Ch 61: The Queen & The Man With The Markings

While voices of soldiers and the clang of metal echoed outside the tent, inside was silent, as Astasha processed what it was she was hearing.

He couldn’t possibly be serious. Calder couldn’t give up the throne, not now, not ever. It was what he was destined for. If there was anything she was certain of, it was that he would be the greatest ruler Trenue had ever seen. How could he even fathom stepping down?

“Tasha…” He tried to pull her closer to him but she stepped away.

“No.” It was all she could get herself to say.

“It was the only way—“

“There are always other options Calder.” She could feel the tornado of emotions between the two of them growing but she didn’t know if she could control it.

He studied her in silence for a moment before sighing deeply. “When it comes to you, there aren’t. You are my only option, the only one I want, the only thing I need, and if having you, knowing you are safe, being with you, being able to *love* you, without all this shit, costs me the throne, then so be it.”

She closed her eyes and focused on breathing. Why couldn’t he see? “Cal, I love you, more than should be possible, but I will not be the reason you throw your life away.”

“You are my life!” She knew he didn’t mean to yell at her, she knew it was his passion that drove his voice to rise, but it still triggered her to respond the same.

“And you are mine, but that doesn’t give us the right to disregard all of the thousands of others we affect!”

He shook his head. “Like the ones that wanted to hang you in the square for saving my life? Or the ones that hunt you now? You want me to consider their lives when they have no regard for ours? To hell with them!”

“You aren’t thinking clearly Cal—“

“Actually, this is the clearest my mind has been in years.”

The soft cough pulled them from their argument, and they suddenly became aware that everyone was still there, silent, afraid to move, or speak.

A young soldier stood in the doorway to the tent.

“I’m sorry, your highness…” He looked petrified, and Astasha understood why. What should have been a private conversation had just been displayed quite publicly, without a thought as to what it would look like or how it would be perceived.

“What is it?” The Prince’s voice was harsh, but worn.

The man fumbled with his words for a moment before collecting himself. “The… the men from Dorthshire are here, my lord. We are setting them up on the NorthWestern end of the camp. Their leader has requested an audience.”

Calder took a deep breath. Duty called.

“Tell him I will be there shortly to greet him.”

The soldier bowed and departed, leaving an even more uncomfortable silence in his wake.

He looked up at Astasha and she knew what it was he was feeling; this was all too much. But there was no choice now but to press on, and so he turned to his Captain and the water sorceress and continued on as the Commander of his army.

“Norelle, will you please see that Helia is provided quarters near the other sorcerers. And perhaps show her around. We’ll be here for another day or two so it’ll be good for her to know where things are. Talib, will you accompany Astasha to our tent—“

“That won’t be necessary Captain.” His fire witch interjected. “If we are in this together, then we do this, together.” She looked at Calder, her face set, her head high. “I will be accompanying His Majesty to meet these men from Dorthshire. I’d like to get a read on whoever it is that will possibly be competing for his throne.”

Norelle bowed her head slightly and linked her arm with Helia’s, leading her toward the entrance. “I’ll introduce you to the other sorcerers who have come. I think you’ll find you quite like a lot of them, although, there are one or two I’ve learned to steer clear of if I don’t have much time for conversation.”

The two sorceresses left, Helia offering a small smile to Astasha as she did.

Talib stood planted in his place, his arms crossed, eyes fixated on the Prince.

Calder pointed his finger at him. “Don’t. I already know what you’re going to say.”

The Captain simply shrugged. “Good, then I don’t need to waste my fucking breath anymore. I’ll be making rounds if you need me.”

And without so much as a nod, he marched passed them and left.

The two stood apart from one another, saying nothing, yet feeling everything.

While there was plenty to say, it wasn’t the time to do so.

“We should go.” Said Calder finally.

He opened the flap for Astasha and she followed him out into the camp.

The silence continued as they walked for a ways, before Astasha finally broke it.

“What was it Talib was going to say that you already knew?”

Calder hesitated for a moment before speaking. “That he agrees with you.”

She couldn’t help but let out a short laugh. “Well, at least one of you is thinking straight.”

“We’ll discuss it more later.”

“Yes, we will.” It wasn’t an agreement, it was a statement, set in stone. He wasn’t going to get off the hook on this one. “For now, tell me about these men we’re meeting.”

