Shattered Shields

”There were not always dragons in the Valley. No one had claimed such a thing until the Piandriens were thrust upon our shores. Their witches brought with them lies and tales of monsters to instill fear in us. We will not be afraid.” The king looked pointedly at his nephew, ensuring the boy’s attention remained on him.

“Decades ago, a great fog descended upon Piandrien where the raiders once lived. The once fertile Valley in which the northerners throve became barren, thrusting them upon the shores of Khalydreon. Some say that the fog carried with it pestilence or rot that caused the crops to fail. Other sources, which cannot be trusted, claim they heard the beating of wings over the orangey mist. Some even claim to have seen spurts of fire above the clouds. But these are only the ramblings of bored raiders.”

Petor paced about his private library, lecturing his nephew sternly, in his grave way, “There were not always dragons in the Valley. And there are not any now. I know that you are aware of this history, but given your recent excitement on the subject, it bears repeating.”

The king mostly used these lessons to instruct his heir in battle stratagems or politics, and not to humor his nephew with fairytales. It was unusual for the king to waste his time playing into Luc’s fancies, but then reports came south of a potential union between the northern pagans of Winderiven and the kingdom of Eled Authrin on the Continent. This news sparked the boy’s longstanding interest in the drought that brought the pagans to Khalydreon, and not even a king could silence his questioning effectively.

The boy interrupted. “But, my lord uncle—”

Petor stopped in front of his nephew, taking a seat at the ornate armchair behind him. He took up a tome from the table beside him and studied it closely, scrutinizing the pages as if he might discern the secrets of the Creator himself. There was nothing to be found in that dusty manuscript besides the religious histories of Quarinth; all that it contained was known to Petor already. “Ever since our God defeated his brother in the Great Dual, there has been no hint of any beast of legend stalking this part of the world. These stories are a distraction to you, nephew, when your mind should be turned to the barbarians pressing upon the very doorstep of our kingdom.”

Petor glanced from the book on his lap to his nephew. “Do you understand young man?”

“Yes, Lord King,” Luc replied obediently.

Lapis blue eyes peered at the teacher and pupil from behind a bookshelf. Fusa Thaele listened in on the lesson, as she often did, obscured from the view of her father and cousin. Her mother would be expecting her in prayers, but she had no doubt that her absence would be ignored. Her Majesty always desired her daughter to learn more than her letters. King Petor saw value in Fusa’s reading and her religious studies, but did not grant her the same history and military lessons as he gave to his heir.

So, she hid. Day by day, month by month, year by year, she listened. Fusa absorbed all that she could from her father’s lectures, and only missed one in rare cases when her obligations forced her to stay away from the king’s private library.

“These pagans have plagued us for over twenty years. You must understand the severity of their disregard for our God and our ways. They are an affliction to Khalydreon which must be dealt with.” The king focused his gaze upon his heir. So many times, Fusa saw him look at her cousin with the annoyance of a teacher whose student won’t stop misbehaving.

Luc yawned and stood to stretch. “My lord uncle, may I be excused? I wish to train before the sun goes down.”

Petor sighed and gestured towards the now-vacant chair. “The hour has not yet passed, Luc, please sit.”

The boy obeyed his uncle, but not without letting some of his boredom show. Even Fusa perceived his disinterest, though his back was turned to her. She was incredulous that anyone would not be enthralled by the lessons her father gave. Petor was an excellent storyteller, and Fusa always felt his words flourish about her during his history lectures.

“Arnec the Fearless would see the whole of Khalydreon under his domain, and that of his pagan god, if he could. It is the mission of myself and my heir to ensure that this never occurs. Your interest in the Piandriens cannot be translated to sympathy, Luc.”

Fusa looked down at her hands. They were her father’s—to her, proof enough of her legitimacy. The white birth mark upon her wrist mirrored Petor’s own and, in her mind, symbolized her ascent to the throne. ‘A throne you will never inherit.’ She pursed her lips at the thought. Her stubborn temper and confidence also came from her father. Although Widha doted upon her daughter, Fusa was truly Petor’s—through and through. She had more Petor in her than anyone else did, least of all her cousin, who was more driven by the allures of battles and women than the responsibilities of the Crown.

She had been listening in on these lessons since she was old enough to develop a taste for history and war. Now, she was old enough to grow indignant at her father’s favoritism. If Petor had found her lacking in any of her womanly pursuits, he would certainly berate her, but not her cousin. The clock chimed from the courtyard, signaling that an hour had passed. Fusa heard her father mutter something, dismissing her cousin with a hand.

Luc rushed to the door, hardly taking time to properly bow to his uncle before he was down the hall. Petor sighed once again and stood, lifting the book he had been holding to its place on a shelf to Fusa’s right. She could not see her father on the other side of the stacks when he announced: “I thought you were meant to be in prayers with your mother.”

Fusa winced and stopped breathing, hoping that she had misheard him. She kept her eyes shut as his footsteps sounded along the aisle, hoping he would pass her by, but then she finally looked up. There were her father’s eyes boring into her. “My dear, I thought you had ceased your eavesdropping when you were a child.”

Fusa glanced down, a child expecting raised voices. “Father, I only wanted to borrow one of your scrolls, and when I saw you and my cousin enter, I did not wish to disturb you.” The words tasted sour in her mouth. She hated that her father’s presence intimidated her, and she hated even more that she could not surpass that annoying twist of fear in her gut whenever he studied her too closely.

“Hush. None of that.” Placing a hand on her shoulder, Petor guided his daughter towards the chair beside the one Luc had occupied, ”I know of your interest in history. I thought your behavior had improved, but this spying is just the encouragement that I needed.”

“Encouragement, Lord King?”

“Yes, it is fortunate that you are already here. At least you do not need to be fetched. I have something that I wish to tell you.” Fusa’s stomach churned in anticipation. Her father had the same stern countenance as when he gave one of his officers an important occupation. Thoughts raced through her head faster than General Uro’s quickest stallion.

Petor paused thoughtfully. The King of Quarinth was not one to ramble or speak out of turn. He spoke slowly and with effect, and although his speeches turned often into lectures, they came about poetically so one did not notice the time passing as he talked. The silence sounded to Fusa like the first night in autumn when the hordes of chirping cicadas burrow away from cooler weather: deafening.

“My daughter, I fear that you are too smart for Quarinth. You have this way of continually out-doing yourself. This kingdom is clearly too mundane for a quick mind such as yours.”

Fusa furrowed her brow, confused. She had thought her father meant to recognize her dedication to the Crown, and to reward her with a position of some authority. “I do not understand.”

“I have made inquiries to find you a position, and your mother and I have just heard back.”

Fusa opened her mouth in protest, wishing to know precisely what her father might be getting at.

“The Queen of The Lyanth wishes to take you on as a lady-in-waiting. You are to leave for the Continent in a fortnight. I trust that this assignment will challenge you and teach you how to behave as a noble lady at court. I know that you will not disappoint me, Fusa.”

“But father, I—” Fusa checked herself, “I thank you for this extraordinary opportunity, but I must disagree with Your Majesty. Quarinth does not bore me, nor could it ever. I only wish to serve this country, king, and Crown. I love our kingdom as you do, father.”

“You will serve Quarinth as Queen Mary’s lady. This arrangement will suit both our kingdom and your behavior. I trust you will represent me and your mother in the best light.” Petor embraced his daughter without much affection, kissing her on the forehead. “The arrangements have been made.”