Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (46 page)

Scarlett Falls tensed when Lord Dagart Elle
burst into the room, all truculence and power. He strode across the
tiled floor of Tristian’s bedchamber in polished leather boots,
dark slacks, and a rich maroon tunic that hung to his knees.

Dagart jabbed an angry finger at Scarlett.
“Out!”

Scarlett set her embroidery on the padded
wood chair and scuttled out of the room. Only once in three years
had she failed to respond to Dagart’s orders as promptly as he
liked and the side of her face had suffered for it. She had never
made the same mistake again.

She lingered in the hallway outside, just
within earshot, like she always did.

“Get up!” Dagart said to Tristian as his son
reclined on a patterned lounge chair reading a book.

“Good morning, father,” Tristian said in his
usual polite manner. “How are—”

“Your mother has returned,” Dagart said,
“and she has brought Lady Arrahbella to meet you.”

Scarlett peeked around the corner and saw
Tristian hanging his head in discouragement. He hobbled along with
his cane to the mahogany shelf to return his book. “I was afraid of
that,” he said.

King Dagart scowled. “I’ve got no time for
you petty gripes. We’ve been planning this for a long time.”

“No,
you’ve
been planning this for a
long time,” Tristian said. “I’ve had no say in the matter.” He
hobbled on his mangled leg back toward his father.

“And rightly so,” Dagart said. “It is my
position as king to build a future for this kingdom, one that
ensures the longevity of our family.”

“Really? And all this time I thought mother
was in charge,” Tristian muttered.

The slap came quick and sharp and flung
Tristian’s head to the side. He shifted his cane to keep from
falling.

Dagart’s voice quieted, but intensified. “In
all your years of hobbling about this world, what good have you
ever done? A worthless cripple. A worthless son. It’s time you did
the one thing you can do, unless you’re going to confess that your
prick is useless too.”

“I’m not marrying her, father,” Tristian
said, his head still cocked to the side.

“Oh yes you are,” Dagart growled. “And when
you meet her today, I expect you to act in a manner befitting an
Elle.”

The king strode toward the hallway,
prompting Scarlett to shuffle back out of sight.

“Be ready by noon,” Dagart said over his
shoulder. He left the bedroom and disappeared down the hall.

Scarlett stepped back into the room, trying
to catch a glimpse of Tristian’s face. He ambled over to a tall
window next to the bookcase and clasped his hands behind him. He
took a deep breath as he overlooked the garden promenade outside
overflowing with leafy trees, flowery bushes, ferns, and other
greens.

Scarlett went to her embroidery and picked
up a small wood framed chalkboard that she carried with her
everywhere. Though only eight years old, she had already mastered
reading and writing.

On the small board, Scarlett scrawled,
Are you all right?
She tugged on Tristian’s sleeve and
showed it to him.

He nodded, then returned to his somber
contemplation out the window.

Scarlett wiped the board clean with the
white sleeve of her dark brown dress and scrawled another message.
I don’t want you to marry her.

After reading it, Tristian offered a slight
smile. “I don’t want to marry her either.” He hobbled to a chair
and sat down, stretching his hunched back. “But life is full of
things we don’t want to do. Perhaps my father is right, marrying
Lady Arrahbella would be good for the kingdom.”

Scarlett erased her message and wrote
another.
He’s wrong.

Tristian chuckled, a pleasant, soothing
sound that Scarlett had always relished. “It’s been known to
happen.”

Footsteps pattering down the hall beckoned
their attention to the doorway. Aamor swept inside, her dirty gray
servant’s dress swaying at her ankles. The young maidservant never
failed to provide a breath of fresh air, especially when she was in
the same room as Tristian.

“I just heard the news,” Aamor said. “Your
mother has returned?”

“Just a little while ago,” he said.

Tristian slipped a beige tunic over his
linen undershirt. The fit was poor over his crooked left arm, and
the shirt appeared much too baggy around his middle. He sat down on
his large bed and stretched his leg.

“How is she? I mean, do you think she’s
still, um…” Aamor seemed hesitant to finish her question.

Tristian cocked his eyes at her. “Yes?”

Aamor dipped her head. “Forgive me, my lord.
I shouldn’t speak against the queen.”

