Chapter Sixteen
"The Great Trade War of 190
was when Arsinuae lost all innocence she had ever personified.
Death was common in those years,
Chail sided with Sonaro, it’s sister province;
while Syriana fought for those of Nuli.
Hatred formed not only between Sonaro and Nuli,
and the empire suffered much for their beliefs …"
—The Pasegean Scrolls
Vela ventured from her room late one morning, the rain making it incapable to practice. "I hate Alentio!" she muttered, and nearly fell over Jareth’s sleeping body in the hallway. She groaned, noticing which door he slept outside. They both haven’t moved for days! And Syrah … I haven’t seen her for a few days, either.
She continued down the stairs, to the kitchen. Dishes of congealed food lay about the table, and Vela winced. She heard a crunch underneath her foot, and dared to look down.
A small, crumpled piece of parchment lay there, and Vela stooped to pick it up. Smoothing it out, she read the smudged words hastily written there.
Everyone:
I have gone back to Tonuka; back to my parents. They will be worried by my disappearance and I should have returned long ago. I will not return. The man who has been taken will not return either. I think. He might, but there is not much hope.
Sirrah
"Strange …" Vela murmured. "I must show this to Alena at once!" Then, her resolve returned. "But, of course, that is not my task here. I should leave, but somehow that is impossible to do." Shaking her head, Vela stuffed the note inside her jerkin and returned to her room.
* * * * *
Jareth awoke to a scraping sound nearby, and a sharp pain in his back. He jumped to his feet, pulling his dagger from his belt. He turned, expecting to find an assassin of some sort.
Instead, Alena stood there, frozen, as Jareth held his dagger to her throat. He then realised the scraping had been the product of his belt buckle being pushed along the ground, probably as Alena pushed open the door to her room. That also explained the pain in his back. He jerked the dagger away from Alena nervously, then tried to laugh. A squeak came from his dry throat instead. Shaking her head, Alena walked towards the staircase, throwing a cloak around her shoulders as she did so.
"Where are you going?" he questioned. No answer. Jareth ran towards the stairs, blocking them. "Tell me …" Again nothing. "… please?" He couldn’t let anything happen to her.
As much as she tried to push past him, it was an impossible task. Finally she succumbed to his questioning. "Look, Jarrad …"
He cut her off with a glare. "My name is Jareth Caverton, not Lord Jarrad or whatever title I have that is unknown to me."
"Jareth, then?" His nod let her continue. "I must return to Syriana. There is nothing here for me. You have your quest, and I must continue to rule …"
"You can’t leave!" he protested, his eyes soft. "What about the mercenaries? What about Chunia and Goonads? What about …"
Alena took her position, ready to explain yet again how Sidhe’s actions had doomed their relationship for all time.
"… Catrin?"
Her royal blood boiled at the utterance of her enemy’s name. Resolve filled her mind, and anger flooded her eyes. She turned away for a moment, then back again to Jareth. "Catrin? What about her?" Her hands shook as she spoke, alarming Jareth.
"Well, as far as I know, she was the one who had Lokath captured," he paused, "maybe even—"
"Stop! You’re right, Jareth. I can’t just let Catrin continue to control our lives the way she did before Lokath cast her out." She gazed at Jareth’s boyish face and smiled. "Plus, we’ve got to help you find your sister, don’t we?"
He stared back at her, incredulous. "You mean—you’ll help me?!"
"We all will … Syrah and I, anyway. Hopefully we’ll find Lokath soon enough," her voice trembled as she spoke the next words, "alive or dead."
"Alena, don’t think of it that way! I’m sure Lokath will be alright, we’ll just have to find him." He remembered that he hadn’t seen anyone else in days, and took Alena’s hand. "We should find Syrah and Vela, wherever they are, so that we can begin the journey home."
The princess stared at him questioningly. "Home? But I thought …"
"What is left for me here? Jarston, Alentio has been destroyed, and I was the only one who survived." His voice was bitter, then he smiled. "Besides, it’s not as if you have Lokath to protect you! I’m the only male left!"
She rolled her eyes in jest. "Ha! You think I need your protection? Well … maybe I do." Taking that as an invitation, Jareth leaned closer, Alena barely evading his impending kiss. She shook her finger at him mockingly, then became serious again. "No, Jareth. If you’re to, well, protect me, our relationship must be completely platonic. Understand?" Not waiting for an answer, she hurried down the stairs so that Jareth would not notice the blush which had crept over her cheeks.
* * * * *
Chunia heard a carriage in the courtyard, and ran down the staircase like a little girl on her birthday morn, hurrying to receive her first present—of many!—of the day. Disappointment ensued, as the gift had not been that which she longed for. Instead of a young Tonukan woman being led up the carriage-way, an arrogant general strutted to greet the queen.
"Quadra, when will she be here?!" Chunia was becoming anxious at the time spent transporting her prisoners, and the stupidity used to care for them.
The woman shook her head. "Unfortunately, your highness—" she was cut off by an angry squeal.
"What do you think you’re playing at, Quadra?! Do you really think this is a game; do you think you can enter the hallowed Chailan halls and act in such an off-hand manner?! My title is ‘The exalted and honourable Queen of Chail, Chunia Tuqsan’. Is that so difficult to remember?!"
Quadra stood there, dumbfounded, but not by her queen’s behaviour. "B-b-be—"
Chunia shook her hands at the general, giving a cry of disgust. "All you can do is stand there and stutter?! Act like a soldier!"
Quadra stuttered again, "A-Assa—" before falling to the ground, unconscious.
Chunia was alarmed. She followed Quadra’s previous gaze, and turned to find a jewelled dagger in her face. The assassin wore black, accentuated with a purple seven-pointed star in the centre of her head. The queen was unable to place the province which represented itself with the symbol as the woman—she was sure of the assailant’s gender, because if it was a man she would have already been dead—grinned at her menacingly.
"W-who are you?" Chunia knew it was a stupid question to ask, but was so dazed that she could barely comprehend what was happening to her.
A sneer swept across the woman’s face, and she traced Chunia’s neck with the sharpened blade. "Someone you’ll never forget, queen."
A gasp came from the kitchen archway, and the assassin jumped. Mrs. Llewd, the housekeeper, stood there, horrified. She gaped like a dying fish, her mouth opening and closing, with no sound coming out. The assassin bent down and slid a small, sleek dagger from her boot. Straightening up, she aimed it at the older woman with precision and threw it.
Mrs. Llewd screeched as she dropped to the ground, trying desperately to dodge the weapon flying towards her. The assassin ran to the doorway, grinned maliciously at Chunia, then ran out of the castle and out of the gates.
Chunia watched her leave, wondering exactly how close she had come to death … and exactly how long it would be until death came to her.
Copyright 2000 M. Lees
