Young Writers Society

Eh. That's all I really think about this chapter ... eh. It's weak as chapters go ... I'm tempted to cut out all the story-telling. What do you think? Keep the stories or no?

~*~

Ianna wandered around her room, gazing about her in wonder. It wasn’t named the gold room for nothing; every inch of it was golden. The draperies, the bed, the tables, the chairs; every bit of it was either gold, painted gold, or woven with golden thread. After she had taken a quick glance around, she sank down onto the bed, looking down at her travel-soiled clothes and wondering if she’d be able to wash them soon.

“Like it?” a voice said, causing her to spin sharply around, but it was only Daeun, emerging from behind a tapestry. She stared at him, shocked, before realizing that there was a secret passage behind the tapestry, no doubt leading into his private room. He smiled at her, coming to join her on the bed. “It seemed to suit you.”

For the first time in a long time, Ianna felt as if her tongue had glued itself to the roof of her mouth. She couldn’t, for the life of her, think of anything to say. The idea that she was better suited for a room made of gold made her surprisingly self-conscious.

“You’ll be wanting a change of clothes,” Daeun observed, and she glanced at his own clothes, which, though identical to those he had worn previously, were clean and made of less hardy—and far softer—material.

“I’m not going to wear Talon clothes,” Ianna said, astonished to hear herself sounding almost peeved. Frustrated, she waved a hand at her clothes, and the dirt and grime lifted away, the wrinkles straightening nicely. She regretted this an instant later; magic was useful, but used for menial tasks too often, it rebelled and oftentimes abandoned its master all together.

“I didn’t ask you to,” Daeun said, eyebrows jumping up. “I was going to call in a tailor to mimic your style.”

Ianna sighed, dropping her head a little. She was ashamed of herself; imagine, acting like such a child! Aedaan would be horrified. “I apologize; I meant no insult. Is there a bath?”

“Through that door,” Daeun replied. “If you wish it, I will order a handmaiden be assigned to you.”

She looked up, surprised to see him in earnest, and nodded. “Perhaps just for tonight,” she said carefully, wondering what she was saying, accepting a Talon as a servant, when she refused to use her people as such at home. “I am not accustomed to being waited upon.”

“No, I don’t suppose you are,” Daeun agreed. “I’ll send for one immediately.” He rose, and as he left through the tapestry, she heard him mutter, “I’ll call for Tae—yes, Tae. One so even-tempered would pair nicely.”

Though Daeun had left only a moment before, the door creaked open and a short, plain-faced woman with dancing grey eyes and silver-streaked brown hair tied back into a tight bun came walking in, expression placid. “Your Majesty,” the woman said, her voice pleasantly hoarse. “I am Taenna. I am to be your servant for the extent of your stay. M’lord tells me you’ve requested a bath.”

“Immediately, if you please,” Ianna said politely, but it was not a request. Taenna hardly batted an eye.

“If you would follow me, Your Majesty,” Taenna said peacefully, crossing the room to pull open the door Daeun had indicated. Beyond it lay an enormous golden bath, sunken several feet into the floor, filled to the brim with water. Several feet beyond, a fire was lit, and Taenna officiously dropped as many large stones as the fire would permit into the embers. Ianna stood foolishly at the door, wondering what was expected of her, but Taenna did not allow her to dawdle for long.

“Undress, Your Majesty,” Taenna said, leaving the rocks behind to help ease off Ianna’s robes. Ianna hung her sword from the nearest coat tree, and undid her hair from its ties. She left in, however, the golden circlets, for those she would never remove. There was a brief silence, and when she looked around, she realized it was because Taenna had seen her scars, ranging down the full length of her body.

Taenna stood silent, brows drawn together, and, to Ianna’s surprise, the woman’s eyes filled with tears. “Such hardship,” Taenna lamented, sighing. She turned and began prodding the rocks out of the fire and into the bath, where they hissed and steamed in protest. “Just like my poor Dae.”

Perplexed, Ianna said, “Dae?”

Taenna looked up, the tears gone. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Taenna said blandly. “I meant His Lordship—he too bears many such memories on his body.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Ianna replied, as the last rock smacked into the water and sizzled its way to the bottom. “Why do you speak of him with such familiarity?”

“I was his nurse, when he was a boy,” Taenna replied, something like a smile gracing her face for the first time. “But Your Majesty does not wish to hear this. Come, climb into the water.”

“I do wish it,” Ianna retorted, moving stiffly for the edge of the bath. She eased herself in, for though she was well used to harsh treatment of her body, traveling for long periods of time affected even her.

“Well,” Taenna said, looking unsurprised as she settled onto a bench. “Like I said, I was his nurse. He was such a sweet boy; he’d pick every woman in the castle flowers, maid and noble alike, and kiss them each on the cheek. He was the apple of Genor’s eye; it was always Daeun this, Daeun that. We parents would ask our children why they couldn’t be sweet like the young lord.” She smiled at the memory.

“I find it hard to believe that he was a perfect child,” Ianna replied, thinking of the children in her own hold, rambunctious and wild lot that they were, constantly mock-fighting with wooden swords and playing tricks on each other.

“True enough,” Taenna agreed. “He had his moments. Like when Vearon killed his pet rabbit—I’ve never seen Daeun in such a fit of rage. He broke every vase in the castle, most of them over Vearon’s head.”

Ianna moved closer, interested. “Tell me more.”

