Chapter 3 - That's Why

Ada slid under the coverlet of her curtained bed. She pulled the blankets tight over her shoulders and rolled on her side to face the snow-choked skies beyond her window. No sooner than she'd closed her eyes than the scream of "Fire!" trumpeted throughout the palace.

Ada leapt from her bed, tangled in her sheets and nearly tripped to the floor. She righted herself and dashed to the door of her boudoir. Outside, soldiers and servants rushed in response to the call.

"Jorn," she said, "Jorn! What's happening?"

The tall soldier slid to a stop. His loose shirt was unlaced. Heavy pecks flexed as he fought a vest over his shoulders. Oh. Flames warmed her cheeks.

"The library's a fire, Princess."

She blinked once or twice. "What? The library? How? I was just there or near it. Is the servant okay?"

"Servant? What servant?"

"The new one. From Blackrock. He douses the—"

A clatter of pots interrupted the Princess. A chambermaid raced by an armload of empty pans clanked and clattered in her grasp. Jorn's eyes flicked to her as she passed.

"I really must go, Princess. They'll be setting up a brigade."

"I'm coming with you." She stepped into the hall.

"Princess!" he said. His eyes traveled the length of her gown.

Fire warmed her veins. "Oh, for Atra's sake, stop calling me that! I'm Ada. Ae. De. Ae. Ada. You know, the girl you grew up with? And it's a nightgown. Have you never seen one? You know, wool, neck to toe, to keep out the chill! You have three sisters."

"Yes, Princess."

"Jorn!"

"Yes, Princess?"

"Ugh, men!"

"Sorry, Princess."

"Just go already!" She pushed Jorn. Once he really got going Ada had to lift her gown well above her knees to keep stride with Jorn.

At the great stair soldiers and servants were already forming a brigade. Buckets, pans, anything that could hold water, were being passed back and forth between the men and women. They ran to and fro along the same path, up and down the stair, along the hall and to the kitchen cistern.

Jorn sprang up the stairs. Ada raced to follow.

She bent over and panted when she reached the library hall. Men shouted. A glow akin to hell illuminated the library door. The smell of smoke was strong.

"Adalayd!" her brother bellowed. "What are you doing here? You should retreat to the safe-house. If something happens—"

"You didn't. Why should I?"

Trygg strode out of the smoke and the slow changes she'd not previously noted struck her. Even at this late hour he was stiffer than Jorn. The fun had fled his once merry eyes. He no longer smiled when he saw her.

Although he was less than four summers older than she he looked aged. The ash in his hair turned it grey. His walnut colored eyes were tight. His forehead was creased and the mantle of King sat poorly upon his youthful shoulders.

Oh, Trygg.

"Jorn! Take her to the safe-house."

"Yes, Sire!"

"Wait. What? No!"

"Adalayd, listen ..."

"No, you listen!" She rose on tip toes to level her eyes with her brother's. "This is my home too! Since Mother and Father died, you have-you have done everything. Well I can help too!"

Trygg laid a hand upon her shoulder.

"Adalayd." His voice sounded weary. "Do this—"

"Sire," Trygg's primary advisor interrupted. He was a small man with a balding pate.

"Yes, Arild?"

"Fire's out, Sire."

Her brother scowled down at Ada a moment longer. Then his eyes lost focus as if he had dismissed her from his mind. "Show me the damage."

King Trygg turned his back upon Ada. He strode for the smoke-spewing door.

"Jorn?"

"Yes, Sire!"

So, he didn't totally forget me.

When Jorn turned towards her Ada thrust her chin in the air. It almost made her feel taller than he.

"Keep your hands off me! I'm your Princess. I go where I will. Besides, the fire's out." With as much dignity as she could muster in a nightgown, she marched after her brother.

"That's why I don't call you Ada, Princess." The words were a mere whisper.

Within, the library was a mess. Soldiers and servants were picking through damaged books and scrolls that were scattered everywhere. A bookcase lay toppled. Smoke stained much of the room. One depository was almost entirely soggy ash. The paneled wall and stout rafters near it were blackened with a washboard pattern of charcoal. The room's dry, old, musty perfume had been replaced with the odor of wet soot.

"We are seeing what can be salvaged now, Sire."

"Good. Thank you, Arild."

Trygg stood in the center of the room. His eyes roamed random texts as his retainers collected them. He looked lost.

Ada tugged one of her twin braids. "Trygg, it's just a bunch of books. Nobody was hurt."

"They were treaties, Ada."

"Yeah, which means there're copies."

"In Endris. Hoyst. Blackrock. We don't even know what all was here."

"Oh, come on, Trygg. Don't be so glum. We've spent many winters schooling with Arild. If we don't know about it, it's probably not important. Besides it looks like most of them were saved."

"And I thought I knew them all. Yet Magnar says different. Let's hope the right one was saved. If Jorn hadn't seen him away I'd almost believe-No, it must've been an accident."

"The right one? Which right one?"

"The Treaty of Meadows," Elva said. She glided up beside them. Even late at night she looked as fresh as the first spring daffodil poking through a late winter's snow. While the last few moons lay heavily upon Trygg, Ada's childhood friend had taken on a new glow.

Ada shuffled her bare feet. She tugged at her simple woolen gown and stole a glance at her friend's white dress. It was as though the Queen repelled the smoke and soot. Ada's attire no longer seemed adequate.

"Why the Treaty of Meadows? It's pretty simple. A cessation of hostilities. A negotiation of borders."

Her brother didn't immediately answer. Rather he ushered his wife and sister out of the charred library.

"King Magnar has announced his arrival here tomorrow."

"So?"

"So, Magnar is here about Meadows."