“You want to know if my mother is still a
madwoman?”

Scarlett had never met Tristian’s mother,
Lady Catherina, but she had learned in a very short amount of time
how notorious she was throughout Tay. Some called her a lunatic.
Others said she was still devastated over the death of her young
daughter at the hands of Tristian, an accident that had haunted the
Elle family for years.

“Do you think the mystics have helped her?”
Aamor asked.

Tristian shrugged as he reached for his
boots. “That was my father’s hope. In the three years she’s been
gone I’ve not received a single letter from her. I know as much as
you.”

Aamor fidgeted with a lock of auburn hair
hanging by her face. She seemed nervous. “I hear she’s brought a
young woman for you.” She moved toward the nightstand to collect
the breakfast dishes. “A princess from Efferous. They say she’s
beautiful.”

Tristian grunted as he tried to slip his
boots on. “Uh-huh.”

Aamor set the dishes down and knelt in front
of the prince. With practiced hands she slipped his boot over his
skewed foot and buckled it for him.

“May I offer a suggestion?” Aamor asked.

“Of course,” Tristian said.

Her eyes fell to his shirt. She clicked her
tongue as she thought. “Don’t wear that shirt.”

He looked down at his tunic. The fit was
loose, the style old, and with the cuffs unbuttoned the way they
were the shirt looked sloppy and cheap.

“What’s wrong with this?” he asked.

Aamor stood and went to the wardrobe.
“You’re going to meet a princess,” she began. “You’ll want to look
like a man worthy of her attention.”

“I’m not concerned with impressing anyone,”
Tristian said. “This marriage is hardly being arranged for my
benefit.”

“Regardless, she is a lady and you should
treat her as such.”

Tristian sighed in defeat. “Must you always
be right?”

Scarlett smiled at him.

Returning from the wardrobe, Aamor held up a
waist length navy blue gambeson. The garment was designed for
ornamental purposes, not the combative functions it was normally
used for. It was beautiful nonetheless, with silver thread on the
cuffs that wove up the sleeves forming a dramatic triangular
pattern on the shoulders.

“I’m not going to war,” Tristian said. “I’m
going to meet my future wife.” He paused, considering what he had
just said. A moment later he rose and began to remove his dingy
tunic. “I see your point.”

Scarlett continued to work on her stitching
as she watched Aamor help Tristian into the regal looking gambeson.
It fit him well, and gave him an air of masculinity that his
disfigurement too often deprived him of. She brought him a brown
leather belt to cinch it at the waist, and a sword and sheath to
drape at his side to add a touch of style. Aamor slicked her hands
with some oil and used it to brush the long dark locks from his
face.

“The lady must be able to see you,” she
said.

Their eyes locked, and Scarlett saw for one
brief moment a glimpse of their mutual affection.

“I’m sorry,” Tristian said.

“My lord?”

Tristian cleared his throat. “Please have
them bring the carriage around. I’ll be down shortly.”

Aamor dipped her head. “Right away, my
lord.”

Tristian turned to Scarlett. “How do I look,
Red?” he asked, pulling at the high collar of his shirt.

Scarlett shrugged.

“Oh, thanks. That’s very reassuring.”

Scarlett gathered her embroidery and
chalkboard and followed Tristian out of the room.

The halls of the Elle family castle had
changed little since Scarlett had arrived in Tay. There was a new
painting of a three masted ship in the grand hall, and the green
tapestries in the main entryway were new as of last winter. They
featured the leopard emblem of Tay intertwined with the golden
serpent of the high king, an effort on behalf of King Dagart to
show his ardent support for Orkrash Mahl.

Scarlett climbed into the carriage behind
Tristian. They rode west where the high walls of the city’s
buildings fell away to reveal an aquatic backdrop of majestic blue
sea. Scarlett could see the harbor in the distance with several
larger ships anchored further out in the water. Gulls called
overhead while white blossoms scented the air.

The carriage stopped next to a beautiful
grassy garden enriched by a small trickling brook. Several
ballooning willow trees shaded a small white table that had been
set for a picnic with a crisp white cloth, porcelain dishes, and
silver wine goblets.

