Purpleland: Chapter 2

Alena was about two years younger than us, the daughter of one of about five lords who paid tribute to Lord Stephan. She had a sister who was a year older named Shay and a much older brother who we rarely saw. Her family came to visit Lord Stephan’s castle often as her father and Lord Stephan often hunted together. She was beautiful even then. Her hair was golden and her eyes were a shade of grey I have only every seen in her sister. The thing I remember most about her, however is her laugher. Lord Stephan’s home was a good place for me, the unmanageable son of a distant father, but in that cold castle on the mountain there was never any laugher. Lord Stephan and his son were both, as I said cold. I had good years there but both of them rarely smiled and never laughed. Alena was always laughing.

There was something of an understanding between Lord Stephan and Alena’s father that Shay was intended for his son. While nothing was ever put in writing it meant that they were being constantly steered toward each other and hinted at, which ended up having the opposite of the intended affect as they began to avoid each other. As a result Shay spent most of her time there with the adults and us boys spent our time with Alena. She would take part in our games and we barely noticed that she was a girl, at least not then. 

               One of my clearest memories is of a day at that castle. We, the men of the house were escorting the women visiting to the carriage that would take them away. Lord Stephan had just helped Alena’s mother into the carriage and Marcus was carefully making polite conversation with Shay, on his arm. Alena and I were walking behind them and she leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Does it make men nervous to have a beautiful woman on their arm.”

She was twelve, still a child, I was fourteen, and saw myself as a man. “It depends on the man and on the woman. I f she is to his taste then yes.”

“So is my mother is not to Lord Stephan’s taste? And Shay is to Marcus’s taste?”

I had to think about that. “No… Lord Stephan enjoys your mother’s company and Marcus dislikes Shay’s.”

She looked up at me. “So why is Marcus nervous and Lord Stephan is so obviously not?”

That stopped me. “That’s something you’ll understand when you’re older. “ I said in mock severity.

She laughed and kissed me on the cheek. I remember Shay turned around and looked at us with those eyes that were like her sister’s but lack something vital. I also remember Marcus’s face, it was the face of someone who has felt a sudden pain and does not know where it came from.

*             *             *

John stood stiffly next to his aunt as she stood on the balcony overlooking the large square. Her hair was black and piled on top of her head. She wore the black of mourning, a full length dress with white flowers embroidered on the neckline and cuffs.  She was not what men call beautiful but she was striking and there was something about her that both pulled and repelled you at the same time. Certainly she had her fair share of men at her feet though that might have something to do with the power she had as queen and now apparently as sole sovereign of the land. When her husband died she had appeared before the consul and they had voted, with only two abstentions, to give her the throne. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. She controlled the army, not to mention the foreign troops that flooded into the capital now. Apparently an honor guard for the upcoming visit of the King of that land but full occupation by Blackland was spoken of as a forgone conclusion by many of the people. The king had been sick for a long time before he died. In fact he had spent most of his fouteen-year rule growing slowly more and more ill and giving over more and more of his responsibilities over to his all too capable wife.

John wondered if in the end he had realized he was being poisoned. John’s father had known. He had tried sending letters to the king but an old quarrel had caused the king to burn every letter his former friend was able to get through the queen’s spies. John remembered the night his father heard that every letter he sent was either burned or intercepted. He had pounded a fist into the table and shouted. “Well let the fool die slowly then! He will get no more help from me!” It was more emotion than his father had ever spared for him.

A month ago his father, who had barely bothered himself to arrange for John’s schooling and had not even reacted to john’s week long disappearance when he had joined the arm, had begun carefully planning his son’s trip to the capital. The day before John was to leave his father had called him into his chamber.

“Boy,” he had said, he never called John anything but that, “When you go to the capital they will let you see your uncle, the king. At this point there will be no saving him but you might ease his passing. I want you to find out what happened to the child.”

“The child?”

“The king was married before he took you aunt, though I could count on my fingers the people who know of it. And he had a child. I have to know what became of that child. If we do not find it then the country will be given over to your darling aunt.” His father turned to him sharply. “Remember this, boy, they were sisters but your mother is nothing like the spider.”

John nodded. “yes sir.”

“Eat as little as you can, she will likely try to poison you. She likes to keep those around her suitably weak. But I don’t think she would have any reason to actually kill you unless you offend her or she somehow thinks it would hurt me.” He seemed lost in thought.

John had stood stiffly waiting for his father.

And His father had looked up sharply. “What are you still doing here, boy? Go and pack your bags.”

That was weeks ago and now he was standing next to his aunt as she declared herself Intermit Queen.  Supposedly until the sickly twins, the kings cousins, came of age. But it seemed more and more likely that they would die before either of them reached eighteen. John had seen them, they were pitiful things, with hardly any of the energy their counterparts were so full of. He wanted to help them somehow but at this point he was as helpless as they.  