"Yeah, meaning what? Father won the war."

"Did he? At what cost Adalayd? Hundreds of men died. And Blackrock kept the keep in the hills."

Ada heard the note of concern in his voice. She searched his face. "But that's not what's eating at you, is it?"

He looked away.

Oh, you're impossible sometimes! "Trygg, what is it?"

Elva placed a slender hand on her husband's shoulder. "We have to tell her sometime."

Wait! "What? Tell me what?"

Trygg gently turned his sister towards him. He bowed his head. "King Magnar is going to present his son, Prince Eluf, to you. We think—" Trygg's voice choked up an octave at that point, "—we think he wants Meadows as your dowry."

Ada jerked back. "My what?" she nearly yelled. She reined her voice. "I don't even know Prince Eluf. I've never even met him. It's not like Father ever took us to Blackrock."

"Adalayd—" Trygg started pacing. "—that won't matter to Magnar. His missive claims the marriage was arranged by treaty-the Treaty of Meadows."

"You'd have thought Father would've said something."

"You would. I'm not sure it matters. Magnar has probably wanted Meadows since his coronation day. Even if it's not in the treaty—" He threw his hands about for emphasis. "—you're a Princess, Eluf's a Prince. It's our duty, it's your duty to keep the peace, to protect the people. If you don't, Magnar might go to war. "

Ada caught the eye of a passing servant who hurriedly looked away. She caught glimpses of other eyes flashing their way. "But I haven't even met him!"

"You will tomorrow."

Trygg, really! "I can't believe this! Why?"

"Because Father sired a daughter and Magnar sired a son."

"So!" She looked pointedly at her brother. "Father also sired a son."

"But Magnar only sired a son and he claims we must unite Whitewall's and Blackrock's royal lines to avoid further conflict. Meadows is to be the seat of the new couple's power."

"So, you're saying that the treaty says I must marry Prince Eluf? Even if it doesn't, you say I must marry Prince Eluf? "

Elva smiled gently at her distraught friend. She stayed her husband's pacing with a hand on his chest.

"No, Ada, we're not. That is Blackrock's claim. There is still much to negotiate."

Trygg scratched his jaw through his beard. "But that doesn't mean—"

"It still doesn't mean I won't have to marry Prince Eluf. Thanks!" She glared at her brother. "Why didn't Father tell me? Why didn't you tell me?"

"We're not mind readers, Adalayd! Magnar only just announced his intent."

"Why wasn't I—"

Trygg slammed his foot down. "Enough Adalayd! Grow up! Do you think we are doing this on purpose? We told you what we know. You're a Princess. Behave like one!"

Ada blinked. Her jaw trembled. Fire burnt up her throat from her breasts. "If your Highnesses will excuse me," she said with a deep curtsy that caused her to wobble in her restrictive gown, "I will retire to my room."

"Adalayd."

"Yes, Sire?"

Trygg's chest swelled. His face flooded crimson and he ground his teeth. His fists clenched. Elva placed an open palm on his chest. Her cerulean eyes trapped Ada's.

"Ada, all we know for sure is that King Magnar wants to present his son to you. It is not like the wedding is going to be tomorrow. You'll have moons, probably whole seasons, to get to know him. You might find you like him."

Ada crossed her arms. "Well we're not getting off to a good start."

"Oh, Ada," Elva said, "you haven't even met him."

"It's not like anyone exactly talks kindly of him."

"You're confusing Father with son, Adalayd," Trygg said.

"He's supposed to have—" She blushed. "—bedded ..." It wasn't the sort of thing she talked about with her brother-or king.

"They say that about every Prince. They said that about me."

"Not Halden."

"Prince Halden is young yet. They will, once he comes into his own."

Elva's eyes flicked to her husband. "Love can flourish in the most unlikely places." Her lips bowed into a slight smile. "Remember how I used to think your brother was a bore."

Trygg's eyebrows scaled his forehead. "You what?"

"They beat their servants," Ada said, at the same time.

Trygg's eyes narrowed at Ada's words. "You don't know that."

"Yes. I. Do. The new retainer told me."

Trygg gave her a funny look. "What new retainer?"

"The one from Blackrock. He said it was hard there, cruel."

Her brother started pacing. "What new retainer from Blackrock?"

"I don't know. The one that lights the tapers in the ..."

Her brother stepped closer. "In the what, Ada?"

"Library," she breathed.

Trygg scowled. His eyes took on the cast of flint. An angry flush burnt his face. "What does he look like?"

"Uhm ... It was dark on the stair. Tall, brown hair. Something was wrong with his face. Like-like it had been burned. His eye was ... red."

Trygg punched the wall. The assaulted beam vibrated. He shook his hand. "Was it Turls?"

With the utterance of the name a vague memory of a young man stirred. A sick feeling stewed in Ada's stomach. Her eyes flicked from watching servant to watching servant.

"I don't know. Who's Turls?"

"He was in Grandsire's honor guard. You would've been young, very young. Father banished him after the troll killed Grandsire. He was Blackrock's emissary!"

"I—"

Elva interjected. "He wears a patch on one eye."

Ada clasped and unclasped her hands. Her eyes flicked about. "I don't know. It was dark. He was bowing. I didn't see him well. He-No, he was not wearing a patch. The eye was red. No patch."

Her brother's scowl grew deeper. "Jorn, you saw Turls ride away?"

"Yes, Sire. He rode away. I saw it with my own eyes."

"Arild, Jorn," Trygg said his voice growing stonier with every word, "question everyone about a retainer from Blackrock. Ask after servants, merchants, peddlers and townsfolk. If Turls or any other person with access to the palace from Blackrock is still in town I want them found!"