Chapter 5

            My king stood before me, naked save for the pendent he always wore and his royal signet ring. I hastily shut the door behind me. Was Roland mad? What was he doing in my room when he was scheduled to be speaking with King Vlade?

            “I thought you were supposed to be in negotiations,” I said pointedly, still remembering our argument from the other day regarding this exact issue.

            He looked at me decisively, steadily. I folded my arms over my chest, meeting his gaze of deep brown with my blue.

            “I told you, I refuse to marry. I will not marry a woman I do not love nor need. It would not be fair to her, me, or you.” he answered certainly.

            I grimaced, but did not look away. He knew I wouldn't. Neither of us moved.

            “You realize this is the king of Kievra. Marrying his daughter will grant you a strong alliance.” I reminded him somewhat bitterly.

            He frowned and took a step closer. I stayed where I was, crushing my desire to take him into my arms and hold him. My heart was bursting with joy at his proclamation. But my head knew the consequences of his decision, and it knew that my happiness didn't matter. I could not allow him to keep putting me before what would benefit his people.

            “An alliance we have need for,” he answered plainly. “If I marry anyone, it will be you. No exceptions.”

            Those words sent a shiver down my spine. I wouldn't deny that I wanted it, something permanent and unshakeable between us. I would have loved nothing more than to openly express our affection for each other. Yet in the eyes of his subjects, he would be sullying his line with a union to a lowly commoner and undeserving foreigner who probably reached her high position in the military by giving her body to him. Any respect I'd earned over the years would collapse and all would remember that the old prejudices that so many thought they had forgotten. I would be seen as a shamelessly manipulative Lance whore.

            “You know that's not possible,” I sighed tiredly as he closed the distance between us to wrap his arms around me. He cradled me like he would a fragile glass statue, not because he expected me to break, but because he always feared I would one day leave, either through death or discovery.

            “You think it's not possible,” replied Roland stubbornly, touching his forehead to mine. “I am king and therefore they will have to accept it.”

            “You are king and therefore they will have to accept it,” I said at the same time.

            We couldn't help but laugh ruefully, for we'd both heard this many times before. His strong hand moved to cup my face and stroke the old arrow scar with his thumb. I loved it when he did that.

            “I love you, Fleurette,” he murmured fervently, passionately. “And if I can't marry you, then any heirs that can be expected of me will be bastards. There can be no objections then. You are the only woman I will ever have as my queen.”

            I shouldn't have smiled, but I did, and I did not regret it. Although against my better judgment, I wanted to have a family with him. I wanted to watch our children play and grow. We had discussed such fantasies before, though as we grew older, it seemed that those conversations grew ever more serious. It was a foolish and selfish wish, but if I could be both general and mother, I would do it gladly. Let them tell me it was not possible to be both. I had proven everyone wrong before.

            I kissed him, pressing my body against his. He eagerly reciprocated, slipping his tongue into my mouth as his fingers unlaced my trousers. They, along with my smallclothes pooled around my ankles. My jacket soon followed. Then, tearing off my shirt, my lover picked me up, my legs locked around his waist. His hard length throbbed against my thigh. My fingers entangled in his golden hair and his kisses descending the length of my neck, Roland lowered me onto the bed. The king pulled away, smiling down at me lovingly and panting as much as I.

            “So shall we try to make an heir for you then?” I asked flirtatiously with a sultry-eyed stare.

            “Of course,” he said without hesitation before he thrust into me.

            I awoke to soft snoring and an all over stiffness that made me all too reluctant to rise. I certainly would not be going back to sleep, however, not after that overly intimate look into General Vereux's life. Corim must have taken her memories before we left the palace. It would have made sense. She probably had knowledge of most, if not all, of the possible escape routes should they have been needed. Though I could have done without the other memories. Honestly, of all the memories to have. I silently cursed, forcing myself to sit up and put on my spectacles.