Taenna sent her a considering look, but nodded. “All right—I’ve got no shortage of stories. You get quite good at it, being a boy’s nurse for all those years.” She paused, rearranging her skirts. “When he was eight, his father decided it was time for him and his cousins to learn the art of war. Daeun fought him tooth and nail every step of the way. He refused to practice, refused to do the work, though he was not so disrespectful that he refused to go. We feared that the title might pass to his cousins, if he continued like this, but Daeun never let anyone down in his life.

“He was just turning thirteen when the shout rang out—there was a murderer on the loose, bent on killing one of the servants, who’d slept with his wife, or some such nonsense. Daeun ran quick as bird to the servant’s quarters, drew his sword—gift from his father, you see—and did battle with the man. Now, this was no small thing; this was the swordsmaster, trained in the art from birth, though admittedly he could not compare to my Ornold.

“I was there, eating my lunch on my cot, and saw it all happen. For a boy who’d never raised a sword, he moved exceptionally fast, and met the swordsmaster blow for blow. I hadn’t realized it, but he’d been practicing on his own, maintaining an image of defiance all the while. I was scared to death—I could hardly move. I’d raised this boy, and the thought of him being cut down was more than I could bear. I must have been white as a sheet.

“Daeun was always very soft-spoken, never spoke crossly with anyone unless they deserved it, but I’ll never forget what he said next.”

“What?” Ianna asked, eyes transfixed on Taenna’s lined face. “What did he say?”

“ ‘Run,’ he said, and for a moment I thought he was his father, he sounded so old. ‘Run away.’ I couldn’t believe my ears, and neither could the murderer.

“ ‘I said run!’ Daeun shouted at him, sword at his throat. ‘Do not pretend I will not kill you if you stay!’

“But he didn’t believe him. Didn’t believe him! When he did not move, Daeun shook his head, and swung—and the next thing I knew, there was blood everywhere, on the floor, on the walls, on Daeun, and Daeun was leading me away, like some old grandmother who couldn’t walk.” Taenna fiddled with her skirts, eyes distant, and said no more.

“More,” Ianna said breathlessly.

“More?” Taenna asked, baffled. “But Your Majesty—your bath—”

“I will keep it hot,” Ianna replied. “Keep talking.”

“Now, Daeun was always a sweet lad, but I never once called him even-tempered. Injustice always sent him into a fit. Didn’t matter to whom, he hated it. This was several years later, now, a few years before his father died. He was walking the halls when he heard a shout, and coming towards him was a man, holding a poisoned dagger. Daeun was really a very skilled fighter by now, but the man managed to get him into a choke, holding the dagger to his neck.

“ ‘What do you want, man?’ Daeun asked, calm as could be, while his guards shook their swords at the man.

“ ‘For you to die,’ the man said back, but for some reason Daeun didn’t believe him. The man began to cry, and he begged Daeun to die peacefully, and not to haunt him in the afterlife. It didn’t take long for Daeun to discover that our jolly king had taken the poor man’s wife and daughter captive, and had ordered him to kill Daeun or risk his family being killed.

“The reason for this was no doubt Daeun’s obvious good-heartedness, and clear dislike for authority. The king did that to Bettin, as well—killed off the strong-willed brother and left the weak behind. The king didn’t reckon, however, for Daeun.

“ ‘I will free your wife and daughter,’ Daeun said to him, ‘if you serve me willingly, and faithfully, for the rest of your life.’

“He did it, too. He waltzed right into the king’s prison, ordered the guards to take the wife and daughter out, and waltzed out again with them in tow. He bribed the guards into telling the king they’d been killed, and the king forgot about his would-be assassin. Meanwhile his assassin became Daeun’s closest friend.” She paused, and said carefully, “You might have met him. His name’s Fenn—Daeun’s man-at-arms.”

Ianna’s mouth fell open, then shut again with a loud click. “I cannot understand this Talon,” she raged, turning away from Taenna. “He does not act like the worthless being Talons are supposed to be!”

“He’s hard to dislike,” Taenna chuckled. “Found it difficult, then, have you, Your Majesty?”

“Increasingly,” Ianna complained, and sank despairingly to the floor of the bath.

“I’ve heard stories about the J’engar,” Taenna said quietly. “They don’t tell such things to the royals, but among us servants, they’re very popular. They say that you have hearts of fire, and that you love and hate easier than the wind blows.”

Ianna faced her, face smooth. “What else have you heard?”

“That sometimes this fire escapes you.”

Ianna’s hand rose from the water, and in it fluttered a small flame. “Like this?” It grew, and became a ball of fire, floating above the water. Taenna stared at it, amazed, as the fire took the shape of a horse and galloped through the air before dashing itself into the water and disappearing in a dying sizzle of billowing steam.

“It is a game we play as a child,” Ianna explained. “We make shapes out of water, rock, or fire. It helps the children to hone their abilities before they must be trained.”

“Magic,” Taenna breathed. “The stories are true! The J’engar possess magics, like the king’s magician!”

“No,” Ianna replied, making the water dance in the shape of a thousand warriors. “Not like the king’s magician. He has very little power, compared to me, or Caelun, my guard; though what power he does possess is very volatile, from what I have heard from Daeun.”

“Are all J’engar like you?” Taenna asked wonderingly.

“Few J’engar possess such powerful magics,” Ianna replied. “Thank you, Taenna. That is all.”

Taenna nodded, and did not hesitate. She left immediately, obedient to Ianna’s wishes, though she sent her a kind smile on her way out, as if to say, I look forward to more such talks. Ianna smiled, and floated in the water, watching her translucent warriors do battle on the water’s surface.