Two women were seated at the table in
waiting.

A footman opened the carriage door and
Scarlett hopped out. Tristian followed, gripping the door for
support until he planted his cane on the ground. When he saw the
prepared table and the two women waiting for him, he took a deep,
calming breath.

“And now it comes to it,” he muttered.

Even from far away it wasn’t difficult for
Scarlett to tell which woman was who. Lady Catherina Elle, a woman
of about fifty, looked petite and fragile with a proud back and
twisty brown hair that time had dusted with gray.

Lady Arrahbella, on the other hand, stood
out like a goddess among the rigid and pale-faced citizens of Tay.
By even the highest standards she was a beautiful woman, and her
appearance had little to do with the exotic foreign gown that
draped her as elegantly as the feathers on a dove. Scarlett thought
the young woman could have worn a potato sack and outshined every
other woman in the realm.

“Tristian, my love!” his mother cooed as she
waddled up to him with tiny steps and threw her arms around
him.

Scarlett didn’t miss the bewildered
expression on Tristian’s face. He looked as though he didn’t know
what to do. With some hesitancy, he put one arm around his mother
and rubbed her back.

“Hello mother. Does this morning find you
well?”

“Very well, my son. Very well. Oh, I have
missed you.”

“You have?” Tristian sounded surprised.

Catherina leaned back and laughed. “Of
course I have, my beautiful boy. My prince.” She kissed his
forehead.

Scarlett did as she always did and wandered
a short distance away from the conversation, far enough to remain
unnoticed, but still close enough to hear. She clasped her hands
behind her back and watched and waited.

“We will have plenty of time to talk later,
you and I,” Catherina said. She stepped aside and gestured toward
the dark haired woman. “Allow me to introduce you to Princess
Arrahbella fu Cipio, from the illustrious province of Konia on
Efferous.”

Tristian transferred his cane to his gimpy
left hand, took the princess’ fingers in his right, bowed his head
and kissed her knuckles.

“My lady, reports of your beauty are not
exaggerated,” he said, which made Arrahbella smile.

“My lord is too kind,” she said.

Catherina snapped her fingers at a pair of
white-robed servants waiting by her carriage. They hurried down
into the garden—almost fearfully, Scarlett thought—carrying wine
and a plate of cakes.

“I shall leave you two alone for now,”
Catherina said. “I have spent too many days at sea and wish to
breathe air that doesn’t reek of salt.”

Arrahbella bowed to the queen. “Good day, my
lady. Your have been a most kind traveling companion.”

Catherina patted her on the cheek. “You too,
my dear. See you at dinner.”

As Catherina returned to her carriage,
Tristian offered the princess a seat before taking his own.

“Surely, you must be tired,” he said. “Would
you rather take a rest? We can do this another day.”

Arrahbella shook her head. “Life on the
great sea suits me, I think. I enjoy the ocean air and the high
waves. I feel sorry for your mother who didn’t seem to revel in it
as I did.”

Scarlett noticed the princess spoke the
language of Edhen with the ease of a native. Only a hint of her
Efferousian accent seeped through.

“So was she truly a good traveling
companion?” Tristian asked, seeming surprised.

Arrahbella’s response didn’t come as soon as
Scarlett thought it would. “She, um, had her moments.”

Tristian smirked. “That sounds more like
it.”

With the food set out and the goblets full,
the servers retreated from the table. They remained standing at a
distance, ready to assist the moment either Tristian or Arrahbella
gave a subtle flick of the wrist.

“My father sent my mother away several years
ago to a doctor on Krebberfall in hopes of curing her of her mental
illness,” Tristian began. “Well, some call the man a doctor. I
would call him a mystic. Who knows what he did to her. I’m eager to
see if his treatment helped.”

“It must not have been easy to be away from
your mother for so long,” Arrahbella said.

Scarlett smirked.
You have no idea
,
she thought.

“You have no idea, princess,” Tristian
said.

“Will my lord pardon me if I correct him?”
Arrahbella asked.

“Oh?”

“Where I come from I am not known as a
princess. This word was foreign to me until I started learning your
language. We have different concepts of royalty, I think. On
Efferous, the daughter of a king is known as a ficept.”