The crowd quieted as the queen held up her hand.

“My people, as you have already heard my dear husband has died.” She stopped for a moment apparently overcome with emotion. “As you also know your king had no son nor had he brothers or even uncles to carry on the line. This puts the entire country in a very difficult position. I have spoken to the consul to ensure that we do not fall into a state of civil war or anarchy. They voted almost unanimously to give the throne to me on a temporary basis.”

John had been at that meeting, about half the consul had been paid off before hand and the rest of them were too scared of the spider queen to oppose her. It was not a total victory though, two members had abstained. John , temporarily holding his father’s spot, had to keep up an appearance, at least, of loyalty to his aunt but he could not in good conscience vote for someone he knew could only hurt his country. When it became clear that she would be confirmed he had abstained citing that he did not want it said that family ties had clouded his Judgment. The queen had looked at him with her cold eyes and had said nothing. Not Surprisingly Lord Petra Westra also abstained. Lord Petra was the one man powerful enough to not need the crown’s support. He had his own army and his Nephew was the king of Blueland. Still he fled the capital the next day and there were rumors that he and three of his sons left the country. John’s mind quickly snapped back to the present as his aunt continued her speech.

“To protect you, my people, from civil unrest and violence, which so often comes with the transfer of power, I have doubled the city watch. This does not come without a cost but for your safety I am willing to pay it. I am also beginning a curfew for any one not carrying a letter signed by the captain of the guard.”

At that point someone in the crowd cried out. “DOWN With the Spider.”

She did not so much as blink as her new night watch came out of the crowd and brutally clubbed the man who had cried out. “As you see violence will be dealt with swiftly.”

Several boys near the front began throwing rocks and singing a song, possibly of their own invention about the spider. She signaled again. A man positioned below the balcony fired a crossbow. The first shaft hit the foremost boy in the throat, John tried hard not to flinch and the child fell to the ground, gurgling. The other boys ran but you cannot out run crossbows. When all the boys were dead the queen smiled. “As Queen I will do my best to protect you.”

People began to murmur, and John saw now that she had them. They were, down to the last man, terrified of their queen. Yes they would still call her the spider, they would likely hate her, but they would not fight her, maybe not ever.

She turned with a rustle of black silk and returned to the castle. John grabbed the ledge of the balcony to steady himself then followed her. He had not eaten since the vote and the fast was draining him almost as much as poison would have. However, he did not know if she was angry enough to actually kill him at this point so he did not eat and watched for a knife in his back.

The man who she had follow him everywhere met him in the door way and accompanied him to his room, staying at the doorway. John barely cared at that point. He threw himself on the bed and tried not to replay the scene in the square. He had always done his duty but now he had no idea what his duty was. He could safely forget any duty to his aunt at this point but was he playing along with her so he could stand up to her sometime when there was real hope of winning or because he wanted to save his own worthless skin? He could not have saved those boys in the square but maybe he should have tried. But even if he could have killed his mother’s sister would that really help? As much as her rule would hurt the country anarchy would be worse.  He just hoped that Kenneth would do something but his mind was too fuzzy from lack of sleep and food to think of what that would be.

John wondered if his friend would even believe what Roland was probably even now telling him. He could hardly credit what had come out of the dying king’s mouth, that his friend, Kenneth, the second son of Lord Jamis who none could call a particularly powerful lord, was actually the King’s only living offspring. It was almost as fantastic as Ylva’s story, though not quite.

But thinking of Kenneth forced John to think of Judy, her dark blue eyes, her unassuming smile, her long golden hair that made waves down her back. She was never far from his mind but the assault of memories caused him almost physical pain. He had loved her these five years; of course it had taken him a year to realize it, fool that he was. And it had been more than a year since he had seen her. He remembered that meeting. He had been half dead from cold and exhaustion and she had come to him. That was what he held on to. She had come to him and helped him to his room and lit a fire in his room like a common servant would. She had been gone by the time he had awakened, there had been no good bye this time but that didn’t stop him from dreaming about her. He had made his feelings clear before of course and she, with tears in her eyes, had said she was confused about a lot of things and she could not answer then. She had still not answered. He had written to her once saying that he loved her still and that all that he had was hers. But he had almost given up on her answering. It had been two months. He would continue to love her and it would continue to hurt but he wished she would tell him it was over. It wouldn’t be over but he could feel only the pain of loving her not the pain of suspense.

With a force of will he pulled his thoughts away from the only woman he had ever loved. His aunt was weaving her web tight. She had chosen to rule by fear and that choice would not be taken back. But fear could be broken, could be broken much more easily than love.

John sat up in bed and the dizziness almost overcame him. On his desk lay a sheet of paper on which he hurriedly began writing.