            Not far from me lay Donatella and the flutist in a shared bedroll, his arms wrapped around her tenderly. Had it not been for Vereux's memory, I might have thought the sight somewhat charming. As it was, it only brought the image of the king and his beloved general back. I was left feeling unsettled, like some accidental peeping tom.

            One of the wonderfully peculiar quirks of being a Memorium was that actual dreaming did not occur often. Dreams were few and far between. At most, we would have two to three a year if we had any at all. Instead, our memories played out in front of our eyes. Save for receiving them, it was the only time they couldn't be controlled or willed to go away. More than once Corim had awoke with a start due to some awful memory. And now they were all mine. How many times would I be startled to wakefulness before my own life was through?

            I shook my head, trying to push out any thoughts of Corim. I had managed to block out his memories during the night. With luck, I would never have to see them again. Corim's memories were sacred and would not be disturbed.

            Carefully I got out of bed and tip-toed across the floor to one of the chests. Kneeling beside it, I started to look through its contents in search of something properly black and conservative for mourning. Of the little clothing I'd had time to pack in our mad dash, there was not one scrap of black fabric. There had never been black in any of my clothing. Corim had always said such a stark color washed me out and made me look like a ghost. Just as well that it did, for I definitely felt like one.

            Really, Serinda, there's no need to go that far for grieving, I could just imagine him saying.

            I made an effort to be neat and not throw everything about in piles. Very few high-necked articles of clothing were to be seen. That I was able to find one at all in my desired color was a near miracle. With a quick check to make sure the couple was still asleep, I swiftly changed clothes, donning the sober gown. Then I splashed my face with water from the basin and brushed my hair. A look in the mirror assured me that the dress fit rather well, though it could have to stood to be shorter in the sleeves, perhaps a little bit in length as well. It was possible that putting on shoes would make it more suitable.

            I need gloves, I thought to myself as I patted the ring in a pocket of the dress to make sure it would not fall out through some unnoticed hole or rip.

            After some more determined digging, I found a pair of black velvet gloves. They were probably too fine for the simplistic outfit I wore, but they were all there was, so I pulled them on. At least now I could properly mourn my master.

            Yet I also had a task ahead of me, a monumental one if I was to believe all that had transpired the night before, as much as I didn't want to. Corim had said there was a memory, one that was crucial to what was going on, a memory that would try to slip away when I tried to use it. It must have been the key to everything. He'd told me to seek out the Memorium Conservatory and Mage Collegium. The Conservatory I could understand, but why the Collegium? Surely it must have been to help contain the situation, make sure it stretched no further than Laeith. They probably knew something about the creatures as well. Nothing like that could have existed without magic. Someone had to know or have some information.

            These bards must have maps somewhere, I thought as I closed the chest. Otherwise they'd be utterly lost.

            Then there was the prisoner at the palace. If the memory was the key, then he was at the heart of the matter. If he wasn't, then I was the queen of Speranza. No doubt he was the cause of all this. Normally I wasn't one for vengeance, but mark my words, I would make sure he paid for Corim's life.

            “You know, you have a definite far-off look when you're wrapped up in your thoughts,” a voice whispered somewhat groggily.

            I glanced up to see the man named Casimiro from last night leisurely leaning against a door frame that I had not seen before. Much to my relief, he wore a shirt this time, though I could have done without the purposefully disarming smile. I stood up and brushed myself off. Now that he was closer, I could see that the amulet he wore bore the image of a hound with inscriptions of runes along the border. He must have had to replace the chain recently because it looked far newer than the amulet. The jewelry was not of Ilarian craftsmanship, judging from the style of the inscriptions, it was the work of a Northlander. Hounds often appeared in their artwork to represent good luck or high status. Those sorts of things were not given lightly to foreigners either. Nor did it seem like something the bard would wear.

            “Good morning,” I said politely, ignoring his previous remark. “I am-”

            “Serinda Belwyn, yes, Donatella told me,” he replied, his expression sobering. “You look like you've had a long, rough night.”