“Long ago, they were feared across the land. Some said they ate the flesh of their enemies, others, that they killed the young not strong enough to fight.”

Astasha nodded. “I remember reading that about their people when I first came to the castle.”

“Yes, but that is not the kind of people they are today. Dorthshire was one of the few places I found peace during my travels. Their lives are simple. They hunt, they drink, they live. They might seem gruff, but they prefer the simple joys in life over the drums of war. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t excellent fighters.”

She glanced over at him. “And what did you promise them to convince them to leave their sanctuary for our war?”

Calder stopped and Astasha turned to him. “Nothing. They came simply because I asked them to.”

“Aha!” A booming voice with a strange accent came from behind the sorceress and Cal’s face broke into a smile. “The White Dragon emerges!”

Tasha turned to see a man, a brute of a man, with long hair braided down his back and marking on his face, striding towards them, his arms wide.

“Kashor!” Responded Calder. The two met with an embrace and palms slapped on each other’s backs.

The man whom Astasha could only assume to be the Dorthshire leader, stepped back, his hands on Cal’s shoulders.

“So, is it true then? The dragon breaths fire at last?”

The Prince chuckled. “You could say that. Thank you for coming, my friend. How is Veliena? And the girls?”

“As beautiful as the sun on the sea, and as dangerous as a storm on it when they get her riled up.” Kashor responded with a deep laugh. His eyes moved to Astasha and he stepped toward her, his arms open again. “You did not say… but you don’t have to… she is as magnificent as you described.” He reached her and took her hands in his own, raising them to his lips. “The Lady Astasha. My eyes have been opened to the Gods in your presence.” He kissed each of her palms before placing them together between his own.

“I fear to disappoint you. It seems Cal has spoken too highly of me.” She couldn’t quite place what it was, but there was something utterly kind and trusting about this man. She could feel it, like a force around him, emanating from his very being.

“I think he did not speak highly enough!” He winked at her and turned to Calder. “Perhaps I would have ridden faster if I had known the true depths of her beauty.”

She couldn’t help but blush. “Well, we are truly grateful you are here at all.”

“The White Dragon calls upon us, we answer.” He said simply. “Now come, you must meet my son.”

Astasha exchanged a glance with Calder as Kashor led her toward a group of men, all with their hair long and braided, all with markings on their faces.

Why had he not told her about them? But then, when had they truly had the time? Now that she thought of it, he had mentioned Dorthshire briefly the night they had shared in her chambers. But there had been so much to talk about, and they had been so distracted by each other’s physical company, no wonder she didn’t know more about his time there.

Cal was greeting warmly by the group, and she was introduced to them all, though she hoped she would remember each of their names.

Kashor’s son, Kashen, was a young man, but as tall as his father. His facial hair wasn’t long enough to be braided yet, and he bore fewer markings, but he was unmistakably his kin, in looks and kindness.

She listened intently as Calder filled them in on the plan; depending on when the last of the people coming to aid them arrived, they would leave the morning after next to head to the Sacred Stone. The leaders of each group has been formulating a battle strategy, at least, as much of one as they could without any idea of what it was they might be facing.

Finally, as the shadows began to grow long, the fatigue of her travels set in, and Astasha found herself longing for rest.

Calder must have felt it, because he declined the invitation to stay and eat and drink with them.

“Tomorrow, I promise, we will join you. For now, I think it best I see my Queen to her tent. She’s had a harder journey than any of us.”

The term caught Tasha off guard and she couldn’t help but give Cal a look that she was sure was of shock and confusion.

Kashor nodded solemnly. “Yes, of course, to flee your home, it could not have been easy.”

“No, it was not.” She responded before putting on a weak smile. “I look forward to speaking with you more tomorrow evening.”

She felt Cal’s hand on her back as he led her away through the camp.

“Why did you call me that?” She asked finally.

He stopped and turned to her, taking a deep breath as he took her hands in his own. “I made an oath to myself the night I left five years ago. No matter what I had to do, I would make you my Queen. But what I realized, after I watched you ride away a fortnight ago, was that you already are. Crown or not, you are the only one who will reign beside me, even if it is only over our own lives. And that is enough for me.”