his knees.

“Your
Highness.” The boy removed his cap. “The king wishes to speak with you in the
chapel.”

“Thank
you.” Valerian made the mistake of looking directly into the boy’s eyes. First
that same sensation of a veil parting, then palpable waves of grief from the
lad before Valerian tore his gaze away. Trembling, he ascended the stone steps
leading into the Keep. This meeting could not be postponed even for an hour.

When
Valerian neared the chapel, the words of the lament that monks were singing for
his brother became clear. For the first time in his seventeen years Valerian
wished he had not studied Latin so well, for he understood every word:

“In life he was valiant, a prince among princes

Most courageous and stalwart,

A warrior without equal on the earth,

Beloved of the people as long as time shall
stand.”

Valerian
stepped into the candlelit chapel and saw his brother’s bloody corpse laid out
on a bier before the altar. The king knelt at the rail, alone. Valerian glanced
around to make sure Caelis was not present and then approached the bier.

You
could have saved him
,
a voice whispered inside his head.

Framed
by short damp hair, Waryn’s face was as cold and white as Valerian had last
seen it. Someone had arranged his hands across the terrible wound in his chest.
Why had they not removed the blood-stained mail and leathers? Of course,
Valerian thought with smoldering anger, it was his brother’s honorable death in
battle being celebrated here. Those who died peacefully, even more than those
who lived in peace, were scorned in Levathia.

Valerian
took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It would not do to face his father
with emotions so raw. He pushed down the grief, but the guilt was far too
strong to be denied. Everything had changed. If only he had kept his wits about
him, he could have saved his brother, and he would not now be standing here
awaiting the king’s pleasure as his sole heir.

His
father, the king, sagged against the rail. He wore a black robe and no circlet
on his head. With effort he stood and turned to face Valerian.

“You
may approach,” King Orland said, his voice breaking. He’d aged ten years since
Valerian had last seen him a fortnight ago.

Valerian
stepped forward and went down on one knee.

“Father,
I—”

“I
want to know what happened.” Orland’s voice shook with barely controlled rage.
“Sir Caelis has told me his version. I want to hear yours.”

Without
thinking, Valerian met his father’s red-rimmed eyes. The thoughts he
Saw
struck
him more forcibly than a blow.