            “I believe that would be an understatement,” I joked without enthusiasm. Would they even believe me if I told the tale? Had I not experienced it myself, I would have dismissed it as total nonsense.

            For the first time, the man seemed to take in my choice of attire. My hands clasped tightly together in front of me as his eyes wandered over my black-clad form. For a moment he had a look of thoughtfulness, then retreated into the room behind him. Suddenly a black coat and cloak soared in my direction. I barely managed to catch both before he returned.

            “You'll need something to keep you warm,” Casimiro smiled faintly. “Those will suit best. They're a bit big, but everything else would just be too ornamental for daily wear, let alone mourning.”

            “Thank you, Casimiro, correct?” I replied quietly. The very sound of his name seemed to please him, for his smile grew.

            “Casimiro Spiritoso, Leader of the Dancing Birds troupe and extraordinary bard, at your service,” he confirmed proudly with a theatrical bow. Were circumstances different, I would have likely been slightly amused. It was all too easy to envision Corim leaning over to whisper some quip about him in my ear. The thought was almost enough to curve my lips upward.

            “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” I returned stiffly, unused to taking part in such exchanges as my mentor had always done it.

            Honestly, this isn't like you, Serinda. What happened to the spitfire I raised? I could hear Corim teasing.

            “Come along, odds are you could use something to eat. Once everyone wakes up, you can tell us what happened,” Casimiro said invitingly, pulling on a coat that was significantly thick (even by Angleter standards) lined with soft, white fur. On another man it would have been ridiculous, yet he was able to pull it off in some fashion.

            As the minstrel led me outside past the contented slumbering couple, I shrugged into the coat. It fell to just above my heels, the sleeves baggy and too long for my thin arms. The downy mink fur tickled my nose and it smelled of lemon trees and sandalwood, a sharp but delightful scent. It was warm enough that I did not need the cloak, but I neatly rolled it up and kept it in a bundle nestled in the crook of my arm.

            Stepping outside, I immediately knew we were not in the same place as when I had tumbled into their midst. The trees, though bare, were gathered closely together, creating an almost protective wall around the area. The air was cold, but luckily there was no wind, not even a breeze. Another wagon sate across from the one we just left. While ours was tented with a tarp of deepest red and gold, it had one of sky blue and shimmering emerald. I caught the scent of a fire and food cooking, which caused my stomach to growl like a bear.

            The girl Allegra and the blond fiddler were already up and by the fire, he stirring something in a pot and she yawning wildly with her hair braided in such a way that it resembled a butterfly. When she saw Casimiro, however, her eyes lit up and she beamed. Whether the flush on her cheeks was due to the cold or girlish attraction, I wasn't sure. How many years apart were they? She couldn't have been a day over sixteen, and he no younger than his mid or late twenties. Either way, Casimiro didn't seem to acknowledge her sudden burst of energy.

            “Good morning, my fair compatriots!” called Casimiro with gusto, reaching them with long, easy strides. “Tell me, what delicacy have you prepared to break our fast this fine morning?”

            Allegra giggled and the fiddler rolled his eyes, though good-naturedly, most likely used to his leader's flamboyant behavior.

            “Whatever can be managed with the dried meat, berries, and spices we have left. I did tell you we should have restocked in Laeith.” he responded plainly, his eyes were an appealing hazel like the girl's.

            “And I told you that we could make do until we reached Tova's and get everything we need and then some without having to pay,” the raven-haired bard confidently shot back.

            “Assuming she isn't still angry with you for dallying with her serving girls,” the other man pointed out.

            Casimiro shrugged nonchalantly and took a bowl from a neat stack.

            “She can't stay cross with me, I'm one of her favorite patrons,” he chuckled.

            “We'll see how long that lasts,” his friend smiled slightly, then his gaze wandered over to me standing silently in Casimiro's shadow. I expected him to be suspicious of me as he was the night before, yet instead I found genuine concern written all over his fair face.

            “Are you feeling better?” he asked kindly.

            “Somewhat,” I told him, unsure as to whether or not I was truly any better at all. My master was dead, the royal palace taken over, and I left with the task of helping put an end to something I didn't remotely understand whilst being hunted. What was I supposed to feel other than confused and overwhelmed?

            Nonetheless, he smiled slightly and approached me, kissing my gloved hand like a gentleman. I'm sure if I hadn't been wearing gloves, his lips would have felt quite soft. They were a delicate hue of pink, lips that moon-eyed maidens probably dreamed of kissing. His golden curls fell gently over his face and brushed my fingers. He then pulled away to look me in the eye, yet continued to hold my hand as if I were a highborn lady.

            “Please, forgive my rude behavior from last night, Lady Belwyn. If I offended you, then I sincerely apologize.” he said remorsefully.

            I gave him a wan smile.

            “I would have acted no differently in your place. I am simply thankful you took me in at all. I was hardly in a respectable state.” I responded courteously as I subtly removed my hand from his grasp.

            I had no intention of burdening these people with my presence. They would have had to be rather brave or rather suicidal to harbor me after I told them my story. I'd either be though mad or a danger to their safety. Undoubtedly they would fear for their group and wish to be rid of me. That was understandable. I would not beg them to let me stay. Once the caravan reached its next destination, I would leave their company and the minstrels would be free to go on their merry way.

            If you even want to begin to understand, you will need to look at Corim's memories, a voice somewhere at the back of my mind saw fit to remind me.

            No, all I needed was that one memory, the one that would slip away. So long as I had that, there was no need to trespass into his memories. Deciphering that elusive thing floating about my head and informing the mages and Memoriums were my prime objectives. When those tasks were accomplished, everything would fall into place, surely. If I survived that long.

            “My name is Leandro Farfalla,” the fiddler informed me, those hazel eyes sparkling with gallantry. “You are most welcome among us.”

            “Nevermind your dear little sister, eh, Leandro?” Allegra twittered in mock admonishment, thrusting a bowl of porridge and dried fruit into my hands. I could smell the cinnamon and rosemary mixed in along with the sweet aroma of blueberries, my favorite. Before I became an apprentice, my older brother, Willard, and I had gone to great length to steal blueberry bread from the top most cupboard of our small home. We succeeded more times than we failed, much to our mother's dismay.

            Looking at Leandro and Allegra, their similarities were obvious. They had the same golden hair, though with the girl's braids, it was difficult to discern the texture of her hair. Both possessed the same noble brow and fair complexion, same dimples as they smiled, same color eyes. Yet where his were steady and held you in place like a relaxed embrace, hers were bright and shifty like the wings of a dragonfly. Where he was tall and muscular, she was short and slight. Brother and sister were incredibly alike in features but absolutely different in terms of their forms.

            “You are Allegra,” I recalled to the girl as she opened her mouth to further tease her sibling. “You helped Donatella dress me.”

            She grinned at being remembered, and out of the corner of my eye, I could've sworn I saw Casimiro smirk. Perhaps the memory of seeing me half exposed was fresher than I'd hoped.

            “That I did. You look a lot better than you did when you came in. You'd look even better without the scratches though.” Allegra chirped, pulling me by the arm to seat me upon a little wooden stool.

            “Allegra,” Leandro hissed in a disapproving tone.

            “What? No one looks good after being whacked by a branch.” she shrugged.

            She sat down beside me while her brother groaned exasperatedly, muttering in Ilarian. Having the memories of a few Ilarians, I was able to understand his stream of annoyed grumblings. Casimiro laughed and made some dramatically clever remarks. I ate in silence, tasting my food, yet it seemed muted, as if diluted by my grief, or maybe Corim's death had that much impact on the world, as unbelievable as that was. I could not deny that I was hungry, however. Not a morsel remained by the time I was done, the performers conversing as if they did not have some strange Memorium in their midst, as if it were an ordinary day. My hand discreetly ring and squeezed it, the pointed tips of the onyx raven's wings digging into my palm. It was too big to fit any of my fingers. Wearing it around my neck on a chain might have been best.

            In time, Donatella and the man I concluded was Fiore due to process of elimination emerged from the red wagon. He sleepily rubbed at his eyes, his chestnut hair a tousled mess. She wore a look of concern, which dissipated upon seeing me at the fire, as if a fear of hers had been put to rest.

            She took hold of the flutist's hand and pulled him along as she made her way over to Allegra and me. He followed without objection and leaned his head on her shoulder when they took their place to the other side of me. Their hands were intertwined, a ring identifiable on each. Without even knowing them, they seemed a perfect match. Their warm affections for each other were written plainly and proudly on their faces. To view them, one would have thought they were staring at a tender painting of love with a flowery, elegant title by some dignified artist. She gingerly shook him so he kept his eyes open this time. His wife then got breakfast for each of them.

            “Did you sleep well?” she asked me softly, a hand on her husband's back.

            I nodded. It was a lie, given the memory I had, but I saw no reason to explain the awkward truth. Nor did I wish to discuss the general's dalliances with anyone, let alone strangers.

            “Well, now that we are all gathered,” Casimiro spoke up, rising to his feet. “I believe now would be a good time for our guest to tell us her tale. We've certainly been wanting to hear it.”

            Suddenly all eyes were on me, though Donatella did momentarily give her leader a reproachful look. I'd known this was coming, yet still I was not sure how to make my tale sound anything other than ludicrous. It was confusing, it was crazy. It was the truth. Strange though it was, it had happened. So I took a deep breath and told them my story, from the palace to the chase, staring straight and undaunted at Casimiro. Let him look into my eyes and see if I was lying or lacking my wits.

            Only once did I break eye contact with his emerald depths. Tears I thought I had spent resurfaced as I relived Corim's death, slowly putting the scene into words. Again I saw the knife sinking cruelly into his flesh, the blood gushing like a great flood, the horror of the clever light leaving those loving gray eyes. My throat constricted and my hands clenched, but I went on, entailing my task and the danger that undeniably accompanied it. I furiously wiped away the tears and returned my gaze to the bard standing before me. My voice didn't shake, not ever, much to my surprise.

            “I have no expectations that you will gladly harbor me. My presence could likely endanger you. You would not risk your lives for me by choice and I would not have you do so.” I succinctly concluded, rising to my feet. “All I ask is that you take me to the next destination on your route. After that, my business is my own and you shall be free of me.”

            In the stunned silence that followed, I watched Casimiro's face. I didn't dare glance at the others. His disarming grin had disappeared, his brows drawn closer together. His expression was thoughtful, yet with some underlying emotion. Anticipation, possibly, a sense of eagerness, excitement or possibility. The longer I watched him, the more his eyes twinkled, his lips curved. His entire expression was one of utter delight. Slowly my heart began to lift with unforeseen hope. The idea of them voluntarily helping me was almost too much to hope for. As I had said earlier, either they were quite brave or quite suicidal.

            “My lovely lady, what you pose is the adventure of a lifetime. This is the sort of thing that makes legends and history. Why, it's an opportunity that bards only dream of.” he finally grinned fervently, his gaze sweeping across his companions, then back to me. “Lady Belwyn, you have our aid.”

            I blinked, bewildered, wondering if I had truly heard what I believed I had. Did Casimiro really, truly, honestly wish to help me for the slim chance of heroism?

            If so, then clearly he was a fool. Surely none of the others would follow him on such a whim. It defied common sense.

            “Just as well, I suppose,” Leandro sighed, then showed me a small, wry smile. “I would feel right leaving you to do this on your own. It's not the sort of thing just one person can complete.”

            “We are a bit overdue for a little danger, aren't we?” Allegra chimed in, wrapping her arms around her drawn up knees.

            “Than I guess it is settled. It is considered bad luck to eject a guest, even an unexpected one.” Donatella said with something that was halfway between resigned acceptance and relief. Her husband only nodded in agreement, never saying a word.

            And so began the strangest and greatest alliance of my life.